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, 


NED    NEVINS, 


OK, 


STBEET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON-. 


BY 


HENRY    MORGAN,    P.M.P. 
(poor.  MAN'S  I- 


JUnatrattb. 


FOURTH    EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
L  E  K     AND     S  H  K  P  A  K  D. 

1867. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1800,  by 
HEXHY  MORGAN, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massa 
chusetts. 


PRESS  OF  GEO.  C.  RAND  &  AVERY,  3  Cornhill. 


PREFACE. 


THE  reader  asks,  "  Is  this  story  true  ? ;>  I 
answer  that  nearly  all  the  characters  are  taken 
from  real  life ;  but  names,  dates,  and  places 
are  necessarily  changed  to  avoid  recognition, 
and  to  prevent  embarrassment  to  parties  now 
living.  Nearly  eight  years  of  missionary  ex 
perience  among  the  poor  of  Boston  have  fur 
nished  me  with  the  undeniable  facts  of  which 
I  write. 

I  thought  at  first  to  publish  only  a  string 
of  incidents  taken  from  my  note-book ;  but  I 
soon  discovered  that  an  unbroken  sameness  of 
dry  detail  would  never  be  read.  If,  by  pub 
lishing  the  book  in  its  present  form,  I  add  an 
impetus  to  any  of  the  benevolent  enterprises 
for  elevating  the  lowly,  the  act  is  its  own  re- 

3 


4  PREFACE. 

ward.  It  has  been  my  desire  to  labor  for  thn 
down-trodden  and  oppressed,  the  neglected, 
forsaken,  and  forgotten.  For  this  purpose,  I 
have  threaded  the  lanes  of  poverty,  tuned 
my  ear  to  the  voice  of  mourning;  I  have  fath 
omed  the  depths  of  sorrow,  and  taken  dimen 
sions  of  the  habitations  of  woe.  From  the 
street  have  I  learned  lessons  of  humanity,  and 
among  the  lowly  have  I  found  disciples  of 
Jesus. 

Oh,  it  is  noble,  it  is  Christ-like  to  battle 
for  the  honest  poor!  It  is  the  true  way  to 
lay  up  treasures  in  heaven.  The  million- 
naire  may  say,  "  I  have  made  myself  rich  and 
powerful ;  my  coffers  are  filled  with  gold." 
The  poet  may  say,  "I  have  touched  my  harp, 
and  a  world  has  stood  silent  and  entranced ;  1 
have  sung  of  love,  and  a  world  has  melted  to 
tears  ;  I  have  sung  of  war,  and  nations  have 
rushed  to  arms."  The  Artist  may  say,  "  I 
have  transferred  the  living  features  to  canvas ; 


PREFACE.  5 

I  have  erected  the  pillar,  and  formed  the  archi 
trave  ;  I  have  made  the  bronze  to  speak,  and 
the  marble  to  breathe ;  I  have  reared  the  monu 
mental  shaft  to  heroic  deeds,  and  perpetuated 
the  memory  of  the  heroic  dead."  The  Inven* 
tor  may  say,  "  1  have  invented  the  telegraph, 
chained  the  lightning,  constructed  the  tele 
scope,  weighed  the  planets,  and  measured  the 
distances  of  the  fixed  stars."  The  Warrior 
may  say,  "  I  have  changed  the  face  of  the  earth, 
brought  order  out  of  chaos,  crushed  mighty 
rebellions,  established  governments,  scattered 
dynasties,  created  monarchies."  But  the  hum 
ble  Philanthropist  may  outweigh  them  all.  Fol 
lowing  the  footsteps  of  Him  that  cometh  with 
a  crown  of  thorns  from  the  brow  of  Calvary, 
he  can  say,  "I  have  dried  the  widow's  tears, 
and  made  the  orphan's  heart  to  sing  for  joy ; 
I  have  bound  up  the  broken-hearted,  and 
comforted  them  that  mourn ;  I  have  reclaim. 
ed  the  wanderer,  and  led  him  back  to  God." 


6  PREFACE. 

The  poor  are  God's  charity -boxes :  they  are 
found  at  the  corner  of  every  street:  Inas 
much  as  ye  do  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of 
these,  ye  do  it  unto  me.  They  are  the  bank 
of  heaven.  We  are  the  depositors.  Put  in 
your  mite,  kind  reader;  reckoning  day  is  near; 
verily  you  shall  have  your  reward. 

My  first  acquaintance  with  the  Hero  of  this 
story  was  on  Dover-street  Bridge,  when  he 
picked  up  the  lost  pocket-book,  as  related  ih 
chapter  second.  I  also  witnessed  the  court 
scene,  as  recorded,  in  the  thirteenth  chapter. 

Having  found  my  "  LIFE  SKETCHES  AND  MUSIC- 
HALL  DISCOURSES  "  to  be  a  success,  I  now  send 
forth  "  NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY,"  hoping,  "  If 
he  does  no  wrong,  something  good  will  come 
to  him." 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FOURTH  EDITION. 


ALL  hail  to  thee,  kind  reader!  "Ned  Nevins  "  has 
become  a  grand  success,  surpassing  the  hopes  of  the  most 
sanguine.  Though  but  a  few  months  from  the  press,  it 
has  already  become  a  synonyme  and  a  rally-cry  for  reform. 
From  Maine  to  Oregon  the  orders  are  pouring  in  for  it ; 
and  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  come  congratulations 
and  high  encomiums  from  the  pulpit  of  all  denominations  ; 
from  the  press,  both  secular  and  religious ;  from  societies 
for  moral  reform ;  from  the  Sabbath  School  and  the  family 
altar.  In  the  language  of  "The  Boston  Journal,"  "It 
has  enlisted  sympathy  for  the  poor,  the  despised,  the 
wretched,  and  the  outcast,  and  aroused  general  interest  to 
the  great  social  requirement  of  the  age." 

For  a  book  thought  to  be  merely  juvenile,  it  is  making 
quite  a  stir  in  the  literary  world,  and  eliciting  some  sharp 
criticisms,  as  well  it  might.  No  great  evil  is  to  be  eradi 
cated  without  somebody  being  hurt.  The  fastidious  and 
the  prudish  have  been  fearful  of  being  contaminated  by  the 
scenes  of  North  Street ;  they  have  thought  it  awful  that 
Nicholas  Nobody  should  have  been  so  unfortunate  as  to 
have  had  no  father,  and  that  he  was  suffered  to  confess 
that  "  Us  fellers  be  at  a  discount.  There  be  so  many 
young  uns  left  'round  on  the  door-steps  now-a-days,  nobody 


8  PREFACE. 

wants  us  !  "  They  think  it  horrible  that  Tom  the  Trick 
ster  pulled  hair  and  stole  jack-knives;  that  Tim  the 
Tumbler  stood  on  his  head  instead  of  his  feet ;  that  Dinah 
the  darkey  used  plantation  phrases;  that  Solomon  Levi 
the  Jew  exhibited  his  Jewish  propensities  in  oppressing 
his  tenants  and  killing  poor  needlewomen ;  that  old  Mag 
Murphy  should  have  been  so  demonstrative  in  her  Irish 
lingo  before  the  Court ;  that  Patrick  Murphy  should  have 
been  deemed  by  old  Mag  a  saint ;  that  Jacobs  the  pawn 
broker  should  have  his  tricks  and  arts  exposed  before 
young  readers  of  the  Sabbath  School ;  that  the  little 
angel  Nellie  Nelson  should  ever  have  been  allowed  to 
speak  to  street-boys,  even  for  the  purpose  of  elevating 
them  ;  and  that  Ned  Nevins  should  thrust  in  everybody's 
face  his  motto,  "  If  I  do  no  wrong,  something  good  will 
come  to  me." 

It  has  also  been  objected  to,  that  the  book  is  opposed  to 
reformatory  institutions.  This  is  a  mistake  :  it  is  not 
opposed  to  any  means  for  doing  good.  None  can  doubt, 
however,  that  whole  communities  aroused  to  philanthropic 
action  will  accomplish  more  for  preventing  crime  and 
reforming  the  fallen  than  a  few  paid  officials  in  costly 
institutions.  Go  on,  then,  young  lad :  victory  is  thine ; 
"  Success  is  a  duty." 

HENRY  MORGAN, 

9  Groton  Street,  Boston. 
MARCH  7,  1867. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  Page 

I.    Introduction  of  Ked  Nevins  to  Mr.  Benedict 9 

II.    Ned  and  the  Lost  Pocket-book 19 

III.  Mary  Munroe  and  the  Counterfeit  Bill 28 

IV.  Mary's  Rescue.    Tragic  Death  of  her  Mother  ....     39 
V.    Night  School ;  Character  and  Condition  of  the  Pupils  .     48 

VI.    Instances  of  Street-boy  Heroism.    "  Touch  not,  taste 

not."  .  .  .  .  « 00 

VII.    Street-criers,  Beggars,  Boot-blacks,  and  Newsboys  .  .     72 
VIII.    National  Characteristics.    Out-door  Sports.     In-door 

Sufferings , 85 

IX.    Ned  Nevins  forced  into  a  Street-fight 94 

X.    Introduction  to  Mrs.  Sophia  Nevins,  Ned's  Mother  .    101 
XI.    Ned  a  Penitent  Prisoner.     His  Companions  in  the 

"Black  Maria" 114 

XII.    Mr.  Benedict's  Argument  with  Solomon  Levi  ....    122 

XIII.  Court  Scene.    Ned's  Trial  and  Narrow  Escape  ...    131 

XIV.  Solomon  Levi  and  David  Nelson 142 

XV.    Death  of  Ned's  Mother  in  Orange  Lane  ". 152 

XVI.    Funeral.    Ned  the  only   Mourner.    Appeal  for  the 

Needle-woman 162 

XVII.    Ned  a  night  in  the  Street.    Vision  of  his  Mother  .  .    171 
XVIII.    Ned's  first  Flogging,  by  David  Nelson,  who  is  incited 

to  Cruelty  by  Mrs.  Nelson 181 

XIX.    Ned's  Sickness.  Angel  Watcher.   Angel  of  the  Stair 
case  192 

XX.    Mrs.  Nelson's  Visit  to  Mrs.  Noodle  in  Chester  Park  .    203 
XXI.    Anniversary  Meetings.    Addresses  by  the  Governor, 

Mayor,  Wendell  Phillips,  &c 214 

7 


8  CONTEXTS. 

CHAPTER  Page 

XXII.    Snow  ball  Riot.    Appeal  to  the  Eioters •    229 

XXIII.  A  Lot  on  the  Avenue.    Mysterious  Epistle 240 

XXIV.  Nellie  Kelson's  Plea  to  a  hard-hearted  Mother.    The 

Mother's  Conversion 250 

XXV.    Mrs.  Kelson's  Visit  to  North  Street,  Black  Sea  and  its 

Waves.    LouisaLoviil 261 

XXVI.    Three  Vehicles.    A  Trinity  of  Woe.  Clarrissa  Leland  270 
XXVII.    Photographic  Album  of  Night-school  Teachers.  Nich 
olas  Nobody 280 

XXVIII.    IIow  Nicholas  Nobody  was  reclaimed 292 

XXIX.    Creatures  of  the  Coal-dump.    Ned  and  Dinah  in  a 

Confab 302 

XXX.  Ned  suspected  of  Bond  Robbery.  Perilous  State  .  .  312 
XXXI.  Mr.  Nelson's  Secret  Vow.  Unfortunate  Occurrence  .  321 
XXXII.  Nellie  allows  Strange  Visitors  to  her  Sick-room  .  .  .  331 

XXXIII.  Ned's  Last  Interview  with  Nellie 

XXXIV.  Mr.  Benedict's  Address.  School-boy's  View  of  Boston  351 
XXXV.    Sealed  Vision.     The  Philanthropist's  Reward  .  .  .    365 

XXXVI.  Death  of  Nellie.    Its  Effect  on  the  Newsboys  ....    375 

XXXVII.  Ned  in  a  Fracas  with  the  Pawnbroker 3S5 

XXXVIII.  Ned's  Reconciliation  to  Mr.  Nelson.     His  Adoption  395 

XXXIX.  Parting  with  the  Remaining  Characters.  Conclusion.  409 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Ned  Nevins.     Frontispiece 

Snowball  Riot 48 

Ned  at  the  Station-house 102 

Effect  of  Wendell  Phillips's  Speech 2-7 

View  of  the  Coal-dump 30$ 

The  Philanthropist's  Reward 374 


NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY ; 

OR, 

IRfe  in 


CHAPTER    I. 

INTRODUCTION    OF    NED    NEVINS    TO    MR.    BENEDICT. 

,ERE'S  th'  Heral',  Jirnil,  Trav'ler,  'Ran- 
script,  five  'clock,  last  'dition! —  paper, 
sir?'"'  cried  a  bright,  blue-eyed,  delicate- 
featured  boy  on  Washington  Street,  thrust 
ing  a  paper  into  the  face  of  a  gentleman 
who  stood  watching  him  intently.  Mr.  Ben 
edict,  an  elderly  gentleman,  dressed  in  black,  tall, 
having  a  high  forehead,  penetrating  eye,  benev 
olent  features,  a  tender  heart,  and  smiles  full  of 
love  and  charity,  stood  before  him.  He  was  struck 
with  the  plaintive  notes  of  the  newsboy  as  he 
cried,  "  Here's  th'  Heral',  Jirnil,  Trav'ler,  'Rail- 
script,  five  'clock,  last  'dition  ! "  with  a  voice 
that  seemed  broken  by  grief,  and  turned  to  sor« 


10  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

row  as  it  echoed  on  the  cold  winds  of  evening, 
unheeded  by  the  surging  multitude  rolling  by, 
each  man  intent  on  his  individual  interests.  He 
said  to  the  boy,  "  What  troubles  you,  my  lacl  ? 
are  you  sick?  You  look  sad." 

"  No,  sir,  not  'zactly  sick,"  said  the  boy,  taken 
all  aback  by  the  kind  salutation,  and  wondering 
that  anybody  should  care  for  the  health  or  com 
fort  of  a  poor,  ragged  newsboy  like  him.  The 
salutation  melted  his  over-burdened  heart :  he 
looked  up  into  the  face  of  Mr.  Benedict  as  though 
it  were  the  face  of  an  angel ;  and,  with  tears 
streaming  down  his  bronzed  cheeks,  he  repeated, 
"No,  sir,  I's  not  'zactly  sick;  but  it  goes  kinder 
hard  with  me  this  cold  weather,"  —  then  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  What  is  your  name  ? "  said  Mr.  Benedict. 
"Where  do  you  live?  and  why  are  you  not  at 
school?" 

"  My  name  is  Edward  Neviris,  sir.  I  lives  in 
Orange  Lane.  I  have  no  father.  My  mother  is 
sick  and  poor.  I  cannot  go  to  school ;  I  wish  I 
could.  I  has  to  pick  coal  on  the  dump  in  the 
mornin',  and  I  sells  papers  in  the  evenin' ;  and 
some  days  I  gits  a  little  job  at  a  provision-store, 
to  carry  out  baskets." 

"  Can't  your  mother  do  any  work  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  she  be  too  sick  to  work.    She  coughs 


STREET   LIFE  IN   BOSTON.  11 

bad,  sir;  she  can't  sleep;  she  sweats  the  bed 
clothes  through :  yet  she  be  so  cold,  it  takes  all 
the  coal  I  can  git  to  keep  her  warm." 

"  Don't  she  have  any  help  from  the  city  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  I  had  no  father  to  pay  taxes,  and  they 
wouldn't  give  her  any  coal." 

"  Why  don't  she  go  to  the  Poor-house,  where 
she  can  be  kept  warm  and  comfortable  ?  and  why 
don't  you  go  to  the  Reform  School  at  Westbor- 
ough,  where  you  can  learn  something  ?  " 

Then  the  poor  boy  shuddered  as  if  a  dagger 
had  pierced  his  soul,  and  tremblingly  said,  "  Ah ! 
sir,  that's  jist  what  the  city-man  said  when  he 
came  and  seed  her.  He  came  near  killin'  my  poor 
mother : .  she  fainted  away,  and  I  thought  she  be 
a-dyin'.  I  told  her  she  must  not  die,  for  Eddie 
would  have  no  mother.  Then  she  threw  her 
arms  around  my  neck,  and  kissed  me,  and  said  I 
must  not  be  parted  from  her,  she  would  not  go 
to  the  Poor-house,  no  !  she  could  never  come  to 
that ;  she  would  sell  her  stove,  and  her  bed,  and 
all  her  things,  and  die  on  the  floor  first.  Then 
she  held  up  my  face,  and  gazed  into  my  eyes,  as 
if  she  had  something  to  tell  me,  but  said  I  AVHS 
not  old  enough  to  hear  it  now,  —  I  shouldn't  allus 
be  so  poor ;  I  must  be  good,  and  say  my  prayers, 
and  tells  the  truth,  and  never  drink,  nor  swears, 
nor  go  to  the  theatres." 


12       NED  NEV1NS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

"Then  you  don't  go  to  school  at  all?" 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  am  goin'  to  the  Franklin  Night 
School.  I  hears  they  teaches  boys  to  read  there, 
and  learns  'em  to  cipher  and  write,  and  gives 
good  boys  clothes,  and  gits  places  for  'em  to  work, 
and  speaks  kind  to  'em,  and  'courages  'em,  and 
tells  'em  to  try  again  when1' they  gits  hard  up, 
and  don't  let  the  police  have  'em,  and  take  'em 
off  to  the  Island  when  they  gits  broke,  and  can't 
buy  no  more  papers." 

"  But  wouldn't  you  be  better  off  at  the  Island, 
or  in  the  School-ship,  where  you  can  be  kept 
warm,  and  have  good  books  to  read?  " 

''  No,  sir,  there  be  too  many  boys  there,  too 
many  bad  boys  together.  They  learns  more  that's 
bad  than  good:  the  bad  uns  spiles  the  good  uns. 
Besides,  sir,  I  wants  to  be  free,  —  that  is,  what 
mother  calls  self-reliant,  —  and  takes  care  of  my 
self  ^ind  my  poor  mother,  where  I  can  reads  arid 
says  my  prayers,  and  nobody  will  laugti  at  me 
and  mock  me." 

"  But  you  hear  swearing  and  rioting  every  day 
in  Orange  Lane?" 

"  Yis,  sir ;  but,  when  I  sees  'em  fightin',  I  jist 
shets  the  door,  and  turns  the  key,  then  I  tries  to 
talk  to  mother,  and  sings  to  her,  so  as  to  drown 
the  noise." 

"  Couldn't  you  do  the  same  in  the  School-ship?" 


STREET    LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  13 

"  No,  sir:  the  boys  be  mockin'  you,  and  pinchin' 
you,  and  persecutin'  you  all  the  time ;  and  you 
can't  git  away  from  'em.  Besides,  you  know, 
'taint  'spectable,"  said  the  boy,  standing  erect, 
and  assuming  a  more  dignified  bearing.  "  Taint 
'spectable  :  it  is  disgraceful.  Mother  says  if  I 
don't  keep  'spectable,  she  can't  tell  me  any  good 
news  before  she  dies." 

"  Then  wouldn't  you  go  into  the  country,  and 
live  on  a  farm,  where  there  are  no  boys  to  trouble 
you?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  would  choose  that ;  but  then  my 
poor,  sick  mother!  Oh!  what  would  she  do?" 
and  again  he  burst  into  tears.  "  She  would  have 
no  Eddie  to  pick  coal  for  her,  and  I  should  have 
no  mother  to  pray  for  me.  Oh  !  sir,  you  can't 
tell  how  much  she  prays  !  She  spends  most  all 
her  breath  in  prayin'  for  me.  She  says  if  I  do 
no  wrong,  somethin'  good  will  come  to  me." 

"  Did  she  always  pray  so?  " 

"  No.  sir,  she  says  she  was  once  gay  and  lively, 
but  sumthin'  came  over  her,  and  broke  her  heart ; 
and  she  wouldn't  tell  me  what  it  was  :  she  never 
would.  Sometimes  I  asked  her  why  I  didn't  have 
a  father,  like  other  boys ;  then  she  hushed  me, 
and  turned  so  pale,  and  trembled  so,  I  dare  not 
ask  her  again." 

"  If  I  give  you  some  money,"  said  Mr.  Benedict, 
"will  you  curry  it  to  her,  and  riot  spend  it?" 


14  NED    NEVJNS    THE    NEWSBOY;    OR, 

"  Certainly  I  will,  sir  :  I  never  spends  nuthin' 
that's  gin  to  her.  I  fear  God  would  smite  me 
dead  if  I  should." 

•"There!  take  that "  (handing  him  some  mon 
ey),  "  and  meet  me  at  the  Night  School  in  Frank 
lin-school  Building  to-morrow  night  if  you  can:  I 
have  long  desired  to  witness  the  workings  of 
that  institution." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  will  try  to  be  there  if  my 
mother  aint  too  sick."  Then  he  went  on  his  way 
crying  his  papers,  "Here's  the  Heral',  Jirnil, 
Trav'ler,  'Ranscript,  five  ''clock,  last  'dition ! " 
with  a  heart  filled  with  conflicting  emotions,  and 
in  a  plaintive  strain  that  drew  tears  from  the 
eyes  of  the  philanthropist. 

"  Self-reliant  and  respectable !  "  soliloquized  Mr. 
Benedict,  as  the  newsboy's  cry  echoed  down  the 
street  on  the  cold,  unfeeling  brow  of  evening, — 
"  self-reliant  and  respectable  /"  What  noble  aspi 
rations  from  a  poor,  ragged  street-boy,  working 
on  an  ash-heap  !  Oh,  how  my  heart  yearns  after 
that  child  !  I  shudder  at  his  prospects.  I  weep 
in  pity,  and  tremble  at  his  probable  fate.  His 
surroundings  of  moral  degradation  are  like  an 
avalanche  settling  on  a  tender  plant,  crushing 
every  fibre  and  bud  of  hope.  God  has  given  him 
a  bright  intellect,  generous  heart,  and  a  holy 
ambition  ;  yet  his  fate  seems  like  that  of  a  flower 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  15 

striving  to  bloom  on  the  frosty  bosom  of  winter, 
—  a  Jamb  among  wolves,  a  frail  bark  drifting, 
wind-bound,  on  a  lee-shore.  Ten  chances,  per 
haps  a  hundred  chances,  to  one,  that  he  early 
becomes  a  wreck  on  the  reefs  of  crime.  Thrown 
out  on  the  cold  charities  of  an  unfeeling  world, 
without  parent  or  friend  to  protect  him  ;  in  a 
calling  the  most  dangerous,  a  school  for  obscenity, 
profanity,  and  crime ;  with  his  way  hedged  up, 
and  the  suspicious  eye  of  the  police  ever  upon 
him,  —  how  can  he  escape?  What  but  a  super 
human  power  can  shield  him  from  a  felon's  fate? 
Weep,  0  my  soul !  weep  and  shudder  at  his 
prospects  !  Yet  he  is  but  one  of  a  thousand  in 
this  city  who  need  our  succor  and  protection. 

Now,  Mr.  Benedict  is  a  noted  philanthropist. 
His  closets  are  filled  with  goods  for  the  needy  ; 
he  is  seen  almost  every  day  on  the  public  street, 
or  at  the  auction  rooms,  gathering  in  stores,  and 
disbursing  them  among  his  various  co-laborers ; 
yet  he  has  a  strange  way  of  giving.  Somehow, 
he  has  not  the  most  explicit  faith  in  public  re 
formatory  institutions.  He  believes  in  individual 
effort,  in  every  man  performing  his  part.  His 
appeal  at  the  bar  of  public  opinion  is  individual 
effort  versus  public  institutions.  He  thinks  the 
power  and  example  of  missionaries  and  philan 
thropists  as  wholesome  before  boys  as  that  of 


1  (.,  NED   NEVINS   THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

aldermen,  legislators,  and  directors  ;  especially 
if  the  tone  of  these  men  be  not  particularly  pious. 
He  does  not  donate  much  for  brick  and  mortar 
to  erect  buildings,  nor  for  salaried  functionaries. 
He  does  not  believe  that  a  few  salaried  officials, 
with  whip  and  lash,  teaching  by  rote,  parrot- 
like,  will  accomplish  more  than  a  whole  com 
munity  of  volunteer,  uncompensated  laborers, 
fresh  from  the  fields  of  benevolence,  battling 
against  sin  by  moral  suasion  alone.  He  does  not 
believe  that  any  one  master,  by  rigid  force, 
making  a  hundred  boys  into  a  class,  would  win 
their  sympathies  and  fire  their  hearts,  like  twenty 
teachers  with  five  or  six  pupils  in  each  class. 
These  teachers  become  acquainted  with  every 
temperament,  every  capacity,  and  appeal  to  every 
individual  ambition. 

Neither  has  he  been  converted  to  the  "  hud 
dling"  system,  —  a  system  that  congregates  cul 
prits  together,  plague  to  plague,  fire  to  fire,  in 
order  to  quench  the  flames  of  vice.  True  phi 
lanthropy  scatters  them ;  despotism  huddles  them 
together.  Despotism  feeds  and  clothes  them  at 
an  enormous  cost ;  philanthropy  lends  them  a 
helping  hand,  and  makes  them  reform  voluntarily, 
and  almost  at  their  own  expense.  To  place  the 
street-boys  of  Boston  in  institutions,  and  feed 
them,  and  clothe  them,  would  cost  five  hundred 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  17 

dollars  a  day.  To  educate  arid  reform  them, 
while  on  the  street,  by  night-schools  and  similar 
means,  and  allow  them  to  earn  their  own  living 
at  some  honest  calling  during  the  day,  saves  the 
State  five  hundred  dollars  a  day,  or  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  a  year. 

Recent  developments  show  that  there  are  as 
many  families  wishing  to  adopt  children  as  there 
are  parentless  children  to  be  adopted  ;  while 
public  institutions  are  overrun,  good  homes  and 
wiHing  sponsors  are  left  childless.  Parental 
homes  are  better  than  public  institutions.  Re 
forms,  to  be  genuine,  must  be  voluntary  ;  and,  in 
the  midst  of  temptation,  hot-house  plants  cannot 
stand  the  storm.  There  is  no  moral  grandeur  in 
abstaining  from  thieving  where  there  is  nothing 
to  steal.  There  is  no  virtue  in  fasting  where 
there  is  nothing  to  eat.  Reformed  culprits  and 
reformed  Magdalens,  at  five  hundred  dollars  a 
head  in  public  institutions,  are  costly  ornaments, 
and  of  uncertain  tenure.  The  world  has  not 
wealth  enough  to  reform  its  delinquents  at  that 
price.  Mr.  Benedict  had  known  of  one  Magdalen 
institution,  which,  at  a  cost  of  four  thousand  dol 
lars,  had  furnished  diplomas  to  six  graduates,  all 
of  whom  fell  in  less  than  six  months.  He  had 
also  been  acquainted  with  boys  who  had  gradu 
ated  from  the  Reform  Schools,  who  could  not  sign 
2 


18  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

their  names  to  an  indenture,  but  had  to  make 
their  mark.  One  boy,  who  had  been  at  the  Farm 
School  nine  years,  had  progressed  in  arithmetic 
only  as  far  as  fractions.  These  boys  appeared 
as  bright  as  ordinary  boys;  but  they  had  become 
discouraged,  disheartened,  saying,  "No  man 
cares  a  copper  for  me." 

Mr.  Benedict's  plan  is  to  give  them  homes,  or 
lend  them  a  helping  hand  in  the  street,  to  inspire 
them  with  ambition,  make  them  self-reliant,  heroic, 
independent,  while  battling  with  the  tempter 
face  to  face. 

But  Mr.  Benedict  had  strange  notions  for  this 
age  and  the  customs  of  our  times.  So  long  as 
there  are  men  who  love  to  endow  institutions,  to 
win  a  name  rather  than  to  scatter  their  charities 
unseen  among  the  lowly,  just  so  long  there  will 
be  congregated  Magdalens,  culprits,  paupers,  and 
even  war-worn  soldiers,  with  no  family  ties,  no 
heavenly  ministrations  by  friends,  no  hallowed 
influence  of  woman,  all  huddled  together  in  a 
contaminating  mass,  only  to  breed  corruption. 
Besides,  institutions  have  such  a  knack  of  show- 
ing-off  on  examination-day  !  Ah,  Mr.  Benedict 
you  are  behind  the  age,  —  altogether  behind  the 
times  !  Never,  never,  till  the  advent  of  the 
millennium,  can  your  theory  be  universally 
adopted  ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

NED  NEVINS  AND  THE  LOST  POCKET-BOOK. 

CAN'T  do  it!  It  is  wrong!  My  mother 
says,  '  if  I  do  no  wrong,  sumthin'  good  will 
come  to  me.7  I  can't  do  wrong  !  It  is  wrong!" 
said  Ned  Nevins  the  coal-picker,  as  he  was 
coming  over  Dover-street  Bridge  with  bas 
ket  in  hand,  when  he  picked  up  a  large  pocket- 
book.  Before  him  was  a  man  walking  leisurely 
along,  with  an  overcoat  on  his  arm,  out  of  which 
had  fallen  the  pocket-book.  Ned  saw  it  fall. 
Behind  him  were  two  wicked  boys,  living  near 
the  bridge,  who  tried  to  dissuade  Ned  from  giv 
ing  up  the  pocket-book. 

"  Keep  it !  Keep  it,  ye  fool  ye  !  Don't  give 
it  up  !  "  they  said. 

But  Ned  replied,  "  It  aint  mine.  I  can't  do 
it !  It  is  wrong  !  My  mother  says,  '  if  I  do  no 
wrong,  sumthin'  good  wUl  come  to  me.'  I  can't 
do  wrong !  " 

Ned  was  poor ;  his  mother  was  literally  starv 
ing  in  Orange  Lane.  Ned's  earnings  in  picking 
coal  and  selling  papers  were  her  only  support. 

19 


20  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

The  mother  was  past  work  ;  she  was  dying.  Oh ! 
how  acceptable  would  even  a  trifle  be  to  her  now! 
What  little  dainty  meats  it  might  purchase  !  what 
relief  to  her  dying  frame  !  what  comfort  to  her 
over-burdened  heart!  But  no!  she  died  as  a 
martyr  dies  ;  she  died  for  a  principle  ;  she  died 
penniless,  without  a  cent  to  purchase  a  coffin 
even;  and  was  placed  in  a  box,  and  carried  by  the 
city-cart  to  the  potter's  field.  She  would  starve 
rather  than  have  her  boy  do  wrong. 

"  I  can't  do  wrong  !  "  said  Ned.  "  It  would  be 
wrong  to  keep  it !  "  and  quick  as  thought,  with 
out  parleying  a  moment  with  the  tempter,  or 
listening  to  one  argument  against  his  conscience, 
he  flew  to  the  man,  and  said,  "  Here,  sir,  you  have 
lost  your  pocket-book  !  " 

The  man  turned  round,  exasperated  with  as 
tonishment  to  think  he  had  so  carelessly  lost  it; 
and,  forgetting  even  common  civility,  he  snatched 
the  pocket-book  from  Ned's  hand,  for  it  had  large 
sums  in  it,  and  said,  "  Ah,  you  rascal,  you  thief, 
you  stole  it !  Get  out  of  my  sight ! "  and  he 
cursed  him  with  an  oath.  But  the  noble-hearted 
boy  did  not  look  for  reward  or  favor,  he  only 
wished  to  do  right:  a  good  conscience  was  its 
own  reward.  He  coveted  no  money  but  what  he 
honestly  acquired  :  he  wanted  to  be  "  self-reliant 
and  respectable"  Ah  !  how  the  boys  laughed  and 


STREET    LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  21 

chuckled  and  crowed  over  him,  when  they  saw 
how  unkindly  Ned  was  treated  by  the  cruel,  un 
grateful  man. 

'•'  Ye  had  better  a  gin  it  to  us,  ye  had :  we 
would  have  had  a  bully  of  a  time  with  it,  so  we 
would  !  "  (  They  did  have  a  good  time  when  they 
stole  twenty-five  dollars  from  a  till.  They  went 
to  Portland,  and  had  a  "  bully  time  ;  "  and,  when 
they  came  back,  were  arrested,  and  are  now 
serving  out  their  time  on  Deer  Island.) 

Oh,  what  a  motto  was  that  for  a  boy  coming 
from  the  purlieus  of  vice  from  Orange  Lane  ! 
"What  confidence  does  it  imply  in  the  principles 
of  justice  and  truth  !  What  trust  in  God  !  What 
a  shield  against  temptation !  What  a  charm 
against  the  charmer  !  Noble  sentiment !  Angels 
heard  it,  and  rejoiced.  Sunbeams  photographed 
the  impression  from  that  boy's  lips,  and  bore  it  on 
spirit- wings  as  a  balm  of  comfort  to  many  a  pray 
ing  mother's  heart.  The  waters  saw  it,  and  were 
glad ;  yea,  the  waters  of  Boston  Harbor,  that  have 
borne  on  their  bosom  so  many  young  men  to  per 
dition,  as  they  entered  this  great  city  from  their 
country  homes,  —  waters  that  are  now  wailing 
requiems  over  thousands  lost,  as  they  roll  in  with 
the  tide  from  the  Kennebec  and  Merrimack,  dash 
ing  agahist  the  piers  and  wharves  in  dirges  that 
make  the  heart  shudder  over  the  wreck  of  Maine 


22  NED    KEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

and  New  Hampshire's  children,  —  the  waters  saw 
it,  and  were  glad,  when  one  child,  bursting  from 
the  many  predestined  to  a  career  of  vice,  had  for 
his  shield  of  defence,  "  If  I  do  no  wrong,  some 
thing  good  will  come  to  me."  But,  alas  for  Ned  ! 
he  had  held  the  sentiment  more  in  theory  than 
in  practice :  he,  too.  may  fall  at  the  very  next 
temptation,  and  his  name  be  added  to  the  long 
roll  of  sons  who  have  gone  out  with  noble  senti 
ments  of  morality  from  the  nursery,  to  rush  into 
sensuality  and  crime. 

Ned  was  sent  on  an  errand  to  one  of  the  gam 
ing-houses  of  Boston,  where  the  beau  monde 
do  congregate.  While  waiting  for  the  proprietor, 
he  saw  what  he  never  witnessed  before  ;  sights 
which,  at  first  view,  must  deeply  shake  his  faith 
in  the  prosperity  of  the  righteous.  The  whole 
establishment  was  conducted  on  false  principles. 
It  was  wrong  to  drink  and  gamble  and  cheat 
and  lie  ;  yet  by  these  means  were  purchased  all 
this  costly  furniture,  and  all  this  glittering  show 
of  wealth  and  pleasure.  Here  vice  revelled  in 
luxury,  and  science  and  the  gifts  of  genius  pan 
dered  to  appetite.  This  was  a  gala  night,  and 
dancing,  as  well  as  gaming,  was  the  order  of  ex 
ercises.  The  hall  seemed  one  bright  halo  of 
light  and  loveliness.  Gilded  chandeliers  looked 
down  on  the  faces  of  fair  women  and  voluptuous 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  23 

young  men,  moving  for  the  dance.  Ruby  decan 
ters,  with  silver  stopples,  stood  more  inviting  to 
the  votaries  of  Terpsichore  and  Silenus,  after 
the  fatigues  of  the  hour,  than  the  classic  fount 
of  Castalia.  The  tinsel  adornments  of  the  saloon 
shone  like  silver  and  gold,  and  the  features  Of  the 
guests  seemed  to  betoken  nothing  but  pleasure. 
"Hark  to  the  music  !  On  with  the  dance  !  Choose 
your  partners  !  "  and  an  array  of  beauty  sweeps 
over  the  floor  to  the  centre  of  the  hall.  Motion 
less,  and  like  statues,  these  magnificent  figures 
stand  at  each  other's  side,  awaiting  the  signal 
that  shall  send  them  whirling  over  the  floor  like 
snow-flakes  in  the  winter's  breeze.  The  signal 
sounds  ;  the  dance  commences.  In  a  twinkling, 
those  motionless  statues  breathe  and  stir  with 
life,  and  the  air  is  filled  with  clouds  of  floating 
beauty.  Forms  beautiful  as  seraphs  float  like 
fragrant  exhalations  of  grace  and  loveliness, 
through  the  palpitating  ranks  of  beauty  and  fash 
ion.  Eyes  look  in  loveliness  to  answering  eyes, 
and  cheeks  glow  with  ardor,  while  ravishing 
tones  of  music  intoxicate  the  senses,  and  seem  to 
breathe  oblivion  to  all  human  woes.  Ned's  brain 
whirled  with  excitement  as  he  gazed  upon  the 
giddy  maze,  and  his  soul  was  stirred  with  won- 
der  at  the  apparent  pleasures  of  sin. 

This  'was  no  low  dance-hall,   no  North-street 


24  NED    NEVINS   THE    NEWSBOY;    OR, 

affair,  but  one  of  the  most  fashionable  resorts  of 
Boston.  Ned  saw  and  wondered,  but  wondered 
more,  when  he  discovered  what  was  going  on  in 
other  apartments.  As  he  entered  another  room, 
there  were  several  fast  young  men  trying  their 
luck  at  games  of  chance.  Some  of  them  were 
clerks  in  the  first  houses  ;  and  some,  professional 
gamblers.  Some  were  playing  at  faro,  some  with 
dice,  and  some  with  cards.  There  was  one  young 
man,  or  lad,  whom  Ned  knew  :  he  had  been  his 
companion  on  the  coal-dump.  How  changed  his 
appearance  !  Then  he  was  in  rags ;  now  he  ap 
peared  fashionably  dressed,  and  in  luck.  He  bet 
and  won,  then  bet  again,  until  he  had  amassed 
quite  a  sum.  How  quickly  and  how  easily  was 
the  money  obtained  !  Just  by  turning  over  the 
hand,  and  the  thing  is  done  !  This  staggered 
Ned's  faith  in  his  motto.  "  Ah  !  "  thought  Ned, 
"  how  is  it  that  this  boy  has  suddenly  become  so 
changed,  so  smart,  proud,  and  flush  ?  How  is  it 
that  I  am  still  in  rags,  working  on  the  dump,  and 
my  mother  starving,  while  he  struts  about  like  a 
prince? "  Ned  looked  on  with  a  heavy  heart:  he 
became  sa$  and  unhappy.  Oh  the  inequalities 
of  life  !  Some  seem  born  to  luxury  and  ease, 
while  others  are  doomed  to  toil,  to  drudgery,  and 
to  starvation.  Why  should  he  be  so  miserably 
poor?  Why  should  his  mother  be  left  alone  to 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  25 

die?  Why  should  she  hunger  after  the  smallest 
crust  ? 

Ned  began  to  doubt  God's  goodness.  The  ways 
of  Providence  seemed  unequal  and  hard.  He  was 
discontented  with  his  lot,  when  he  saw  Dick  Bow 
ler  flourishing  in  broadcloth  and  satin,  while  he 
was  garbed  only  in  rags  and  tatters. 

"  Ye  haint  got  nuthin'  to  bet,  have  ye  ?  "  said 
Dick,  looking  in  derision  upon  Ned's  rags.  "Ye 
be  still  pickin'  coal,  heh  ?  Ye  carry  all  yer 
money  hum  to  yer  mammy,  don't  ye  ?  Pshaw  ! 
why  don't  ye  try  your  luck  at  cards  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  do  carry  the  money  home ;  and  I  only 
wish  I  could  do  something  more  for  my  poor  sick 
mother.  I  would  work  my  flesh  off  my  bones 
if  I  could  make  her  well." 

"  Work  !  who  said  any  thing  about  work  ?  We 
don't  have  to  work.  Why,  it's  jist  as  easy  as 
nuthin' !  Here,  look  at  these  shiners  (showing 
a  handful  of  change) !  I  made  them  all  in  less 
than  half  an  hour,  an'  so  you  might." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  right,  Dick,  to  get  money 
so?" 

"  In  course  it  be.  If  a  feller  is  lucky,  who  be 
to  blame,  heh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  is  a  feller  allus  lucky  ?  " 

"  Why,  ye  must  know  how  to  finger  the  cards. 
If  ye  bet  high,  ye  loses  a  little  at  first ;  but  ye 


26  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

soon  gits  the  hang  of  things  though.  Don't  ye 
want,  now,  to  be  dressed  up  smart,  like  other 
folks,  and  be  somebody  ?  Then  try  your  luck. 
1  commenced  small;  but  I  tell  you  what,  Dick 
Bowler  is  some,  now,  among  'em  (throwing  open 
his  fashionably  cut  coat,  and  displaying  the 
satin  vest,  and  a  frilled  shirtrbosom  studded  with 
imitation  diamonds)  ! " 

Ned  was  perplexed.  The  magic  spell  was 
creeping  over  his  soul,  and  the  serpentine 
charmer  was  weaving  its  network  tighter  and 
tighter  around  him ;  yet  he  would  not  gamble, 
no,  not  even  to  save  his  life.  But  he  was  dissat 
isfied,  discontented, and  unhappy.  He  went  home, 
repining  over  his  lot,  and  mourning  at  his  fate. 
For  several  nights,  he  well-nigh  forgot  his 
prayers;  and  he  murmured  against  God.  Bat 
when  he  learned  the  fate  of  some  of  those  men  ; 
that  most  of  the  clerks  that  appeared  so  gay  had 
been  dismissed  for  want  of  confidence,  and  that 
Dick  Bowler  had  been  employed  only  as  a  guy, 
a  stool-pigeon,  to  decoy  others  into  gaming;  that 
all  his  gains  were  fictitious,  and  only  for  a  bait ; 
that  soon  after,  he  was  arrested,  and  sentenced  to 
jail  for  obtaining  money  under  false  pretences,  — 
then  Ned  came  to  his  senses,  arid  thanked  God 
for  his  escape,  and  took  courage.  Now  he  was 
content  with  his  lot;  he  toiled  early  and  late; 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  27 

he  trusted  in  Providence,  every  day  striving  to 
be  more  faithful  to  God,  and  to  his  mother,  re 
peating  his  motto  in  the  face  of  every  temptation, 
in  hunger  and  cold  ;  by  the  bedside  of  his  dying 
mother,  and  over  her  grave, — "  If  I  do  no  wrong, 
something  good  will  come  to  me." 


CHAPTER    III. 

MARY  MUNROE   AND   THE   COUNTERFEIT   BILL. 

)H !  don't,  mother !  you  will  kill  me ! 
Don't  boat  me,  mother  !  I  will  go  !  yes, 
I  will  go  !  "  said  Mary  Munroe  to  a  rum- 
infuriated  woman  at  the  foot  of  Kneelancl 
Street.  Mary  was  her  daughter,  a  modest 
tender-hearted  child  of  fourteen.  "Don't 
beat  me  !  I  shall  die  !  Oh  dear,  oh  dear  !  you 
will  kill  me !  "  But,  the  more  she  screamed, 
thicker  and  faster  came  the  blows,  until  at  last, 
bruised  and  bleeding,  she  fell,  exhausted  and 
almost  senseless,  upon  the  floor.  A  policeman, 
hearing  the  outcries,  rushed  into  the  house,  and 
demanded  an  explanation.  il  Plase  seer,  yer 
'oiior,  I  ba  a-teachiu'  my  cheeld  obagence.  I'm 
after  thinkin'  ye  won't  interfere,  seer  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  policeman,  "  what  has  the  girl 
done  ?  " 

"  Done  ?    done  ?   yer   'onor  !     She  bees   done 
nuthin  !  the  idle  trollop  !     She  won't  do  nuthin  1 
That's  jist  what  1  bate  her  fur  !  " 
"  What  did  you  want  her  to  do  ?  " 

28 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  29 

"  Wan't  her  to  do?  did. yer  say  ?  Why,  I  told 
her  to  do  an  errand  for  me,  seer." 

"What  errand?"  asked  .the  policeman 
sternly. 

"  Why,  seer  !  yer  'onor,  I  told  her  to  go  to  the 
store,  and  buy  somethin'." 

"  What  thing  did  you  send  for?  " 

11  Ah,  ha !  seer  !  that  bees  no  gintleman  in 
yon  to  be  after  inquiring  into  a  woman's  wants  ; 
an'it's  yourself  that  bater  be  asy,  and  ask  no  sich 
questions  entirely." 

"  Didn't  you  send  for  rum?  and  didn't  you 
send  a  counterfeit  bill  ?  " 

"  No,  seer  !  I  didn't,  yer  'onor.  Niver  a  bit  of 
a  counterfeit  bill  did  I  send  :  no  seer  !  " 

"  Then  let  me  look  at  your  money,"  reaching 
forth  his  hand.  "  Don't  cum  neer  me  !  "  she 
said  with  repulsive  gestures,  "  I  has  got  no 
money.  Niver  a  bit  of  counterfeit  money  will 
ye  find  on  ma  at  all  at  all." 

"  She  has  got  it,  cried  the  prostrate  girl,  com 
ing  a  little  to  her  senses,  and  striving  to  rise, 
her  face  still  bleeding.  "  She  has  got  counter 
feit  money,  and  she  told  me  she  would  whip  me 
to  death  if  I  didn't  help  her  to  pass  it :  so  I  gin 
two  fives  to  some  girls  to  pass,  and  they  both 
went  to  the  House  of  Correction.  And  'cause 
I  showed  this  bill  to  you,  and  you  said  I  mustn't 


30       NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

pass  it,  then  she  almost  killed  me.  01),  sir  ! 
I  don't  want  to  stay  here  :  she  will  murder  me  ! 
She  says  I  must  go  with  those  girls,  that  come 
here  all  dressed  up  fine,  and  I  must  bring  her 
money  to  pay  for  my  bringin'-up  !  Oh,  sir ! 
take  me  away  from  here,  and  save  me  from  this 
dreadful  place." 

Now  the  policeman  was  no  stranger  to  these 
premises  :  he  had  often  been  called  here  to  quell 
disturbances.  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Munroe  and  wife 
were  not  equally  matched,  were  not  harmonious 
in  living.  He  was  a  Protestant,  and  she  a  Cath 
olic,  in  faith.  He  thought  her  Catholicism  did 
not  tend  to  harmony  in  the  family  ;  so  he  resolved 
to  have  no  more  babies  christened  by  the  priest. 
Oh !  vain  resolve  !  He  ought  to  have  known, 
that,  to  pique  a  woman  about  her  baby,  brings 
war  and  bloodshed.  So  when  he  came  home, 
and  found  the  priest  performing  ceremonies 
over  the  new-comer,  he  strove  to  interfere,  when 
a  row  ensued,  and  Munroe  came  out  of  the  melee 
second-best,  with  a  broken  jaw.  This  ended  his 
opposition  for  a  time,  and  his  wife  only  did  the 
jawing ;  for  he  was  minus  an  instrument  for 
such  performances.  But,  in  their  last  light,  things 
became  more  serious,  and  his  wife  got  the  worst 
of  it,  as  the  sequel  will  show. 

But  Mary,    the    kind-hearted,    lovely    Mary, 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  31 

who  will  take  care  of  her  ?  Wlie  will  protect 
her  from  the  plots  of  that  unnatural  and  brutal 
mother  ? 

In  sabbath  school,  she  had  learned  the  princi 
ples  of  morality ;  and  she  determined  to  hold  to 
them.  But  what  chance  of  success  has  she  here  ? 
How  can  a  young,  delicate  girl  withstand  the 
temptations  of  her  own  heart,  and  the  snares  of 
an  artful  mother  ?  "  Oh,  do  protect  me  !  Oh, 
take  me  !  "  she  said,  —  "  take  me  away  from  this 
dreadful  place  !  " 

The  policeman  took  her,  and  placed  her  in  a 
neighboring  dwelling,  for  protection,  until  he 
could  get  a  home  for  her ;  but  the  enraged 
mother  ran  to  the  dwelling,  dashed  in  the  win 
dow,  and  secured  the  child,  and  gave  her  another 
beating. 

At  the  first  opportunity,  Mary  again  fled  from 
home,  determined  never  to  enter  it  again.  She 
sought  out  the  kind  policeman  on  his  nightly 
round,  and  followed  him  a  little  way  in  the  dis 
tance,  so  as  to  be  within  hearing  in  time  of  dan 
ger  ;  and,  all  the  long  weary  night,  she  staid  in 
the  streets,  and  sheltered  herself  from  the  cold, 
and  from  sight,  within  an  unfinished  building 
near  by  a  lumber-yard,  trying  to  escape  from  the 
cruelty  of  that  monster  mother. 

Ned  Nevins,  at  a  late  hour  of  night,  was  re- 


32  NED    NEVINS    THE   NEWSBOY  |    Oil, 

turning  from*  an  apothecary's  shop  with  medi 
cines  for  his  distressed  and  dying  mother,  when 
he  saw  Mary  in  the  street.  As  she  told  her 
story,  he  could  but  weep  for  her  fate.  When  he 
left  her,  he  felt  that  something  ill  might  befall 
her  that  very  night;  and  on  his  way  home,  as 
he  saw  a  man  muffled  up,  looking  mysteriously 
and  suspiciously  about,  and  travelling  in  her 
direction,  the  thought  occurred  with  redoubled 
force  to  him,  that  she  might  be  in  danger.  He 
hastened  home  with  the  medicines,  and,  finding 
his  mother  more  quiet,  he  ventured  out  to  watch 
Mary's  fate. 

It  is  a  dark  and  foggy  night ;  no  lamps  shine 
in  the  streets  ;  a  deep  and  heavy  mist  hangs 
over  the  city.  The  clock  on  Castle  Street 
Church  has  just  struck  eleven.  Washington 
Street  is  yet  full  of  pedestrians  ;  but  those  nar 
row  streets  on  what  is  called  the  "  Cove"  are 
comparatively  empty.  Now  and  then  a  single 
individual  is  Returning  to  his  home  ;  but  most  of 
the  inhabitants  are  asleep. 

A  door  is  seen  to  open  on  Genesee  Street,  and 
from  it  emerges  a  man  wearing  a  black  cloak. 
His  cap  is  closely  drawn  over  his  head  ;  a  muffler 
is  tightly  bound  round  his  neck  ;  his  head  is 
bowed  as  if  in  shame  ;  and  his  face  is  partly  cov 
ered  with  the  folds  of  his  cloak.  It  is  not  ex- 


STREET   LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  33 

tremely  cold,  neither  is  this  individual  afflicted 
with  cough ;  then,  why  this  disguise  ?  Ah, 
reader  !  he  is  one  of  those  individuals  who  would 
be  called  a  gentleman,  yet  steeping  himself  in 
the  furnes  of  sensuality  and  debauchery,  —  one 
whom  mothers  teach  their  daughters  to  shun  as 
they  would  a  viper.  He  is  so  insinuating,  that 
innocence  itself  might  be  deceived  by  him.  He 
has  respectable  connections,  a,  fine  education, 
superior  talents.  He  has  had  the  best  advanta 
ges  ;  but  he  has  wasted  them  all  on  objects  of  lust. 
A  night  dark,  misty,  and  uncomfortable,  is  the 
time  for  such  men  to  stalk  abroad  :  the  elements 
are  in  harmony  with  their  dark  designs.  Thieves 
and  burglars  are  honest  men  compared  with 
these  fiends  incarnate.  Thieves  steal  only  gold, 
and  such  merchandise  as  gold  will  purchase ; 
but  these  educated  ruffians,  these  saintly  vil 
lains,  steal  life,  character,  reputation,  hope, 
heaven.  The  pestilential  contagion  of  their  in 
fectious  breath  breathes  ruin,  anguish,  despair, 
death,  and  hell.  Hell  itself  is  moved  from 
beneath  to  meet  them  at  their  coming. 

At  this  dwelling,  the  gentleman  has  been  foiled. 
He  has  found  the  one  he  trusted  in  to  be  as  false 
to  him  as  to  others  ;  so  he  saunters  out  like  a 
roaring  lion,  seeking  whom  he  may  devour. 

To  avoid  the   crowds  that  may  be  seen  on 

3 


34  NED    NEVINS    TFIE    NEWSBOY;    OH, 

Washington  Street,  lie  turns  eastward  into  Al 
bany  Street,  and,  looking  backward  and  forward, 
lie  passes  on  as  if  unsettled  in  his  purpose.  Soon 
he  hears  a  piteous  cry  in  an  unfinished  building 
near  a  lumber-yard.  He  approaches  the  place  ; 
but  all  is  still  again.  He  stops  and  listens,  till, 
at  last,  the  sound  is  renewed  in  doleful  cadences, 
which  strike  him  as  the  moaning  of  a  child.  He 
speaks;  but  no  answer  is  returned:  lie  krioqks 
and  raps  upon  the  building  until  the  dreaming 
child  awakes. 

It  was  Mary  Munroe. 

She  had  taken  shelter  in  that  building,  waiting 
for  the  policeman  to  come  round  on  his  beat, 
until  she  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  shavings. 
There  in  her  distress,  she  was  dreaming,  and 
crying  aloud.  At  the  knocking  of  the  stranger, 
she  awoke,  and  said,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Policeman  !  have 
you  come  so  quick  ?  "  But  she  soon  discovered 
her  mistake,  and  started  back  in  alarm. 

"  Do  not  be  frightened,  my  pretty  girl,  my  little 
duck,  my  darling  !"  said  the  stranger.  "lam 
not  the  policeman;  but  I  will  be  your  friend. 
What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  At  his  approach,  she 
started  back  in  terror,  and  shuddered  with  hor 
ror.  In  fleeing  from  that  mother,  she  had  per 
haps  fled  from  the  jaws  of  the  lion  to  fall  into 
the  paws  of  a  bear.  Oh  !  how  could  she  escape  ? 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  35 

But  the  stranger  was  elated  at  his  success.  He 
saw,  as  the  misty  clouds  gave  way  and  the  half- 
concealed  moon  appeared,  that  he  had  found  a 
beautiful  female,  of  tender  years,  just  the  object 
of  his  search.  Oh  !  how  greedily  his  ravishing 
eyes  gloated  on  that  pure  young  maid  of  inno 
cence  and  love!  "  Oh,  happy  fortune!"  thought 
he ;  "  spirits  have  favored  me  !  angels  have  di 
rected  my  steps  !  "  Angels  indeed  had  guided 
him ;  but  they  were  fallen  angels,  such  as  minis 
ter  to  the  damned. 

"  Come  here,  my  child.  Are  you  not  cold  ?  " 
said  he.  "  No  sir/''  said  the  child  tremblingly, 
and  looking  for  a  chance  of  escape.  "  I  am  not 
cold,  sir.  I  am  waiting  for  the  policeman  to 
come."  —  "  Policeman  !  what  have  you  to  do  with 
a  policeman?  "  —  "  Oh,  sir  !  my  mother  has  beat 
me,  and  almost  killed  me.  She  is  so  cruel,  and 
threatens  me  so,  that  the  policeman  is  going  to 
protect  me  till  I  can  get  a  home." 

"  Capital,  glorious  ! "  thought  the  stranger. 
"  Here,  indeed,  is  the  object  of  my  search,  the 
ambition  of  my  life.  Poor  unfortunate  girl ;  I 
can  adopt  her,  and  make  her  my  own,  unbeknown 
to  any  living  mortal.  Oh,  favorite  of  fortune  !  " 
And,  approaching  the  terrified  girl,  he  said  sooth 
ingly,  and  in  most  plausible  and  persuasive 
tones,  "Don't  be  afraid,  my  darling.  Won't  you 


36  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

go  along  with  me  ?  Do  not  stay  here  in  the 
cold :  I  will  be  a  better  friend  than  the  police 
man  to  you."-  — "Oh,  no,  sir!  Do  not  come 
near  me  ;  do  not  speak  to  me.  Oh,  let  me  alone, 
sir  !  do  1  begone  and  leave  me  ! "  —  "  But  you 
don't  know  me  :  you  dourt  know  what  I  can  do 
for  you.  I  can  give  you  a  home,  and  a  carriage, 
and  money,  and  make  you  happy.  Look  at  this 
gold  watch,  see  this  chain !  here,  take  this 
ring  1  I  can  make  you  rich."  —  "  Oh  !  I  don't 
want  the  ring !  I  don't  wan't  to  be  rich,  sir ; 
No,  I  don't.  Please  let  me  go,  and  find  the 
policeman,"  —  starting  to  go. 

"  Stop  a  moment,  my  child,  just  a  moment/' 
he  said,  seizing  her  by  the  hand,  with  a  grasp 
that  told  her  but  too  plainly,  that  she  was  at  his 
mercy.  "  Oh,  sir  !  you  are  cruel  to  stop  me. 
You  must  be  a  wicked  man  to  hold  me  here 
when  I  wan't  to  go."  —  "Where  do  you  wan't  to 
go?"  —  "  I  wan't  to  go  to  my  friend,"  bursting 
into  tears.  "But  I  am  your  friend."  —  "Ah, 
sir,  if  you  were  a  friend,  you  would  not  hold 
me  here/'  twitching  and  jerking  her  hand  to  ex 
tricate  it  from  his  grasp.  "  Let  me  go,  or  I  will 
cry  '  Murder  !  '  "  she  said  indignantly.  Yet  still 
more  tightly  did  he  hold  her,  and  threatened  to 
choke  her  to  death  if  she  uttered  a  loud  word. 
Oh  !  how  the  angels  in  heaven  must  have  wept 


STREET   LIFE   IN  BOSTON.  37 

at  that  poor  girl's  fate  !  Oh7ye  ministering  spir 
its,  ye  heavenly  messengers  !  is  there  no  pro 
tection  for  the  innocent  ?  no  succor  in  heaven 
for  the  defenceless?  Is  justice  dead?  and  doth 
vengeance  sleep?  Where  is  the  omnipotent 
wing,  that  shelters  the  pure  in  heart?  wi,ore 
the  angels  that  have  charge  of  the  fatherless  ? 

"  Let  me  go,  sir,"  she  cried  again  in  piteous 
tones,  "  oh,  let  me  go,  and  may  God  have  mercy 
on  your  soul  !  Let  me  go,  or  I  will  call  the 
policeman." 

"  Well,  what  if  you  do  call  the  policeman  ?  I 
will  call  a  policeman  too,  and  send  you  home. 
You  meet  this  policeman  here  for  no  good 
purpose." 

When  he  spoke  of  sending  her  home,  and  she 
thought  of  the  blows  she  had  endured,  and  of 
the  torments  she  must  still  more  undergo,  and 
the  crime  she  at  last  must  submit  to  if  she  re 
turned,  she  shrieked  aloud,  she  was  terrified  at 
her  situation.  "  Oh,  sir/''  she  said,  "  I  am  not  a 
bad  girl,  I  am  an  innocent  child:  this  policeman 
is  my  friend." 

"  Friend  or  not,  if  you  utter  another  loud 
word,  I  will  have  you  arrested,  and  sent  home 
to  your  mother." 

At  the  sound  of  "'  Mother "  she  shuddered, 
and  cried,  "  Oh,  don't  send  me  back  !  kill  me  ! 


38  NED    NKVINS    THE    NEWSBOY. 

kill  rue  !  let  mo  die  here,  rather  than  to  go 
back  to  my  mother!"  and,  throwing  her  hand 
to  her  head,  she  shrieked  and  fainted,  and  fell 
helpless  at  his  feet. 

The  victim  was  now  at  his  mercy. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MARY'S  RESCUE.  —  TRAGIC  DEATH  OF  HER  MOTHER. 

iELP,    help!     Watch,   watch!"  said  Ned 
Nevins,  when  he  heard  Mary  Munroe's 
shriek  near  the  lumber-yard.      "  Watch, 
watch  !     Help,  help  !  "   he   cried,  as  he 
ran  for  an  officer.     Soon  the  policeman's 
rattle  was  heard,  and  he  came  to  the  res 
cue  ;  but  the  gentleman  in  black  had  fled. 
Mary  was  rescued,  and  taken  to  the  house  of 

Mrs.  K ,  at  the  foot  of  Asylum  Street,  on 

Harrison  Avenue.  The  terrible  ordeal  to  which 
she  had  been  subjected  for  the  past  month  was 
too  much  for.  her  frail  constitution.  Her  health 
gave  way,  and  her  mind  wandered ;  shadows 
were  flitting  about,  and  images  of  that  cruel  and 
relentless  mother  haunted  her.  The  constant 
dread  of  falling  into  her  power  worked  upon 
her  mind  to  such  a  degree,  that,  even  in  her 
slumbers,  she  would  start  up,  and,  in  piteous 
tones,  cry  aloud  for  protection  from  her  imagi 
nary  troubles. 

Oh,  how  gladly  did  that  kind  protectress  love 

39 


40  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    Of!, 

and  cherish  the  young  and  innocent  girl!  with 
what  kindness  did  she  watch  over  her  welfare, 
and  allay  her  fears,  and  soothe  and  comfort  her 
in  her  sorrows  !  She  appeared  to  her  as  a  pearl 
secured  from  the  sea  of  pollution,  a  bright,  spark 
ling  gem  plucked  from  the  gulf  of  ruin.  The 
child  proved  not  unworthy  of  her  kind  atten 
tions  :  she  strove  in  every  way  to  manifest  her 
gwtitude  and  love.  But  the  fear  of  being  forced 
away  from  this  refuge  depressed  her  spirits. 
The  least  sound  startled  her ;  every  cry  in  the 
street  brought  alarm ;  a  knock  at  the  gate,  or  a 
ring  at  the  door,  threw  her  into  spasms  for  fear 
her  mother  had  discovered  4ier  place  of  secu 
rity. 

Her  fears  were  not  altogether  groundless. 
That  mother  was  hunting  her  down  with  tho 
ferocity  of  a  hound  upon  the  track  of  a  hare. 
She  employed  street-hawkers  and  peddlers  to 
assist  in  accomplishing  her  object.  Finding  the 
child  was  not  placed  in  any  public  institution, 
and  supposing  she  was  at  service  somewhere  in 
the  city,  the  mother  determined  to  ring  at  every 
door,  in  hopes  Mary  might  answer  the  bell. 
Equipping  herself  with  a  basket  of  vases  and 
glass-ware,  she  started  on  her  errand  of  ven 
geance  and  persecution  ;  hesitating  not  to  pros 
titute  that  innocent  soul  on  the  altars  of  lust,  to 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  41 

gratify  her  beastly  craving  for  rum.  She  came 
fearfully  near  being  successful  when  she  rang 
the  bell  at  the  very  house  where  Mary  was 
concealed.  But  Mary,  having  been  previously 
frightened  by  a  tub-mender  in  the  yard,  whom 
she  recognized  as  a  visitor  at  her  mother's, 
could  not  be  prevailed  upon  after  that  to  answer 
the  bell. 

"  Any  old  clothes,  mam  ?  any  old  clothes  for 
vases,  mam  ?  " 

"  No  ! "  said  the  lady  of  the  house,  striving 
to  close  the  door. 

"  May  be  ye  will  find  some,  mam  ?  "  forcing  her 
way  in  so  as  to  look  around. 

"  I  haven't  any,  I  told  you.     Now  begone  !  " 

"  An'  is  it  yourself  that  comes  to  the  door  ? 
Have  ye  no  servants,  mam  ?  " 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?  "  said  the  lady,  becom 
ing  indignant.  "  Be  off,  and  let  me  close  the 
door,"  giving  her  a  push. 

"  An'  is  this  the  way  you  treat  a  poor  innocent 
woman,  trying  to  get  an  honest  living?  " 

As  the  lady  thrusts  her  out,  she  cries,  in  a 
rage,  "  An'  its  you  that's  got  my  child,  I  bet  ye 
has  :  ye  stole  her  from  her  own  dear  mother,  ye 
did.  I'll  take  the  law  on  ye,  so  I  will  !  "  and, 
muttering  and  scolding,  she  went  off  in  high 
dudgeon. 


42       NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

As  Mary  heard  the  angry  tones  of  her  mother, 
she  trembled  like  a  leaf,  and  hid  herself  from 
sight.  When  the  mother  had  gone,  her  protect 
ress  advised  her  to  go  at  once  to  a  friend  of 
hers  in  the  country :  but  Mary  objected  to  leav 
ing  the  city,  for  she  had  an  uncle,  an  officer  in 
the  Union  army,  whose  business  often  called 
him  to  Boston  ;  and  she  desired  to  be  where  she 
could  watch  the  daily  papers  for  his  arrival. 
This  uncle  had  been  friendly,  and  was  anxious 
to  adopt  her ;  therefore,  for  his  sake,  she  was 
placed  in  a  neighboring  dwelling  for  further 
security.  There  she  remained  until  informed 
by  Ned  Nevins  of  the  following  tragic  occur 
rence. 

"  Watch,  watch !  Help,  help !  Police  !  " 
sounded  from  Munroe's  premises,  just  as  the 
shades  of  night  were  coming  on.  The  crowd 
gathered,  the  policemen  came,  the  excitement 
increased ;  one  crying,  "  There  is  murder  in 
there !  " 

'"Yis,"  said  another.  "They  be  killin'  Pat 
O'Rielly.  What's  the  use  of  these  ere  police 
men?  Sure  an'  they'd  see  a  man  killed  right 
afore  their  eyes,  the  blaguards." 

"  Move  on  there,  move  on  !  "  says  an  office'r. 
"  Don't  block  up  the  sidewalk  !  " 

"  It's  niver  a  dml  of  a  step  will  I  take,  while 


STEEET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  43 

my  friend  Pat  Rielly  is  being  killed  in  there  ;  " 
and,  throwing  off  his  coat,  he  pitched  into  the 
crowd  promiscuously.  Others  soon  folloAved,  and 
O'Rielly's  friend  got  essentially  licked. 

"  Arrah  !  an'  that's  good  for  ye,"  says  one 
Irishman  to  another,  as  he  helped  to  pick  up  a 
fallen  champion.  "  Ye  better  be  after  going 
home  to  the  wife  an'  childers." 

Soon  the  women  took  part  in  the  affray,  and 
buckets  of  water  flew  alike  over  friend  and  foe. 

"  An'  who  is  it  that  be  a-duckin'  the  water  on 
us  ?  "  said  Tim  Mulloney.  "  An'  I's  as  wet  as  a 
drownded  rat,  I  am  ;  "  and,  seizing  a  pail  from  the 
hand  of  Bridget  Mahoney,  he  tore  it  from  her 
grasp.  She  clawed  at  his  hair,  and  it  flew  by  the 
hand fuls  in  the  air. 

"  An'  now  will  ye  come  home  to  the  two 
blessed  twins,  Tim  Mulloney  ?  "  said  his  wife, 
just  making  her  appearance. 

"  Sure  an'  I'll  drown  the  life  out  of  ye  ! " 
"  Nary  a  step  will  I  go,  till  I  put  my  fist  through 
Jim  Murphy,  the  dirty  spalpeen  who  struck  me 
when  I  was  fell  down." 

But  still  the  cries  of  "  Help  !  help  !  watch ! 
murder  ! "  came  from  the  inside  of  Munroe's 
dwelling.  The  officers,  bursting  open  the  door, 
found  Mrs.  Munroe,  and  three  or  four  men.  en 
gaged  in  a  general  fight,  —  all  the  worse  for 


44  NED    KEVINS   THE  NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

liquor ;  and  each  showing  marks  of  the  others' 
too  close  proximity  to  their  eyes  and  nose. 
Munroe  stood  with  a  billet  of  wood  in  his  hand, 
and  demanded  to  know  the  policemen's  busi 
ness. 

"  What  do  you  want  here  ?  who  called  you 
in  here  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  am  come  to  arrest  all  of  you ;  put  down 
your  stick,  and  come  with  me/'  replied  an  officer. 
But  Munroe  struck  at  him,  and  a  scuffle  ensued, 
when  the  rest  of  the  party  fled.  The  policeman 
soon  overpowered  Munroe,  and  he  was  taken  to 
the  Station-house,  and  from  thence  to  the  House 
of  Correction. 

Mrs.  Munroe,  having  received  a  severe  blow, 
tottered,  and  fell  down  the  cellar-stairs,  where 
she  was  found  next  morning  by  some  of  the 
neighbors.  Ned  Nevins,  hearing  of  the  row  and 
its  tragic  results,  hastened  to  inform  Mary,  who 
hurried  to  the  scene.  She  obtained  help,  and 
the  body  was  brought  up  from  the  cellar,  and 
laid  upon  the  bed  ;  but  the  spark  of  life  had  fled. 

And  now  Mary  felt  that  she  was  indeed  alone 
in  the  wide,  wide  world,  —  her  father  in  prison, 
her  mother  dead.  Cruel  as  that  woman  had 
been,  yet  she  was  her  mother :  the  child's  ten 
der  and  affectionate  heart  was  deeply  moved  to 
pity.  Oh  that  she  could  have  soothed  her 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  45 

mother's  pains  and  agonies  in  her  last  dying 
moments !  Oh  that  she  could  have  alleviated 
her  sufferings,  and  shown  by  kindness  that  her 
ill-treatment  and  persecutions  were  forgiven  ! 
But  death  had  claimed  its  victim.  No  more 
could  that  arm  be  raised  to  strike  the  brutal 
blow ;  no  more  could  that  voice  be  heard  up 
braiding  and  taunting  her  ;  no  more  should  she 
be  forced  into  peculation  and  crime. 

Still  she  felt  as  a  child  :  her  sympathies  and 
sense  of  duty  were  awakened ;  she  repented  of 
having  left  that  mother.  Perhaps,  if  she  had 
staid,  her  mother  would  have  been  still  living, 
and  her  father  out  of  prison.  Bad  as  they  were, 
she  might  have  had  some  influence  over  them, 
and  restrained  them  in  their  mad  career  to  ruin. 
Oh  the  thought  of  that  mother's  going  to  judg 
ment,  so  debased  and  unprepared  !  Oh  the  sud 
denness  of  the  summons  !  to  be  called  in  a  twink 
ling  into  the  presence  of  her  God,  with  all  her 
stains  of  guilt  and  crime  so  glaringly  apparent. 
Oh  the  horror  of  the  thought ! 

After  the  coroner's  inquest,  preparations  were 
made  for  the  funeral.  As  Mary  was  waiting  for 
the  friends  to  assemble,  her  sorrows  came  over 
her  with  redoubled  force ;  and  she  sobbed  and 
moaned  as  though  her  heart  would  break.  At 
that  moment,  a  kind,  affectionate  hand  was  laid 


46  NED    KEVINS  *THE   NEWSBOY  |    OR, 

upon  her  head,  and  she  heard  the  tender,  con 
soling  tones  of  her  uncle.  He  had  arrived  in 
the.  city  the  day  before,  and,  learning  the  sad 
circumstances,  had  hastened  to  Munroe's  to  find 
Mary.  And  thus  he  found  her  ;  alone  with  thu 
dead,  the  only  ministering  angel  of  the  house 
hold, —  she  so  young,  so  thoughtful,  so  self-sacri. 
ficing, —  she  who  could  forgive  her  cruel  treat 
ment,  her  persecutions,  and  forget  the  brutal 
blows,  arid  prove  herself  a  noble  Christian  girl. 
His  sympathies  were  aroused,  his  heart  went 
out  towards  her,  and  he  renewed  his  offer  of 
adoption.  She  consented,  and,  after  the  funeral, 
they  left  together  for  New  York. 

Thus  was  one  immortal  soul  providentially 
rescued  from  a  life  of  infamy, —  one  of  the  thou 
sands  exposed  to  crime  by  dissolute  and  wicked 
parents,  many  of  whom  are  descending  to  early 
graves  of  dishonor  and  shame.  Shall  this  tide 
of  iniquity  continue?  Shall  this  multitude  of 
young  girls  be  lost?  Shall  we  stand  with  folded 
arms,  and  look  passively  on?  0  Thou  who 
boldest  the  scales  of  justice  in  thy  right  hand, 
and  weighest  our  iniquities,  let  not  thy  judg 
ments  fall  upon  this  city  because  of  its  indiffer 
ence  to  these  thy  children  !  Let  thy  protecting 
power  be  over  them,  arid  rouse  up  thy  people 
to  action  !  Rouse  !  ye  philanthropists,  move 


STREET    LIFE    IX    BOSTON.  47 

heaven  and  earth  by  your  prayers,  and  labors  of 
love.  0  ye  workers  for  the  public  good,  ye 
tender  sympathizers  of  the  wronged  and 
oppressed !  can  nothing  be  done  to  stay  this 
mighty  caravan  in  its  march  to  the  desert  of 
ignominy  and  despair?  Is  there  no  helping  hand 
to  stretch  out,  and  reclaim  these  fair  daughters 
ere  their  last  hope  is  fled,  and  they  are  driven 
to  poverty  and  shame  ?  Is  there  ho  kind  note 
of  warning  to  sound  the  alarm?  no  beacon- 
light  to  warn  them  off  the  dangerous  shores  of 
the  burning  lake  of  hell  ?  Are  they  to  go  on, 
rushing  madly  into  the  gulf  of  wickedness,  and 
into  the  jaws' of  death,  without  one  effort  to  save 
them  ?  Awake,  awake  !  0  arm  of  the  Lord  ! 
Stretch  forth  thy  hand  and  pluck  them  as  brands 
from  the  burning. 


CHAPTER    V. 

NIGHT    SCHOOL.  —  CHARACTER    AND    CONDITION   OP 

THE    PUPILS. 

)ET  us  visit  the  Union  Mission  Night 
School,  in  Franklin-school  Building.  We 
shall  find  a  large  gathering  this  evening, 
for  it  is  a  stormy  night :  street-prowlers 
cannot  follow  their  avocations,  therefore 
they  will  crowd  in  here.  There  are  four 
hundred  and  six  pupils  in  all ;  but  all  are  not 
present  at  one  time.  There  are  three  rooms  ;  two 
of  them  for  the  older  and  more  respectable 
classes,  and  one  for  the  more  destitute  and  vi 
cious.  Let  us  visit  the  last.  Crowded  in  this 
small  room  are  a  hundred  and  fifteen  boys  of 
various  ages  and  conditions  of  destitution. 
Many  of  them  are  ragged,  filthy,  out  at  the  knees 
and  toes  and  elbows,  with  slouched  caps  and 
hats,  and  shaven  heads ;  never  demanding  a  peg 
for  their  hats,  but  always  keeping  them  under 
their  arms,  or  in  their  jackets,  to  prevent  them 
from  being  stolen,  or  to  have  them  handy. 

The  weiht  of  an  umbrella  never  cumbered 


NIGHT  SCHOOL  GATHERING.  —  Snow  ball  riot.    Page  229. 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  49 

their  hands.  Many  of  them  have  stood  a  long 
time  in  the  pelting  rain,  waiting  for  the  door  to 
open.  On  entering,  their  teeth  chatter,  Jhey 
quake  and  shiver,  and  shake  their  wet  hats,  as 
the  water  drips,  drop  by  drop,  from  their  tattered 
garments  in  little  puddles  on  the  floor.  Now 
they  instinctively  gather  up  closer  towards  each 
other  to  accumulate  warmth,  and  wait  for  the 
slow  fire  to  give  out  its  heat.  Now  as  the  heat 
is  felt,  and  the  steam  ascends,  an  odor  comes 
forth  not  the  most  refreshing ;  therefore  win 
dows  are  opened,  for  ventilation  is  needed. 

At  last  the  soporific  tendencies  of  a  warm  fire 
are  felt,  restless  feet  become  more  quiet ;  and 
now  and  then  a  poor  tired  street-wanderer,  set 
tling  down  into  oblivion,  begins  to  nod  with 
book  in  hand.  He  loses  thoughts  of  poverty, 
weariness,  or  woe,  as  the  busy  hum  of  voices 
charms  him  to  sleep.  Now  a  cruel  elbow-nudge 
strikes  his  side  with  a  cry,  li  Wake  up,  Jim,  the 
"  beak "  be  a-lookin'  !  "  Then  up  he  rouses, 
opens  his  eyes,  stares  round  a  moment,  and  ap 
plies  himself  to  his  tedious  task. 

How  shall  we  classify  these  boys  ?  What  are 
their  motives  for  coming  here  ?  They  do  not 
all  come  to  learn ;  some  come  for  novelty,  some 
for  mischief,  some  to  escape  the  cold,  some  for 
food  and  clothing,  and  some  to  learn. 


50  NED    NEVINS   THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

,  There  is  an  orphan  boy  on  crutches.  No  moth 
er's  prayers  bless  his  slumbers ;  no  father's 
hand  feeds  or  protects  him.  Helpless,  and 
almost  friendless,  he  totters  along,  and  hobbles 
through  the  world.  He  has  a  good  heart.  Show 
ers  of  oaths  and  imprecations  fall  upon  him  daily  ; 
but  they  rebound  from  him  like  raindrops  from 
a  suit  of  oil-cloth.  God,  and  a  good  heart,  are 
his  shield.  He  is  as  gentle  as  a  lamb  :  who  can 
but  pity  him  ? 

There  is  a  'flaxen-haired,  industrious  boy, 
whose  mother  is  a  wash  and  scrub  woman.  This 
boy  is  the  oldest  of  four  children  :  he  is  com 
pelled  to  work  during  the  day  to  help  support 
his  little  sisters,  and,,to  pay  the  rent.  See  him 
pore  over  his  lesson,  and  dig  into  the  very 
depths  of  its  contents.  That  boy  appreciates 
the  worth  of  his  time  and  opportunity. 

There  is  one  whose  father  and  brother  were 
both  killed  in  the  war :  he  glories  in  the  mem 
ory  of  their  deeds,  and  appeals  to  our  sympathy 
for  protection.  There  is  one  who  was  a  drum 
mer-boy  ;  he  has  won  the  hearts  of  associates 
both  in  camp  and  school.  There  are  a  score  of 
boys  who  have  lost  either  father  or  brother  in 
the  war,  and  twice  that  number  whose  mothers 
go  out  washing  for  a  livelihood. 

How  tender-hearted  are  many  of  them  I     how 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.          51 

susceptible  of  the  kindest  feelings !  How 
quickly  the  tear  starts  at  the  sound  of  a  kind 
word.  How  their  little  hearts  swell  and  heave 
with  gratitude  at  the  thought  of  anybody  car 
ing  for  them  !  "  Thank  you,  teacher  !  ye's  been 
so  good  to  us  poor  boys  !  "  says  one  of  them. 
"  Oh,  how  kind  that  lady  is  to  do  so  much  for 
us  !  "  says  another.  "  By  ginger  !  if  I  ain't  goinr 
to. try  to  do  better  now  !  "  says  the  third.  Poor 
unfortunate  boys !  they  may  try  ;  but  their 
chances  are  small :  hard  has  been  their  lot,  few 
their  advantages.  What  wonder  if  they  fall  into 
temptation  and  crime  ! 

The  washer-woman's  children  are  to  be  pitied. 
She  is  away  all  day,  and  tj^ey  are  left  to  take 
care  of  themselves  as  best  they  may  ;  perhaps 
they  are  at  school,  perhaps  in  the  street ;  or, 
perchance,  they  are  rioting  at  home.  But,  worse 
than  all,  these  are  children  of  drunken  parents, 
—  children  compelled  to  go  out,  and  pick  coal  and 
rags,  or  sell  papers  or  apples  or  matches  or 
shavings,  or  beg,  or  steal.  Nearly  half  of  the 
indigent  ones  are  of  this  class. 

Let  us  take  a  step  lower,  among  both  the  in 
digent  and  vicious.  There  is  a  coal-picker,  a 
little  soot-covered  urchin,  the  ashes  still  sticking 
to  his  person  and  garments.  His  tattered  rags 
are  stiff  with  mud  and  filth ;  and  his  straight, 


52  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OK, 

wiry  hair  stands  out  like  "  quills  upon  the  fret 
ful  porcupine."  Poor  boy  !  he  has  had  a  hard 
time  of  it  this  wet  day  ;  but  necessity  forced 
him  out,  and  now  he  regales  himself  by  the  com 
forts  of  i  warm  fire,  —  a  fire  that  does  not  con 
sume  his  own  hard-earned  coal.  There  are 
thirty-six  coal-pickers  in  the  school. 

There  is  a  boot-black  ;  he  too  has  had  ill-luck 
to-day.  The  elements  are  against  him  ;  yet  the 
abundance  of  water  has  not  absolved  his  hands 
from  the  lamp-black  of  his  profession.  He  is 
sent  out  to  wash  his  hands  and  face  before  being 
allowed  a  book.  There  are  sixteen  that  obtain 
an  uncertain  subsistence  by  this  employment. 

There  are  eighteen  boys  that  drive  dirt-carts, 
—  little  squalid-looking  fellows,  scarcely  old 
enough  to  hold  the  reins  of  a  hobby -horse.  They 
are  forced  out  by  cruel  parents  upon  the  cart, 
instead  of  being  sent  to  school. 

There  is  a  class  of  newsboys.  The  school 
numbers  forty-two  in  all,  —  lively,  boisterous, 
saucy  little  imps,  full  of  fun  and  mischief. 
Geniuses  like  these  are  rarely  witnessed  ;  they 
have  been  schooled  in  arts,  —  perhaps  we  might, 
say,  black  arts.  Some  of  them  might  be  dubbed 
A.  M.  ;  for  they  are  masters  of  arts,  and  graduate 
in  various  degrees  of  strategy  from  the. rogue's 
college.  Their  wits  have  been  sharpened  on 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  53 

the  stone  of  trial  and  exposure  ;  they  read  ohar- 
acter  in  a  jiffy  ;  they  have  learned  it  by  close 
contact  with  men  ;  they  discern  men's  thoughts 
before  they  are  uttered.  "  Take  care  there, 
Mike  !  the  '  beak '  be  cross  to-night,"  says  one. 
"  I  guess  he  has  been  takin'  a  wee  bit  of  the 
crather,  he  has.  Look  out  there,  Jack  !  or  ye'll 
kitch  it  this  ere  night;  none  of ,  yer  foolinV 
Thus  each  warns  his  fellow,  but  often  forgets 
his  own  advice,  until  a  rap  from  the  policeman 
brings  him  to  his  senses. 

Ned  Nevins  moves  among  them  like  a  light  in 
a  dark  place  :  he  sells  papers  only  for  a  liveli 
hood,  and  not  for  the  pleasure  of  being  on  the 
street.  He  is  too  sober-minded  to  enter  into 
their  sports,  and  too  honest-hearted  to  connive 
at  their  deceitful  practices.  His  mother's  motto 
was  ever  upon  his  lips :  "  If  I  do  no  wrong, 
something  good  will  come  to  me."  He  was  un 
fortunate  on  first  entering  the  school,  by  incur 
ring  the  displeasure  of  the  bully  boys,  —  a  set, 
of  blusterers,  who  browbeat  all  new-comers. 
They  gave  him  a  handkerchief,  which  they  had 
stolen  from  a  teacher,  to  try  him.  He  at  once 
refused  it,  and  gave  it  to  the  teacher,  without, 
however,  informing  against  them ;  but  his  refusal 
was  enough  to  awaken  their  vengeance. 

Pat  Murphy  is  one  of  these  bullies, —  a  coarse 


54  NED   KEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

overgrown,  green-eyed,  straight-haired,  short- 
necked  swaggerer.  His  mother,  old  Mag  Mur 
phy,  keeps  a  gin-shop,  and  a  number  of  "lady  " 
boarders.  She  therefore  finds  it  profitable  for 
her  son  to  mix  in  the  crowd,  and  form  acquain 
tances.  Pat  ought  to  be  a  gentleman,  — yes,  a  tip 
top  gentleman,  that  is,  if  clothes  make  a  gentle 
man  ;  for  he  has  a  gentleman's  clothes  (but  they 
were  bought  at  a  second-hand  store,  and  are 
seven  years  old).  He  wears  a  long,  dove-tailed, 
blue,  brass-buttoned  coat ;  a  big  striped  vest,  a 
flag-colored  neckerchief;  a  great  wide  shirt-col 
lar,  one-half  turned  down,  the  other  corner 
turned  up,  black,  capacious  pants,  with  sundry 
ventilations.  There  he  sits,  pretending  to 
cipher,  but  waiting  for  something  to  turn  up. 
Mark  that  boy  :  he  appears  again  in  our  story. 

There  is  a  class  of  "  bunkers : "  they  bunk 
out  in  summer-time,  on  wharves,  in  lumber-yards, 
and  under  steps  of  warehouses,  and  sometimes 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  beyond  the  eye  of 
the  <;  beak,"  as  they  call  the  police.  Little  do 
they  care  for  the  dull  routine  of  study  :  they 
came  to  "  have  a  time,"  and  they  are  bound  to 
make  a  "  stir."  The  first  night  of  the  school, 
when  the  policeman  was  absent  for  a  few 
moments,  three  of  them  were  seen  standing  on 
their  heads  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  their 


STEEET   LIFE   IN  BOSTON.  55 

foetclapping  in  the  air  ;  and  several  were  prepar 
ing  for  a  game  of  leap-frog.  Back  they  whirled 
to  their  seats  when  the  door  opened,  and  the 
police  appeared ;  then  they  looked  demure  as 
owls,  and  perhaps  were  as  wise  as  that  classic 
bird  in  Minerva's  time. 

There  is  a  class  of  "  jacks"  and  "  crackers," 
or  window-smashers.  They  climb  up  to  a  win 
dow,  and  break  the  panes,  and  open  the  way  for 
burglars  to  enter.  They  are  property  destroy 
ers.  These  are  the  boys  that  throw  destructive 
acids  onladies'  dresses,  while  walking  the  streets. 

There  is  a  class  of  "  till-tappers,"  or  petty 
thieves.  They  study  mischief  rather  than  books. 
They  hire  a  room,  and  meet  on  Sundays  and 
other  days  to  hold  council,  and  drill  in  the  arts 
of  deception.  They  cover  their  faces  with 
masks  to  avoid  the  "  beak,"  then  saunter  out  on 
excursions,  which  sometimes  prove  quite  lucra 
tive.  When  flush  with  change,  they  invite  their 
friends  to  the  theatres,  and  give  them  oyster- 
suppers  and  liquors  and  cigars.  Soon,  however, 
the  fate  of  all  transgressors  comes :  they  are 
broken  up  and  scattered,  and  a  new  club  is 
formed  of  those  who  are  remaining  out  of  jail. 

There  is  also  a  class  that  act  as  a  "  signal- 
corps  "  for  burglars.  They  watch  the  police,  and 
give  such  signs  and  sounds  as  will  apprise  the 


5G  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY;    OH, 

burglars  of  clangor,  yet  awaken  no  suspicion  on 
the  streets.  They  also  have  rooms  for  practising 
the  arts  of  their  profession ;  and  all  looks,  ges 
tures,  sounds,  names  of  streets  and  other  objects, 
have  a  language  known  only  to  the  initiated. 
Hark,  hear  that  whistle!  find  out.  if  you  can, 
what  it  means,  and  who  made  it. 

Most  of  the  low  foreign  population  are  deceit 
ful  ;  their  condition  is  truly  lamentable ;  they 
are  so  accustomed  to  lie,  that  it  is  next  to  im 
possible  for  them  to  tell  a  straightforward  truth. 
Deceit  is  bred  in  their  bones,  and  sucked  in 
their  mother's  milk :  their  very  prayers  arc 
filled  with  deceit;  for  many  of  them  do  pray! 
Yet,  in  their  devotions,  they  think  to  deceive 
the  Almighty,  and  be  preying  upon  your  pockets 
at  the  same  time.  But  there  are  redeeming 
qualities  in  some  of  them,  and  palliating  circum 
stances  for  all.  On  this  tide-wave  of  immigra 
tion,  there  are  beacon-lights  of  hope  to  illumine 
the  moral  darkness.  Under  this  substratum  of 
oppressed  and  degraded  humanity,  there  are  as 
bright  gems  of  intellect  as  ever  wielded  the  pen, 
or  drew  the  sword,  or  swayed  the  sceptre.  God 
scatters  his  veins  of  gold  in  the  hidden  moun 
tains  ;  he  sprinkles  his  gems  of  pearl  oil  the  un- 
fathomed  floor  of  ocean  ;  arid,  from  this  tide  of 
moral  obliquity,  the  philanthropic  pearl-diver, 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  57 

searching  for  spangles  beneath  the  gulf-stream 
of  human  pollution,  brings  to  the  surface  gems 
fit  to  deck  the  brow  of  science  or  art  or  elo 
quence,  and  glitter  in  the  starry  crown  of  a  glo 
rious  immortality. 

Here  are  Nature's  noblest  hei'oes.  Here  to 
be  a  saint  costs  sacrifice  and  effort.  It  is  easy 
to  be  morally  good  when  all  your  surroundings 
encourage  it,  with  no  uncontrollable  circumstan 
ces  to  prevent  it.  But  for  a  boy  crushed  to  the 
very  earth,  and  blasted  by  unavoidable  calam 
ities,  for  him  to  gather  strength  by  opposition, 
to  shake  off  the  pestiferous  load  of  a  false  edu 
cation,  as  the  branches  of  the  willow  shake  off 
the  winter's  snow,  or  as  the  lion  of  the  desert, 
with  mighty  convulsive  efiprt,  shakes  from  his 
mane  the  drenching  rain,  —  that  boy  is  a  verita 
ble  hero. 

He  is  a  hero  greater  than  Alexander  or  Na 
poleon  or  Bacon.  Sir  Francis  Bacon  mastered 
philosophy,  became  high  priest  of  Nature's  mys 
teries,  pioneer  in  ethical  science.  He  descanted 
on  morals  with  a  sublimity  that  rendered  his 
name  immortal ;  yet  that  same  Lord  Bacon,  with 
all  his  wisdom,  and  all  the  favoritism  of  his  sov 
ereign  and  of  the  court,  could  not  keep  his  own 
hands  from  bribes,  or  save  himself  from  impris 
onment  in  the  Tower  of  London.  Napoleon 


58  NED    KEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

stamped  his  foot,  and  continental  Europe  felt  the 
shock;  lie  commanded  armies,  ruled  empires, 
distributed  thrones  like  playthings ;  yet  he 
could  not  govern  his  own  wanton  passions ;  and 
the  infamy  of  his  unbridled  lusts  is  as  revolting 
to  the  moral  sense  as  the  splendors  of  his  arms 
are  transcendent. 

Alexander  conquered  his  way  to  universal 
monarchy,  became  supreme'  among  mortals,  and 
swayed  the  sceptre  of  the  world's  empire ;  yet 
he  could  not  govern  his  own  appetite,  and  died, 
as  the  fool  dieth,  in  an  hour  of  debauchery,  and 
in  a  fit  of  drunkenness.  Lords  Chesterfield  and 
Byron  mingled  genius  with  titles,  blazed  like 
meteors  through  the  sky,  blasting  the  atmos 
phere  of  religious  purity,  and  drawing  a  third 
part  of  the  stars  of  heaven  with  them.  These 
men  had  no  motives  for  wickedness  but  the 
love  of  wickedness  for  its  own  sake ;  no  distress 
or  want  nerved  them  on ;  no  cruel  parents 
forced  them  out  to  steal  in  early  life.  But  for  a 
boy  crushed  by  poverty,  surrounded  by  crimi 
nals,  where  vice  itself  is  popular,  for  him  to 
stand  like  a  rock  against  the  sea,  and  stem  the 
tide  of  vice,  and  come  up  out  of  the  sloughs  of 
moral  degradation  with  garments  unspotted,  and, 
instead  of  demoralizing  his  race,  to  elevate 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  59 

them,  and  assimilate  them  to  the  image  of  their 
God,  —  that  boy  is  more  than  a  hero;  he  is  a 
saint,  a  saint  of  the  living  God !  He  demands 
our  admiration  and  protectioD. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

INSTANCES     OP      STREET-BOY      HEROISM "  TOUCH 

NOT,   TASTE   NOT." 

(DON'T  want  to  go !     I  don't  want  to  buy 
any  more  rum,"  said  Willie  Fairfiold,  as 
the  father  repeated  the  order  to  go.     "  I 
don't   want   to    go  !     I    have    signed   the 
pledge    to   '  touch  not,  taste    not,  handle 
not.'     I  signed  it  at  the  sabbath  school." 
"  Well,"  said  the  father,  "  if  sabbath  schools 
teach  you  to  disobey  your  parents,  I  want  to 
know  it !     I  tell  you  to  go  !  " 

Then  Willie  shrieked,  and  cried,  "  Oh,  I  can't, 
I  can't,  father  !  don't  make  me  go  !  "  And  for 
a  refuge  he  flew  into, the  sick-room  where  his 
mother  lay.  "  Oh  !  must  I  go,  mother?  Father 
wants  me  to  go  after  more  rum.  I  don't  want 
to  go,  mother  !  need  I  go  ?  "  Then  he  fell  upon 
his  knees  at  her  bed-side  ;  and,  seizing  her  hand, 
he  kissed  it,  and  wept  and  sobbed  as  if  his  heart 
would  break. 

The  poor  sick  woman  placed  her  pale  hand 
upon  his  head,  and,  looking  to  heaven  for  guid- 


60 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  61 

ance,  said,  '•  Ah,  Willie,  it  is  hard  to  be 
forced  to  do  wrong.  May  God  shield  you  !  But 
your  father  is  angry  :  his  turbulence  may  hasten 
my  death.  Soon  you  may  have  no  mother  :  let 
me  live  a  few  days  longer;  go,  my  child,  obey 
your  father  for  my  sake ;  go,  may  Heaven  pro 
tect  you !  " 

The  bo)T  rose  from  his  knees,  and,  receiving  a 
kiss  from  his  mother,  went  as  if  ordered  of 
Heaven.  But  conscience  was  still  at  work :  he 
was  determined  to  "touch  not,  taste  not, handle 
not."  He  placed  his  pocket-handkerchief 
through  the  handle  of  the  jug,  and  held  it  off  at 
arm's-length,  as  if  it  had  been  a  viper,  whose 
venom  was  death.  It  indeed  had  been  a  serpent 
of  death  in  his  home ;  and  .he  and  his  mother 
were  the  victims.  When  arriving  at  the  door 
of  the  rum-shop,  he  sat  it  down,  and  started  back 
as  though  it  were  a  gun,  just  ready  to  explode. 
As  he  started  back,  the  keeper  saw  him,  and 
said, — 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  what's  the  matter,  my 
boy?  What  alarms  you?" 

Then,  bursting  into  tears,  Willie  cried,  "  0 
sir,  my  mother  is  dying  !  I  don't  want  to  buy 
any  more  rum !  I  have  signed  the  pledge  '  to 
touch  not,  taste  not,  handle  not.'  Rum  has  almost 
killed  my  poor  mother :  father  scolds  her,  strikes 


62  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  |    OR, 

her,  and  beats  her,  until  lie  lias  most  killed  her. 
I  don't  want  to  buy  rum  !  no,  sir,  I  don't.  I'd 
rather  die  than  do  it.  Oh  !  don't  let  me  carry 
this  jug  back;  don't  let  my  poor  mother  suffer 
any  more  !  " 

"  Your  father  !  "  said  .the  keeper,  —  "  is  your 
father  such  a  brute  ?  Can  he  crush  a  child's 
conscience  like  this  ?  Come  to  my  arms,  noble 
boy  !  Such  heroic  virtue  shall  be  protected. 
May  your  mother  live  forever,  brave  boy  !  for 
your  father  shall  never  have  another  drop  of 
liquor  from  me."  Then  he  took  the  jug !  and, 
taking  the  boy  by  the  hand,  he  went  to  the 
father,  and  said,  "  Are  you  the  man,  Mr.  Fair- 
field,  that  could  do  this?  Are  you  a  man? 
and  have  you  a  heart  ?  Can  you  crush  the  con 
science,  and  break  the  heart,  of  such  a  child  ? 
Does  rum  do  this?  Never,  never,  will  you  get 
it  of  me  again!  Never  will  I  sell  it  more! 
Come,  come,  Mr.  Fairfield,  you  and  I  must  sign 
the  pledge." 

Fairfield  at  first  hesitated ;  but  there  was  his 
sick  wife,  a  guilty  conscience,  and  there  his 
boy,  —  noble  hero  !  —  who  had  already  won  over 
the  keeper.  Could  he  refuse  ?  No  !  So  they 
both  signed  the  pledge. 

Then  Willie  went  running  to  his  mother,  shout 
ing,  and  clapping  his  hands,  and  said,  "  0 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  63 

mother,  mother,  father  has  signed  the  pledge, 
he  has  ! " 

The  mother,  awaking  from  her  stupor, 
gazed  thoughtfully,  but  could  not  at  first  believe 
the  tidings  :  they  were  too  good  for  her  to  hope. 
She  stared  in  astonishment,  then  wept,  then 
prayed,  then  hoped,  then  raised  her  hands  in 
thanksgiving  to  God.  Tears  of  joy  rolled  down 
her  pale  and  haggard  cheek,  her  despairing 
countenance  lighted  up  with  smiles  of  joy,  the 
springs  of  life  began  to  flow,  disease  stopped, 
the  fever  turned,  and  she  recovered,  attributing 
her  recovery  to  the  conscientious  scruples  and 
noble  heroism  of  her  boy. 

That  was  in  1850,  when  the  writer  of  this 
article  was  laboring  with  Father  Streeter  and 
Phineas  Stowe  in  temperance-meetings  at  the 
North  End.  Nearly  seventeen  years  have  rolled 
away  ;  and  that  boy  is  now  one  of  the  most  gal 
lant  officers  in  the  American  navy,  and,  I  be 
lieve,  has  kept  his  pledge  to  this  day.  Thus 
much  for  the  conscience  of  a  child. 

BITE   BIGGER,   BILLY. 

"  Bite  bigger,  Billy  !  bite  bigger  !  Take  it 
all,  Billy  !  ye  needs  it  most,  ye  does,"  said  a 
hungry  little  fellow,  at  the  corner  of  Dover 
Street,  in  the  spring  of  1859.  Barney  and 


64  NED    NEVINS   THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

Billy  had  ill-luck  that  day.  All  day  long  they 
had  been  looking  for  work,  but  found  none  :  no 
one  wanted  them,  nobody  would  have  them. 
They  were  hungry  ;  and  cold,  night  was  coming 
on,  and  they  had  no  prospect  for  a  morsel 
of  bread.  They  gazed  into  the  shop- win 
dows,  saw  the  dainty  meats  and  smoking-hot 
cakes,  tempting  as  the  forbidden  fruit  before  the 
eyes  of  Tantalus.  People  came,  and  purchased, 
and  departed  ;  but  there  was  none  to  buy  food 
for  them.  Twenty-four  hours  since  they  had 
tasted  a  morsel  of  bread.  Once  or  twice  they 
had  ventured  into  an  eating-house  ;  but  the  fierce 
look  of  the  waiter  scared  them  from  the  prem 
ises.  At  last,  a  gentleman  took  pity  on  them, 
and  purchased  them  a  cake.  It  was  a  fine  round 
cake,  not  easily  broken.  They  had  no  knife  for 
cutting ;  so  they  sat  down  on  a  door-step,  and 
began  to  bite  it,  and  nibble  it  like  mice.  Oh, 
what  comfort  was  there  in  sharing  that  cake 
together!  what  pleasure  in  vying  with  each 
other  in  generosity  ! 

"  Bite  bigger,  Billy,  bite  bigger  !  Take  it 
all,  Billy !  ye  needs  it  most,  ye  does,"  said  Bar 
ney  Bartlett,  forgetting  his  own  hunger  in  see 
ing  Billy  eat. 

Two  years  after,  when  the  tocsin  of  war 
sounded,  that  boy  heard  it,  and  rushed  to  the 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  65 

field  a  drummer-boy.  He  was  wounded,  lay  in 
the  hospital,  recovered,  waited  on  the  sick  for  a 
time,  then  enlisted  a  private  soldier,  and  was 
shot  in  the  disastrous  charge  of  Burnside  against 
the  stone-wall  at  Fredericksburg.  He  was  in 
the  act  of  comforting  a  wounded  comrade,  was 
raising  up  his  head,  and  giving  him  drink  from 
his  canteen,  saying,  "  Take  it  all,  comrade, 
take  it  all :  I  can  get  more,  you  know,"  when  a 
shot  struck  him,  and  he  fell.  Nobly  did  he  fall, 
showing  the  generosity  of  his  heart  to  the  last 
moment.  "  Bite  bigger,  Billy,  bite  bigger  !  take 
it  all,  Billy,"  was  the  index  of  his  character, 
even  in  his  dying.  Ah !  there  are  noble,  gener 
ous  souls  among  street-boys. 

THAT'S  MY  MOTHER. 

"  Come  around  agin,  come  around,  and  let 
me  git  on  ! "  said  a  drunken  woman  to  a 
wheelbarrow  in  Orange  Lane.  "  There,  stop 
there  !  Come  around  agin !  Stop,  I  say ! 
Whoa  !  let  me  get  on !  Stop,  I  say,  for  a 
poor  tired  woman  !  "  So  she  continued  talking 
to  the  wheelbarrow,  and  reeling  and  staggering 
around  it,  until  a  crowd  of  urchins  gathered 
round  her,  delighting  in  the  fun  of  seeing  a 
woman  striving  to  get  on  board  of  a  wheelbar 
row.  Some  threw  sticks  at  her,  some  crowed 

5 


6b*  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

and  laughed,  and  some  said,  "  See  !  here  is  the 
coach  ;  now  get  on  here  !  " 

Then  the  boys  rolled  the  wheelbarrow  near  to 
her  side,  and  said,  "  Here  it  is,  here  is  the 
coach :  now  step  on  board !  "  thus  adding  con 
fusion  to  her  bewilderment,  until,  at  last,  her 
son,  a  boy  of  fourteen,  who  was  passing  the  end 
of  the  street,  saw  her,  and  laid  down  his  market- 
basket  by  the  side  of  another  boy,  and  flew  into 
the  Lane,  and  drove  the  boys  back,  and  said, 
"  Stand  back,  you  !  every  one  of  you  !  THAT  TS 
MY  MOTHER  !  "  Then,  looking  around  to  see  if 
any  policeman  was  coming-  to  arrest  her  before 
he  could  get  her  home,  he  seized  her  by  the 
arm,  and  held  her  up  all  bleeding  in  the  face  as 
she  was,  bruised,  and  filthy,  and  bore  her  home. 

"  Let  her  alone  I  THAT  is  MY  MOTHER  !  "  What 
words  from  a  boy  who  had  experienced  nothing 
from  that  woman  worthy  the  name  of  mother ! 
She  had  beaten  him,  wished  him  dead,  forced 
him  out  to  beg  and  steal,  taught  him  to  cheat 
and  lie  ;  called  him  a  burden,  a  pest,  a  plague ; 
declared  that  he  had  no  right  to  live,  ought 
never  to  have  been  born,  ought  to  have  been 
smothered  in  infancy ;  that  such  brats  as  he 
didn't  pay  for  their  living ;  he  ought  to  be  dead 
and  buried  !  yet  he  could  call  her  "  MOTHER  ' 
MY  MOTHER  !  "  Oh  what  chokings  !  what  deep, 


STBEET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  67 

guttural  chokings,  must  have  filled  his  throat  at 
that  word  "  Mother  "  /  What  mortification  and 
chagrin,  that  would  make  some  tongues  black 
before  uttering  it.  But  he  was  a  noble-hearted, 
heroic  boy  :  he  had  the  big  heart  of  a  brave 
man.  In  sabbath  school,  he  had  learned  that  first 
commandment,  with  promise,  "  Honor  thy  father 
and  thy  mother,  that  thy  days  may  be  long ; " 
and  he  kept  it ;  showing,  that, with  our  institu 
tions  and  privileges,  any  child  may  rise,  in  spite 
of  the  blight  and  curse  of  beastly  parents. 

JOHNNY   GAFFY. 

The  steamer  "  Columbia "  was  foundering 
amid  the  breaker^  off  the  treacherous  coast 
of  North  Carolina.  Rebel  guns  from  land  were 
also  firing  upon  her;  the  poor  wrecked  mar 
iners  saw  nothing  before  them  but  death. 
The  relief-steamer  '•'  Cambridge  "  was  in  sight, 
but  could  not  approach,  on  account  of  the 
quicksands  and  breakers.  Lower  and  lower 
was  she  sinking :  every  moment  foreboded  utter 
destruction.  Good  heavens  !  must  those  brave 
men  go  down,  without  an  effort  to  save  them  ? 

See  there  !  On  board  of  the  "  Cambridge  "  is 
Johnny  Gaffy,  a  boy  of  fifteen,  just  from  the 
school-ship,  in  Boston  Harbor.  See  him  strip 
himself  for  the  contest !  Off  come  his  blue 


68       NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OK, 

jacket  and  his  tidy  cap  ;  and,  with  a  line  fast 
ened  round  him,  he  plunges  into  the  deep.  He 
sinks,  he  rises,  and  buffets  the  waves,  until  he 
nears  the  breakers.  Now  the  foaming  billows 
rise  up  high  over  him  like  fleecy  clouds,  and 
,back  he  is  borne  by  the  receding  surges. 
Again  he  ascends  the  snowy  crests,  battling 
with  the  opposing  billows  ;  and,  taking  advantage 
of  an  advancing  wave,  like  a  duck,  he  dashes 
through  the  breakers,  and  comes  out  on  the  other 
side. 

Oh  !  how  those  wrecked  mariners  cheered  and 
shouted  as  they  saw  that  brave  boy  emerge  from 
the  foam,  with  a  line  for  their  deliverance  !  They 
saw  him  sink  and  rise  and  struggle,  often  out 
of  sight;  but,  every  time  his  ear  came  above  the 
waves,  it  was  saluted  with  benedictions  on  his 
head.  "  Bravo,  bravo  !  God  bless  you  !  Hold 
on,  brave  boy  !  Bully  for  you  !  you're  worth  your 
weight  in  gold.  Pull  away,  my  lad  !  "  Until  at 
last,  exhausted,  but  undismayed,  he  approached 
them,  and  those  brawny  arms  lifted  him  out  of 
the  waves.  Oh,  how  the  brave  tars  wept  and 
shouted  over  their  deliverer  !  What  tears  of 
unfeigned  gratitude  burst  from  eyes  unused  to 
Aveep !  They  thanked  him,  and  hugged  him, 
and  kissed  him ;  for  he  was  their  salvation. 
The  small  line  which  he  bore  drew  over  a 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  69 

heavier  line,  upon  which  thirty  men  escaped, 
and  were  saved.  All  honor  to  Johnny  Gaffy .' 
Who  says  there  are  not  heroes  among  the  street- 
boys  of  Boston  ? 

See  another  boy,  also  from  the  school-ship, 
fighting  with  Grant  in  the  Wilderness !  Being 
wounded,  and  hobbling  home  upon  one  leg,  he 
exulted  in  the  sacrifice,  and  thanked  God  that 
he  could  do  something  for  his  country. 

See  that  charge  upon  Fort  Fisher  !  The 
greatest  armament  the  world  had  ever  seen 
afloat  had  laid  siege  to  that  fort,  and  had  failed. 
Finally  another  assault  was  made,  and  who  but 
a  Boston  boy  was  the  first  to  enter  ? 

See  that  boy  on  board  the  "  Cumberland," 
firing  the  last  gun  after  she  had  been  struck  by 
the  monster  "  Merrimack."  She  was  sinking ;  the 
water  was  rising  to  the  muzzle  of  his  gun ;  yet 
there  he  stood,  pouring  forth  his  balls,  which  had 
no  more  effect  upon  the  turtle-shelled  monster 
than  so  many  foot-balls  :  they  bounded  from  her 
sides  like  rubber.  There  he  stood,  facing  the  foe, 
and  firing  his  gun,  thinking  only  of  duty,  until 
the  water  rose  to  his  waist ;  then  the  vessel 
gave  a  heave,  and  a  lurch,  and  quivered  on  the 
wave  like  an  expiring  leviathan.  She  sunk  with 
ull  her  precious  freight,  her  colors  at  mast-head, 
still  floating  in  the  breeze. 


70  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

Look  at  the  dashing  Philip  Henry  Sheridan, 
once  a  poor  street-boy,  of  Boston,  now  one  of 
the  most  renowned  major-generals  of  the  age. 

Tell  us,  has  Boston  not  reason  to  be  proud  of 
her  street-boys?  Yes!  She  is  proud  of  them ; 
and  nothing  will  make*her  generous  heart  more 
elated  than  to  hear  of  their  success  in  life,  and 
of  their  loyalty  to  the  flag.  She  is  not  unmind 
ful  of  their  honor ;  and  she  follows  them  with  her 
benedictions  wherever  they  go,  by  land  or  sea, 
on  the  Western  prairies,  planting  freedom  in  Kan 
sas,  or  on  the  slopes  of  the  Pacific.  She  is  not 
unmindful  of  her  brave  tars  that  have  manned 
our  navy.  She  is  not  ungrateful  to  the  noble 
men  of  the  merchant-service,  who  have  filled  her 
warehouses  with  the  wealth  of  foreign  climes, 
and  spread  her  commerce  over  every  sea.  She 
is  not  unmindful  of  the  brave  sons  who  have 
shouted  her  patriotic  name  on  the  battlefield, 
shouted  the  name  of  Boston  in  every  victory ; 
and  she  is  not  neglectful  of  them  in  time  of 
need.  No  boy  that  sails  from  her  harbor,  no  son 
of  hers,  by  land  or  sea,  need  suffer.  Only  let  it 
be  known  that  he  is  needy  and  worthy,  and  the 
storehouses  of  the  India  merchants,  the  coffers 
of  those  men  whose  vessels  he  has  manned,  are 
open  to  him,  and  the  wealth  of  the  great  city  is 
laid  under  contribution  for  his  support. 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  71 

Boston  has  ever  been  the  beacon-light  of  lib 
erty.  Look  at  her  Sumners,  her  Phillipses,  her 
Garrisons,  and  her  Andrews  !  Though  presi 
dents  may  prove  treacherous,  and  cabinets 
waver,  yet  Boston,  Massachusetts,  New  Eng 
land  stand  as  a  rock,  for  free  institutions  and 
universal  suffrage.  Who  struck  the  first  blow 
of  the  revolution  ?  What  city  was  most  obnox 
ious  to  the  British  throne  ?  Who  first  smote 
the  rebellion  ?  Who  first  flew  to  the  defence  of 
the  capital  ?  What  blood  was  first  spilled  at 
Baltimore,  but  that  of  Massachusetts?  Who 
established  the  first  railroad,  the  first  printing- 
press,  the  first  college  of  America? 

Who  is  not  proud  to  be  a  citizen  of  Boston  ? 
Who  would  not  be  ashamed  to  tarnish  her  fair 
name  ?  When  liberty  is  in  danger,  let  "  Boston  " 
be  the  watchword  !  For  the  nobility  of  the  in 
dividual  citizen,  for  the  success  of  free  institu 
tions,  let  the  world  point  to  Boston.  Then  let 
liberty  shout  for  Boston  !  Let  boys  of  the 
streets  ery  "  Boston  !  "  Let  the  seamen's  watch 
word  be  "  Boston  !  "  Let  them  shout  it  to  the 
islands  of  every  sea ;  let  them  bear  it  on  their 
pennons,  mingled  with  stars  and  stripes,  round 
the  world ! 


CHAPTER   VII. 

STREET-CRIERS,  BEGGARS,   BOOT-BLACKS,  AND  NEWS 
BOYS,  ETC. 

jOSTON  has  the  reputation  for  boasting. 
It  is  said  to  be  the  "  hub  of  the  universe ; " 
therefore  feels  its  consequence.  Har 
vard  thinks  for  Boston,  and  Boston  thinks 
for  the  world.  Boston  leads  New  Eng 
land,  and  New-England  ideas  rule  Amer 
ica.  When  Boston  orators  speak,  the  world 
listens.  "  See  Naples,  then  die,"  was  an  old 
adage  which  may  be  applied  to  Boston.  She 
gets  up  her  celebrations  on  a  grand  scale.  Wit 
ness  the  reception  given  to  the  Russians,  the 
ovation  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  the  gratulations 
to  her  own  Commodore  Winslow,  and  his  brave 
crew  of  "The  Kearsarge,"  her  celebration  of 
Washington's  birthday,  and  her  fifty  thousand 
persons  on  Boston  Common  Fourth  of  July. 
Boasting  keeps  up  the  public  spirit,  and  saves 
many  a  man  from  the  poor-house.  Why  not  en 
courage  it? 
Boasting  is  a  cheap  tax-payer ;  public  spirit 

72 


STEEET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  73 

is  cheaper  than  pauperism.  The  street  vices 
and  street  virtues  often  catch  their  inspiration 
from  upper  society.  Street-criers  love  to  imi 
tate  fashionable  follies.  When  the  Great  Organ 
was  dedicated,  nothing  else  was  heard  of  in  Bos 
ton,  nothing  known,  but  the  Great  Organ.  Wo 
men  left  their  bread  in  the  oven,  men  neglected 
their  work,,  and  boys  forgot  their  play,  to  talk  and 
read  about  the  Great  Organ.  And  the  street-criers 
caught  the  sound,  and  strove  to  imitate  its  ten 
thousand  notes,  as  they  cried  "  Scissors  to  grind!" 
"  Glass  put  in !  "  "  Umbrellas  to  mend  1 "  "  Fresh 
mackerill,  salt  herring!"  And  captains  of  char 
coal-carts  cried  "  CHARCOAL !  "  to  the  music 
of  the  Great  Organ ! 

BEGGARS. 

Beggars  are  not  indigenous  to  the  soil  of  Bos 
ton  :  they  are  imported  exotics.  The  native-born 
Bostonian  is  ashamed  to  beg ;  he  would  starve 
first.  Better  that  he  starve  with  his  honor  bright 
than  lose  his  manhood,  and  become  a  cringing, 
fawning  suppliant.  The  oppressions  of  the  Old 
World  have  sent  enough  of  this  class  to  Amer 
ica.  Let  it  be  the  boast  of  America,  that  no  citi 
zen  of  hers  so  lowers  his  dignity  as  to  expose 
his  sores  and  rags,  or  puts  on  a  false  show,  for 
alms. 


74      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

Oilier  things  lie  would  not  do.  —  How  would  a 
native-born  Bostonian  look,  in  turning  a  hand- 
organ,  and  twitching  the  cord  of  a  monkey,  for 
a  copper ;  grinding  out,  "  0  Susannah  !  don't 
you  cry  for  me  "  !  That  business  is  left  for  men 
of  other  habits  and  institutions  than  those  of 
Boston  or  New  England. 

FAVOB-CRINGERS. 

Neither  is  asking  money  for  little  favors  a  trait 
in  Boston  character.  Go  to  Montreal,  or  any 
town  of  Britain,  and  ask  "  Can  you  tell  me  what 
street  this  is  ?  "  —  "  Yes,  sir,  I  can  ;  but  please 
give  me  two-pence-ha'penny  for  a  mug  of  beer?" 
"  What  building  is  that  ?  "— "  It  is  the  Great  Ca 
thedral,  sir :  jist  a  ha'penny  for  a  mug  of  beer, 
sir  ?  "  —  "  What  mansion  is  that  ?  "  —  "  Why,  sir, 
it's  the  place  where  Lord  Elgin  stopped :  jist  a 
ha'penny,  only  a  ha'penny,  sir,  for  a  mug  of  beer  ? 
it  would  strengthen  this  poor  tired  body  ;  it  would 
cure  rny  dear  throat."  Ask  a  Bostonian  to  show 
you  round;  and  he,  whether  rich  or  poor,  is  proud 
of  the  honor :  he  takes  pleasure  in  telling  you, 
"This  is  Boston,  sir,  the  Capital  of  Massachusetts, 
the  Old  Bay  State."  Even  her  adopted  citizens 
partake  of  her  pride;  and  some  of  them  are 
christened  by  the  name  of  Boston.  Hence  we 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  75 

have  a  "  Boston  Corbett,"  the  avenger  of  Presi 
dent  Lincoln's  death. 

BRIDGET. 

^Even  the  servants  of  Boston  are  imbued  with 
a  spirit  of  pride  and  independence,  and  some 
times,  also,  of  insubordination.  Look  at  modest 
Bridget.  When  she  first  comes  over  to  this  coun 
try,  she  appears  a  pattern  of  meekness,  and  saint 
like  submission.  She  will  wash  and  scrub,  build 
your  fires,  black  your  boots,  and  carry  your  wa 
ter  ;  but  let  her  stay  in  Boston  a  while,  and 
breathe  the  atmosphere  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  she 
will  tell  you,  "  I  don't  think  I  shall  like  this  ere 
work,  I  don't."  —  "  Oh,  yes,  you  will,  Bridget !  " 
says  the  mistress.  "  I  want  you  to  do  a  little  of 
the  cooking,  — just  a  little  only.  I  want  you  to 
dress  this  chicken,  and  cook  this  sauce,  boil  these 
turnips,  peel  these  potatoes  (peel  them  before 
boiling,  you  know)."  And  she  will  ask,  "Dress 
this  ere  chicken,  did  ye  till  me  ?  "  —  "  Yes, 
Bridget,  I  want  you  to  do  it  well:  pick  out 
all  the  pin-feathers."-— "  Pick  out  all  the  pin- 
fithers?  pick  out  all  the  pin-fithers,  did  ye 
say  ?  And  must  I  bile  these  tarnips,  and 
peel  these  'taters?  —  peel  'em  afore  bilin,  heh? 
By  my  faith  in  Saint  Bridget !  I'll  do  no 
sich  a  thing."  —  "Why  do  you  insult  me?" 


76  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  |    OR, 

says  the  mistress.  "  Insult  ye  ?  I  don't  insult 
ye.  I  guess  ye  bitter  pick  out  yer  own  pin- 
fithers,  ye  had  ;  and  ye  bitter  skin  yer  own  'to* 
ters :  I  does  parlor-work,  I  does  ;  "  and,  slamming 
the  door  to,  off  she  goes.  A 

One  Boston  lady,  the  wife  of  a  minister,  deter 
mined  to  bring  her  servant  into  subjection ;  so 
she  laid  violent  hands  upon  her.  That  little  act 
cost  her  husband  over  two  thousand  dollars. 
Thus  sacred  and  inviolable  is  held  the  personal 
liberty  of  even  a  servant-girl  in  Boston. 

DRUNKARDS. 

Even  drunkards  feel  some  pride  for  Boston's 
reputation,  and  some  self-respect  as  citizens  of 
Boston.  "  Thomas  Collins,"  said  the  Clerk  of  the 
Police  Court,  "you  are  charged  with  being  drunk: 
are  you  guilty,  or  not  guilty?  "  —  "  Thrunk,  did 
ye  say?  thrunk,  heh?  Hum,  who  says  I  was 
thrunk?  Prove  it  if  ye  can!"  —"Come,  say 
guilty  or  not  guilty,"  said  the  clerk,  with  pen  in 
hand,  ready  to  write  the  sentence.  "  Guilty  or 
not  guilty  ?  hum,  that's  what  I  say." — "  But  are 
you  guilty  or  not  guilty  ?  Answer  at  once." 
Gaping  and  staring  and  hesitating, then  turning  to 
walk  off,  he  said,  with  a  waggish  shrug,  "  /  am  a 
stranger  in  these  parts !  I  don't  choose  to  answer 
that  question]  "  and  down  the  dock  he  went. 


STREET   LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  77 

NEWSBOYS. 

The  newsboys  are  a  set  of  independent  little 
fellows,  boisterous,  wide  awake,  and  full  of  fun. 
"  Here's  the  Heral',  Jirnil,  Trav'ler,  'Ranscrip', 
five  'clock,  last  'dition  :  paper,  sir?"  —  "How 
much  do  you  ask?"  —  "Five  cents,"  was  the  reply 
of  one  of  them  to  a  man  on  Washington  Street ;  so 
the  man  took  a  paper,  and,  after  reading  the  tele 
graph  news,  was  about  to  hand  it  back,  but  final 
ly  pulled  out  three  cents,  and  handed  to  the  boy. 
The  boy  took  it,  gazed  at  it,  and  held  it  up,  and 
said,  "  Three  cents,  three  cents,  and  hindered 
me  all  this  time,  when  I  told  him  five  !  Papers 
has  riz  in  war-times  :  well,  never  mind,  I'll  be 
up  with  him  !  "  So  he  seized  an  old  paper,  ran 
up  to  the  pocket  of  the  man,  took  out  the  ne\v 
one,  and  put  in  the  old  one  ;  then  lie  came  back 
to  his  comrades,  one  of  whom  was  on  crutches, 
and  swapped  his  coat  and  hat,  and  seized  a  crutch, 
and  ran  round  the  corner  to  head  off  the  man  ; 
and,  hobbling  before  him,  he  cried,  "  Here's  the 
Heral',  Jirnil,  Trav'ler,  'Ranscrip',  five  'clock, 
last  'dition:  paper,  sir?  "  —  "  No,  my  lad  :  I  have 
just  bought  one  of  a  boy  back  yonder."  —  "  Have 
you,  sir?  That  boy  sells  old  papers,  he  does. 
I  bet  it  is  an  old  one  you  bought." — "No,  it 
aint :  I  saw  the  telegraph,  five  o'clock."  —  "I  tell 


78       NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

you  'taint  so,  look  and  sec."  So  the  man  looked, 
and  cried,  '''There!  'tis  yesterday's  paper!  Where 
is  the  scamp?"  —  "There  he  is,"  said  the  boy; 
"  that  one  with  the  blue  coat  on,  catch  him  !  catch 
him  ! "  The  man  started  in  pursuit,  while  the 
boys  set  up  a  yell,  clapping  their  hands,  and  cry 
ing,  "  Catch  him,  catch  him !  three  cents,  three 
cents !  "  until  the  attention  of  the  throng  was 
roused  ;  and  the  man  shrunk  away  in  shame, 
concluding  it  best  never  again  to  cheat  a  news 
boy. 

BOOKS. 

Boston  is  filled  with  books  and  book-worms  ; 
that  is,  book-readers.  Books  make  ballots,  and 
ballots  rule  the  continent,  except  in  Mexico, 
where  foreign  bayonets  rule  just  at  this  time, 
contrary  to  American  ideas.  Perhaps  no  city 
on  the  globe,  of  its  size,  has  so  many  schools, 
books,  newspapers,  printers,  teachers,  profes 
sors,  lawyers,  doctors,  ministers,  lecturers,  re 
formers,  woman's  rights,  advocates,  female  phy 
sicians,  authors,  and  artists,  as  this  modern  little 
Athens  of  America.  No  audience  in  the  world 
will  perceive  a  palpable  hit,  or  catch  a  joke, 
quicker  than  a  Boston  audience.  No  critics  are 
more  acute.  Even  the  common  people  are  native- 
born  critics.  Contrast  these  people  with  those 
of  the  South,  —  the  poor  white  or  the  slave. 


STREET   LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  >        79 


POOR    WHITE. 

I  saw  ono  of  the  poor  whites  of  North  Caro- 
.liria.  He  was  a  tall,  lean,  straight-haired,  sport 
ing  man,'with  gun  in  hand.  "  That's  a  fine  book 
of  yourn,"  said  he;  holding  the  book  wrong  end 
upwards,  however.  "  I  du  declar',  that  are  is 
fine  !  it  is  right-smart !  It's  got  picters,  it  has, 
heh?  What  du  you  ax  for  it?  I  du  declar',  I 
had  'un  most  jist  like  it  once,  I  did  !  I  used  it 
for  waddin'  to  slmte  squirrels  with,  I  did.  It 
had  a  picter  of  old  Jackson  in  it;  and  I  shot  old 
Jackson  at  the  squirrels.  A  peddler  come  our 
way  once,  and  left  a  boblition  paper ;  and  I 
wadded  with  that,  and  I  couldn't  kill  nuthin. 
But,  when  I  wadded  with  old  Jackson,  I  killed 
every  time.  I  said,  '  Look  a-here,  Mr.  Squirrel ! 
This  ere  constitution  of  mine  must  and  shall  be 
preserved.'  Then  I  jist  pinted  at  him  :  and  down 
he  cum  quicker  nor  you  can  say  Jack  Robin 
son."  Such  was  one's  estimate  of  books,  bred 
under  the  blight  of  slavery.  Rise,  Freedom! 
elevate  these  groundlings  of  the  Southern  race ; 
plant  your  schoolhouses,  colleges,  and  churches  ; 
let  Boston  notions  prevail ;  let  New-England 
institutions  regenerate  the  South  ! 


80       NED  NEVIN8  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 
SLAVE. 

The  slave,  with  the  manhood  almost  crushed 
out  of  him,  is  but  a  little  lower  in  the  grade  of 
civilization  than  the  poor  white.  He  comes 
fawning,  cringing,  agitated,  with  hat  off,  and 
thrust  under  the  chair,  showing  his  white  teeth, 
and  trying  to  snrle,  saying,  "  Can't  I  help'  ye, 
Massa?  Shan't  I  b'ack  ye  boots,  massa?" 
Poor  thing !  a  dog  could  hardly  crouch  so  low. 

A  Boston  boot-black  is  imbued,  perhaps,  with 
a  spirit  of  too  much  independence.  "  Hallo, 
sir!  have  yer  boots  blacked?"  ''How  much 
do  you  ask,  my  boy?"  ''Ten  cents,  sir!" 
"  Ten  cents  !  that's  too  much.  Won't  you  take 
five  ?  I'll  give  you  five  !  " 

The  boy  looks  at  him  a  moment,  then  putting 
his  thumb  to  his  nose,  with  his  fingers  playing, 
"  No,  SIR-EE  !  I  can't  ruin  the  trade  ;  I  can't  lower 
ilie  dignity  of  the  profession."  And,  with  a  swell- 
strut,  he  moves  off. 

HURRY. 

The  people  of  Boston  are  ever   in  a  hurry. 

Hinderances  are  provoking,  vexatious.     A  man 

came  to  a  street-corner,  and  said,  — 

"  Boy,  can  you  tell  me  what  house  this  is  ?  " 
"  Brick  house,  sir.    Didn't  you  know  that  ?  " 


STREET    LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  81 

"  Well,  can't  you  tell  me  who  lives  here  ?  I 
am  in  a  hurry." 

"  Well,  sir,  I'll  toll  ye  if  ye  won't  be  in  sicJi  a 
Imrry.  Jennie  lives  there,  and  little  George 
lives  there,  and  little  Harry  and  Susie,  and  the 
baby  and  Fido  and  pussy,"  — 

"  Stop,  you  little  simpleton !  Tell  me  who 
are  the  old  folks." 

"  Well,  sir,  they  are  Jennie's  grandpa,  and 
George's  grandpa,  and  Jennie's  grandma,  and 
George's  grandma,  and  Harry's  grandma,"  — 

"  Stop  !  I  say,  who  is  the  head  of  the  fam 
ily?" 

"Well,  grandpa  sits  at  the  head  of  the 
table  !  " 

"  No,  not  that !    Who  owns  the  house  ?  " 

"  Oh !  that's  what  ye  want  to  know,  heh  ? 
Why  didn't  ye  ask  that  afore  ?  and  I'd  tell  ye. 
Aunt  Susie's  husband  owns  the  house ;  and  he  lives 
at  -Roxbury."  So  the  hurried  man  left,  no  wiser 
in  regard  to  the  occupants  of  the  house  than 
when  he  came. 

STAMMERER. 

Another  man  asked  a  stuttering  boy,  "  How 
far  is  it  to  Bunker  Hill  ?  "  The  boy  began  to 
stammer,  trying  to  say  two  miles,  —  "  t-t-t."  But 
the  man  kept  on  walking,  the  boy  still  stammer 
ing,  "  t-t-t,"  till  at  last  he  became  exasperated, 

6 


82       NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

and    cried,   "  G-g-go   along !      You'll   g-g-git 
there  'afore  I  can  t-t-tell  ye." 

ELOCUTIONIST. 

Boston  is  noted  for  its  formality  of  manners. 
The  hearts  of  the  people  are  moved  more  by 
logic  than  by  passion  or  impulse.  Its  preachers, 
its  lecturers,  and  its  professors,  are  formal.  One 
of  these  professors  came  to  teach  the  newsboys 
the  art  of  elocution.  "Now,  boys/'  said  he, 
"  assume  this  position"  (suiting  the  action  to  the 
word),  "  now  that ;  now  perform  this  gesture, 
now  that.  Now  we  will  practise  the  voice  on 
inflection.  This  is  the  rising  inflection,  this  the 
falling,  and  this  is  the  circumflex." 

"  I  don't  care  imthin'  about  your  'flexions  nor 
circumflexes  nor  geneflexes.  I  want's  to  speak 
my  piece,"  said  a  bold  little  genius,  tired  of 
what  he  called  "  this  ere  humbug  and  foolin," 
And  making  his  bow,  swift  as  thought,  he  said, 
with  animated  gesticulations,  — 

"  The  Turk  awoke  ! 
That  bright  dream  was  his  last : 
He  woke  to  hear  his  sentry's  shriek, 
To  arms  !  they  come  !  the  Greek,  the  Greek  I 

Strike,  'till  the  last  armed  foe  expires, 
Strike  for  your  altars  and  your  fires, 
Strike  for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires, 
God,  and  your  native  land." 


STREET    LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  83 

Then  clapping  his  hands,  confident  of  success, 
he  joined  in  the  applause  that  fairly  shook  the 
house.  The  professor  shrunk  away  into  a  cor 
ner,  until  the  boy  had  got  through  ;  then  took 
his  hat,  and  left. 

The  truth,  is,  they  were  native-born  orators  ; 
while  he  was  merely  a  theorist,  following  the 
profession  for  a  livelihood. 

WHISTLER. 

Boston  is  filled  with  professors ;  professors  of 
all  kinds,  from  law,  science,  and  theology,  down 
to  quack  doctors.  One  of  these  would-be-pro 
fessors,  travelling  South,  found  himself  in  want 
of  funds.  How  to  raise  the  wind  was  a  puzzle; 
but,  as  the  wind  must  be  raised,  he  hit  upon  a 
plan,  and  announced  himself  a  professor  of  whis 
tling,  and  declared  he  could  teach  anybody,  man, 
woman,  or  child,  how  to  whistle  any  tune,  pro 
vided  they  would  obey  orders.  As  the  an 
nouncement  was  a  novel  one,  his  advertisement 
drew  a  full  house  ;  and,  as  money  was  his  object, 
the  fees,  of  course,  were  obtained  in  advance. 
Said  he,  u  Ladies  arid  gentlemen,  your  success 
depends  upon  your  implicit  obedience  to  orders. 
Please  sit  erect,  look  straight  at  me,  draw  up 
your  lips  in  this  way  "  (puckering  up  his  mouth 
in  a  manner  that  provoked  general  laughter). 


84  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OK, 

"  Please  give  me  your  attention.  Those  young 
ladies  do  nothing  but  titter,  titter  !  Hush  that 
laughing.  You  can't  whistle  while  laughing. 
Attention  !  Wet  your  lips  ;  prepare  to  'pucker  ! ;' 
(Roars  of  laughter.)  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen, 
I  must  have  your  attention.  Are  you  ready  ? 
once  more  I  repeat  it,  Prepare  to  pucker!" 
(Continued  roars  of  laughter,  and  great  confu 
sion.) 

"Well,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  have  paid 
your  money,  but  have  broken  the  conditions : 
you  will  not  give  that  implicit  obedience  to  or 
ders  which  is  necessary  to  learn  the  art  of 
whistling.  You  will  not  prepare  to  pucker  • 
therefore  you  can't  Iparn  to  whistle."  Then, 
soon  as  possible,  he  made  his  exit. 

The  moral  of  this  is,  that  one  must  acquire  the 
rudiments  before  succeeding  in  any  profession. 
Puckering  always  precedes  ivliistling.  "  If  you 
won't  prepare  to  pucker,  you  can't  learn  to 
thistle." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


NATIONAL    CHARACTERISTICS.  —  OUT-DOOE    SPORTS. 
IN-DOOR   SUFFERINGS. 


Englishman  is  said  never  to  be  happy 
but  when  he  is  miserable.  It  is  an 
Englishman's  prerogative  to  growl  and 
grumble.  A  Scotchman  is  never  at 
home  but  when  he  is  abroad.  An 
Irishman  is  never  at  peace  except 
when  he  is  in  a  fight.  A  Yankee  has  never 
got  enough  until  he  gets  a  little  more.  The 
Frenchman  boasts  of  belonging  to  so  great  a 
country.  The  Englishman  boasts  that  so  great 
a  country  belongs  to  him.  The  Yankee  affirms 
that  he  and  his  country  are  one. 

A  high-bred  Englishman  is  surly,  sulky,  self- 
important,  unapproachable,  except  by  his  com 
peers,  with  an  air  of  "  Stand  your  distance, 
sir  !  " 

The    Yankee   is    cute,  knowing,  fraternal,  in 
quisitive,  acquisitive,  and  disquisitive,  except 
in  Boston,  where  he  is  a  little  more  reticent. 
The  Western  man  boasts  of  his  extensive  prai- 

85 


86  NED    KEVINS   THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

ries  and  growing  cities.     Soon    he  expects  to 
control  the  nation. 

The  Southerner's  boast  has  been,  that  "  I  am 
a  Southern  gentleman,  sir  !  No  mudsill  of  toil ; 
my  cellars  are  filled  with  wine,  and  my  planta 
tion  worked  by  slaves." 

The  Bostoniaii's  boast  is  not  that  he  is  a 
Northerner,  nor  an  idler,  nor  a  cavalier,  but 
that  he  is  a  cosmopolitan!  his  domain  is  the 
world. 

An  Englishman's  love  for  roast-beef  is  proverb 
ial.  Johnny  Bull's  pluck  is  made  for-mid-a-ble 
(bull)  by  bull-beef. 

A  Dutchman  loves  his  ease,  his  pipe,  and 
lager.  "  Te  world  be  too  much  stirring,  to  peo 
ples  be<too  much  in  von  big  hurry.  Be  quiet, 
Mynheer  !  Tat  vas  goot !  " 

The  Frenchman  goes  into  ecstasies  over  trifles. 
His  beau  ideal  is  the  love  of  pleasure  and  female 
society.  With  pantomimic  gesticulations  he 
says,  "  Charmant  Mademoiselle !  Go  to  do 
Opera  ?  Go  to  de  Theatre  Francais  ?  Tres 
Grand!  All  de  beau  monde  be  prt'se/^/  mag- 
nifique  !  capital !  capital  !  Mademoiselle ! '' 

The  Bostonian  thinks  that  frivolous  French 
man  too  excited,  too  enthusiastic.  .  Coolly  and 
scrutinizingly,  with  spectacles  on  nose,  he  gazes 
at  his  monkey-like  performances,  as  though  ho 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  87 

were  calculating  about  how  much  it  would  take 
to  buy  him  out. 

The  solid  men  of  Boston  are  noted  for  their 
coolness  as  well  as  smartness.  I  saw  one  of 
them  once  -overwhelmed  by  a  snow-slide  from  a 
roof.  The  ladies  in  the  street  were  dodging  and 
shrieking,  "  Oh  my  !  this  is  ridiculous  !  We'll 
be  killed  !  "  The  bystanders,  laughing  and  en 
joying  the  'sport,  while  he,  placing  his  hands 
upon  his  knees,  and  dropping  his  head,  received 
the  force  of  the  slide,  like  a  true  disciple  of 
Zeno.  Then  looking  up,  he  said,  "  There,  spill 
your  thunder !  have  you  got  through  ? "  and 
shaking  himself,  he  passed  on,  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  If  the  day  of  judgment  were  at  hand, 
such  a  man  would  be  found  calculating  its 
effects  upon  the  price  of  stocks  or  the  rate  of 
gold. 

Out-door  Sports.  —  Boston  is  noted  for  its 
love  of  coasting,  sleighing,  and  skating.  Its 
suburbs  are  admirably  situated  for  the  greatest 
indulgence  in  these  healthful  sports.  Many 
young  ladies  of  fashion  indulge  in  the  graceful 
art  of  skating.  This  is  a  healthful  exercise,  and 
seems  necessary  to  those  who  will  not  develop 
their  physical  frames  by  hard  work.  If  they 
will  not  toil,  then  let  them  skate.  And  I  must 


88  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

confess,  a  young  lady  looks  rather  aerial    and 
fairy-like  on  skates. 

Jemima  Darling.  —  But  I  saw  something 
richer  than  skating.  Six  years  ago,  Ezekiel 
Tudor,  a  fresh  New-Brunswicker,  stood  by  Wil 
liams  Hall,  waiting  for  Jemima  Darling  to  come 
out  of  singing-school.  He  addressed  her  some, 
thing  in  this  style,  — 

"  O  Jemima,  with  eyes  so  bright, 
Here's  a  big  ripe  apple  meller ; 
Let  me  go  home  with  you  to-night  ? 
Don't  let  that  other  feller." 

Jemima  said,  "  Yes,  Zeke,  you  may.  Give  me 
your  arm." 

"  0  Jemima,"  said  Zeke,  "  I  have  got  some 
thing  better  ;  I  have  brought  my  hand-sled  ;  it 
is  a  clipper  of  a  goer,  a  reg'lar  reindeer.  Won't 
you  take  a  ride  ?  "  Now  it  may  be  fashionable 
in  New  Brunswick  for  a  woman  to  ride  on  a 
hand-sled,  but  not  in  Boston.  She  got  on  the 
sled,  however,  and  through  the  streets,  and  over 
Dover-street  Bridge  they  went,  by  the  sleighs, 
phaetons,  and  carryalls,  happy  as  larks.  Zeke 
was  never  prouder  in  his  life;  he  now  bore 
"  Caesar  and  his  fortune."  He  was  not  quite  so 
swift  as  a  horse;  many  a  steed  outstripped  him 
in  the  race  :  but  never  was  there  a  steed  of 
brisker  mettle  or  of  prouder  spirit.  He  jumped. 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  89 

pulled,  puffed,  and  wheezed,  while  Jemima 
seemed  delighted  in  putting  on  the  string. 
Didn't  she  give  him  Jessie,  though  ?  She  had  the 
reins  in  hep  hand,  and,  striking  with  a  stick,  she 
said,  "  Go  faster,  Zeke!  DO  go  faster !  faster ! 

FASTER  !    FASTER  ! 

And  the  poor  tired  fellow,  with  renewed  spirit, 
tried  his  best  to  go  "faster, faster,  faster,"  until 
at  last,  almost  exhausted,  and  half  dead,  he 
reached  her  door  in  South  Boston.  The  best  of 
the  story  is,  Zeke  won  his  bride ;  but,  true  to 
her  womanly  instinct,  she  has  held  the  reins,  and 
cracked  the  whip  over  him  ever  since.  Still  the 
cry  is,  "faster,  Zeke  I  faster,  faster !  )?  and  she 
makes  Zeke's  trotters  step  to  a  tune  considerably 
swifter  than  Old  Hundred. 

Bartholomew !  or  Woman's  Rights.  —  It  is 
amusing  to  see  how  some  men  love  to  be  ordered 
about  by  woman.  They  seem  but  a  shadow  of 
their  better  halves.  This  is  well ;  for  it  is  an 
axiom  in  mathematics,  that  the  "  greater  shall 
comprehend  the  less."  How  comforting,  to  an 
unambitious  mind  to  be  under  the  guardianship 
of  another.  To  have  ^no  will  of  your  own ;  to 
have  it  completely  swallowed  up  in  the  will  of 
another.  To  have  your  thoughts,  like  your 
money,  carried  in  somebody  else's  purse.  You 
have  no  need  of  a  purse,  for  you  have  nothing 
to  put  into  it. 


90  NED    NEVJNS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR. 

I  know  a  man  in  Boston,  who  would  not  have 
a  will  of  his  own  for  the  world ;  he  has  no  need 
of  it;  he  lives,  breathes,  walks,  speaks,  and  acts, 
under  the  control  of  the  guardian  spirit  of  his 
wife.  If,  by  chance,  he  should  break  like  a  comet 
from  the  central  orb,  a  word,  a  look,  from  his  wife 
when  she  says,  "  Bartholomew  /"  brings  him  all 
right  in  a  moment.  Up  go  his  hands  in  alarm  ; 
he  secretes  himself  in  the  corner,  and  yields  with 
lamb-like  submission. 

One  time  lie  determined  not  to  be  so  hen 
pecked  :  he  would  be  a  man  in  spite  of  himself; 
he  would  assert  his  rights.  She  looked  daggers 
at  him.  "  Bartholomew !  "  she  cried ;  yet  he 
clung  to  his  seat,  and  braced  his  feet,  and 
stirred  not.  Bravo  !  he  had  conquered.  Again 
she  looked  daggers.  "  BARTHOLOMEW  !  "  Still 
he  clinched  his  teeth,  and  held  to  his  chair,  and 
stuck  like  pitch.  "Bartholomew!  BARTHOLO 
MEW  !  !  BARTHOLOMEW  !  !  !  "  My  stars  ! 
how  he  jumped !  Such  is  the  magnetic  power 
of  woman. 

One  Boston  notion  is  that  of  woman's  rights. 
From  the  days  of  Ann  Hutchinson  to  the  present 
time,  there  have  been  teachers,  lecturers,  ambi 
tious  women,  refusing  to  pay  taxes  without 
representation,  despising  the  authority  of  their 
liege  lords.  Some  claim  the  right  to  choose 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  91 

presidents  and  elect  generals.  Judging  by  the 
valor  displayed  by  some  generals  and  ex-presi 
dents,  they  must  have  been  chosen  by  votes  from 
the  crinoline-  persuasion. 

Woman's  Wrongs,  or  Indoor  Suffering's.  —  On 
the  other  hand,  contrasting  with  these  strong- 
minded  women,  what  kicks  and  knocks  and 
bruises  some  wives  will  bear  from  their  brutal 
husbands  !  God  only  knows  what  they  suffer  ! 
No  person  will  bear  or  forbear  like  a  drunkard's 
wife.  Being  reviled,  she  reviles  not  again  ;  per 
secuted,  she  threatens  not.  Such  a  person  was 
the  wife  of  a  man  by  the  name  of  Perkins,  on 
Kneeland  Street. 

I  visited  her  soon  after  she  had  been  beaten  : 
she  gazed  at  me  as  if  I  were  an  angel  from 
heaven.  There,  upon  the  stove-hearth,  was  the 
blood  which  she  had  coughed  up,  caused  by  the 
brutal  blow;  it  was  but  the  precursor  of  her 
winding-sheet,  yet,  without  a  murmur,  she  ac 
cepted  her  condition  as  the  decree  of  fate.  Rum 
formed  that  decree  ;  rum  struck  the  blow. 

Yet  the  abuse  of  that  man  was  worse  than  the 
blow,  more  than  death  itself. 

Oh  the  abuse  of  a  drunken  man !  Oh  the 
taunts,  the  threats,  the  ribaldric  jeers  ! 

What  wrongs  would  he  not  perpetrate  ?     Oh, 


92  NED    KEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

how  many  martyrs  are  dying  by  inches  in  this 
city's  low,  back  underworld  of  woe  ! 

Mary  Kelley.  —  "  Please  buy  these  shavings, 
sir.  'Tis  gettin' late  ;  I  can't  sell  'em.  sir,  my 
mother  wants  the  money,"  said  a  half-clothed  lit 
tle  girl  at  my  door.  It  was  after  dark,  the  wind* 
blew,  and  the  snow  Avas  falling  thick  and  fast. 

"  Where  does  your  mother  live  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  She  lives  in  East  Orange  Street ;  she  be 
blind  and  almost  starvin',  sir." 

So  I  took  the  poor  little  thing  by  the  hand , 
and  through  the  drifting  snow  we  travelled, 
until  we  reached  the  cellar  where  the  poor  wo 
man  lived.  She  raised  her  head  from  over  the 
stove  where  she  had  been  bending,  to  gather  the 
heat  from  the  last  spark  of  fire.  A  broken  plat 
ter  with  a  little  tallow,  and  a  burning  wick  at  its 
side,  gave  just  light  enough  to  show  the  depths 
of  poverty  and  misery  'to  which  she  had  been 
reduced. 

There  was  a  pile  of  filthy  rags  in  the  corner 
of  the  room,  answering  for  a  bed,  but  scarcely 
any  other  furniture  except  the  broken  stove. 

As  I  entered,  she  raised  her  almost  sightless 
eyeballs  towards  me,  and  told  her  sad  story,  Her 
husband  was  at  the  House  of  Correction ;  she 
being  nearly  blind,  depended  upon  her  two  chil- 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  93 

dren  for  support.     They  did  it  by  selling  shav 
ings,  and  begging  from  door  to  door. 

She  said,  "  Sir,  I  am  nearly  blind  !  My  husband 
came  home  intoxicated,  ana  found  nothing  on  the 
stove  but  water,  for  I  could  get  nothing  to  eat; 
and,  seizing  the  kettle  of  boiling  water,  he  dashed 
its  contents  in  my  face.  I  threw  my  hands  to  my 
head,  and  cried,  '  0  my  God  !  you  have  mur 
dered  me,  you  have  murdered  me  ! '  When  I 
took  my  hands  from  my  head,  the  skin  and  hair 
clung  to  them,  and  my  skull  was  nearly  bare  ;  and 
I  never  saw  the  light  again.  People  want  me  to 
go  the  poor-house ;  but  how  can  I  go,  and  leave 
my  poor  little  children  in  the  hands  of  strangers? 
Oh,  no  !  I  cannot  part  with  them.  I  had  rather 
live  on  a  crust  of  bread  than  be  parted  from  my 
dear  children." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

NED   NEVINS   FORCED   INTO   A   STREET    FIGHT. 

JLLO  there,  Yank  !  whose  slid  has  ye  got? 
Where  did  ye  git  that  ere  slid,  and  that 
ere  basket  of  coal?  By  ginger!  if  ye 
hain't  stole  'em  both,"  said  Patrick  Mur 
phy  to  Ned  Nevins,  as  the  latter  came 
trudging  along  from  the  coal-dump,  drag 
ging  his  hand-sled  with  a  basket  of  coal  upon  it. 
As  Pat  had  nothing  else  to  do,  he  took  particular 
delight  in  crowing  over  the  u  young  Yank  "  as 
he  called  him.  and  in  tormenting  him  in  every 
possible  manner.  His  mother  kept  a  liquor-shop 
near  by,  and  some  "  female  "  boarders  ;  and  some 
times  "  gentlemen  "  lodgers  tarried  there  for  the 
night. 

Old  Mag  Murphy  was  a  noted  thief,  —  a  re 
ceiver  of  stolen  goods,  —  and  Pat  was  her  chief 
accomplice  in  thieving.  Only  a  few  days  before, 
a  boy  was  passing  that  way  from  market,  with  a 
hand-sled  and  a  basket  of  meat ;  and,  getting  into 
a  frolic  with  his  dog,  he  left  his  sled  and  basket 
on  the  side-walk  for  a  moment,  and,  returning, 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  95 

found  them  missing.  Pat's  trade  was  to  watch 
for  such  accidents.  He  had  seized  the  prizes, 
and  hustled  them  into  the  house.  Old  Mag 
Murphy  consumed  the  meat,  but  thought  it  dan 
gerous  to  retain  the  sled,  as  search-warrants 
were  often  displayed  about  her  premises  ;  so  she 
allowed  Pat  to  cut  Ned's  name  on  the  sled,  and 
leave  it  at  Mrs.  Nevius's  door. 

Ned.  rising  in  the  morning,  and  seeing  the  sled 
with  his  name  marked  on  it,  thought  that  some 
body  had  left  it  for  a  pres'ent;  so  he  took  it  to 
draw  home  his  coal.  Now  it  was  when  return 
ing  that  he  met  Pat,  and  received  from  him  the 
accustomed  insults.  Nothing  riled  or  daunted 
by  the  epithets  of  "  Yank,"  "  thief,"  and  "  coal- 
picker,"  he  passed  on  as  if  he  heard  not,  until  he 
saw  that  Pat  was  determined  to  have  a  fight. 
'•  Hillo  there,  you  young  Yank!  Stop,  thief!" 
he  said,  crossing  his  path,  and,  heading  him  off. 
and  doubling  up  his  fists  in  an  attitude  of  defi 
ance.  "  Let  me  alone  ;  let  mo  go  home,  for  my 
mother  is  sick,"  said  Ned.  "  I  hain't  stole  no 
sled ;  it  was  gin  to  me,  and  my  name  put  on't ; 
don't  be  botherin'  me,  I  want  to  go  along  ;  I  told 
mother  I  would  git  home  early,  and  she  wants 
the  coal." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  "  cries  Pat,  with  a  malicious 
laugh,  knocking  off  Ned's  hat  at  the  same  time. 


96       NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  Oft, 

"  I'm  spilin'  for  a  fight."  Then  he  blustered 
about,  and  doubled  up  his  fists,  and  drew  off  as 
if  to  strike  him.  "  I  could  knock  your  eyes  out 
in  two  minutes.  See  that  ero  pile  of  knuckles  ! 
See  how  I  could  put  'em  between  your  lookers, 
heh  !  "  shaking  the  fist  in  his  face. 

"  Don't  strike  me  !  "  says  Ned.  "  Take  one  of 
your  size ;  besides,  my  mother  tells  me  never  to 
fight  ;  it  is  better  to  suffer  wrong  than  to  do 
wrong :  '  if  I  do  nothin'  wrong,  somethin'  good 
will  come  to  me."  So*  he  pressed  his  way  along, 
determined  not  to  quarrel. 

"  Stop  thief !  "  says  Pat,  "  Give  an  account 
of  yourself;  ye  stole  that  ere  slid,"  tripping  him 
down. 

"  Pat  Murphy,  you  must  not  do  that  again  ;  big 
as  you  are,  if  my  mother  hadn't  told  me  not  to 
fight,  I  would  never  stand  this." 

"  Your  mother !  "  says  Pat ;  "  why  don't  you 
say  father,  heh?  Ha,  ha,  ha!  ye  hain't  got  no 
father !  ye  niver  hed  no  father.  Ye  be  one  of 
them  ere  unfortunates  that  niver  knows  why 
they  was  born.  Your  mother,  heh?  Ha,  ha! 
she's  one  of  'em,  that's  so,"  bending  down,  and 
sneering  in  Ned's  face  with  a  sarcastic  grin  that 
made  his  blood  boil  with  indignation. 

"  Pat  Murphy  !  sa^y  what  you  please  about  me, 
—  call  me  all  manner  of  names  ;  but  there  is  one 


STItEET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  97 

thing  yon  must  not  do,  —  you  must  never  insult 
the  name  of  my  mother,  no  never,  never,  never  !  " 
—  looking  to  heaven,  as  if  to  say  his  prayers, 
and  standing  tike  a  rock. 

"  I  will  insult  both  you  and  your  mother  !  " 
said  Pat,  giving  him  a  blow. 

Then  Ned,  like  a  tiger,  chafed  and  foamed,  and, 
striking  his  fists  together,  leaped  at  his  foe,  and 
struck  him  first  on  the  nose,  which  sent  him 
reeling,  then  on  the  temples,  which  felled  him  to 
the  earth,  then  pounced  upon  him.  and  gave  him 
blow  after  blow,  till  the  blood  burst  from  Pat's 
nose,  and  Ned's  fist  was  all  covered  with  blood. 

"  Oh,  murther  !  murther  !  "  cried  old  Mag  Mur 
phy,  as  she  saw  the  fight  from  her  window,  and 
burst  out  of  the  house  in  a  rage,  with  broom  in 
hand,  and  her  dog  at  her  heels,  to  join  in  the 
fray.  "  Murther  !  murther  !  they  be  killhv  my 
poor  Patrick!  my  dear  little  saint!  my  honest 
boy  !  By  my  soul,  and  Saint  Bridget,  he  shan't 
be  killed  right  before  my  eyes.  Help,  help, 
help  !  Police,  police  '  "  Then  she  seized  one 
of  Ned's  legs,  while  he  lay  upon  Pat,  and  the 
dog  seized  the  other  leg;  and,  as  they  pulled,  the 
dog  growled,  and  she  cried,  "  Police,  police ! 
Murther,  murther  !  "  Then  the  street  windows 
rose,  and  doors  flew  open,  dogs  came  barking 
out;  and  men,  women,  and  children,  without  hats 

7 


98  NED   NEVIXS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

or  bonnets,  came  rushing,  pell-mell,  towards  the 
fight,  until  at  last  a  policeman  appeared ;  and, 
breaking  through  the  crowd,  lie  seized  the  boys 
by  the  collar,  and  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Plase  sir,  ye'r  'onor,  this  ere  boy  has  been 
stealin'  a  slid,"  said  Mag  ;  "  and,  because  Pat 
told  Ir.m  he  stole  it,  he's  fell  a-foul  of  him,  and 
bate  him  almost  to  dith.  Poor  boy  !  Don't  cry, 
my  dear  Patrick.  See  the  blood  a-runnin'  down 
his  poor  innocent  face  !  Dare  little  saint,  darlin' 
crather,"  she  said,  as  she  kissed  him  and  hugged 
him.  "  He  niver  fights,  nor  stales,  nor  tills  lies. 
See  how  he  suffers  like  a  martyr  'cause  he  tills 
the  truth,  and  hurts  nobody !  Here  conies  the 
market-man,  he  what  owns  the  slid ;  he  will  tell 
you  if 'tain't  his  slid." 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Mr.  David  Nelson,  "  that  is  my 
sled :  it  was  stolen  from  one  of  my  market-boys." 
So  he  seized  it,  and  carried  it  home ;  while  Ned 
was  held  by  the  collar,  and  taken  to  the  station- 
house,  amidst  a  rabble  crowd  of  ragged  street- 
prowlers,  of  every  age,  sex,  and  kind  ;  increasing 
in  numbers  as  the  motley  throng  advanced  ;  filling 
up  from  every  lane  and  alley  with  bare-headed, 
bare-legged,  hooting,  and  yelling  juvenile  preco 
cities,  throwing  sticks  and  mud  and  snow,  till 
now  the  police  stops  a  moment  to  silence  the 
mob.  When  they  saw  the  blood  on  Pat's  face,  and 


8TEEET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  99 

knew  that  the  Yankee  boy  must  have  caused  it, 
then  they  yelled  worse  than  ever,  crying,  "  Shoot 
him,  kill  him!'7  At  last,  when  near  the  station- 
house,  a  squad  of  policemen  appeared  ;  then  the 
tumult  ceased,  and  the  crowd  skedaddled. 

Ned  is  taken  into  the  station-house ;  and  Pat 
Murphy  and  old  Mag  Murphy  are  the  only  dis 
tinguished  citizens  who  are  allowed  to  come  in, 
and  help  make  out  a  case.  Ned  sees  his  perilous 
condition.  Nothing  but  intercession  with  the 
policeman  can  save  him.  What  hope  has  he  ? 
What  feeling  for  an  innocent  boy  has  a  police 
man,  who  has  been  dealing  with  rascals  a  life 
time?  What  tears  will  awake  his  pity?  What 
protestations  of  innocence  will  lie  believe  ?  How 
can  a  man  familiar  with  bolts  and  bars,  and 
crime's  deceits,  judge  of  the  pride  of  character, 
or  self-respect ;  or  the  mortification  and  eternal 
stigma  of  being  incarcerated  for  crime? 

"I  want  to  go  home,"  said  Ned,  bursting  into 
tears.  "  I  promised  mother  I  would  return 
early."  — "  You  go  home!"  said  Mr.  Kelly  sar 
castically.  "  I  guess  you"  will  go  home :  you 
have  been  too  long  on  the  street  to  talk  of  home 
now.  I  have  got  you  this  time,  and  I  shall  hold 
you  for  trial."-  —  "  Yis,  yer  'on or,  hold  him  fast, 
hold  tight  the  dreadful  crather,"  said  old  Mag, 
in  a  rage.  "  He's  no  father  ;  he's  in  the  strata 


100  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY;    OR, 

all  the  liv'-long  day  ;  he's  fightin'  and  stealin', 
and  tellin'  lies  about  folks  all  the  blissid  time. 
He's  lied  about  me.  He  says  I  stole,  and  Pat 
stole.  Yis,  Pat  stole,  he  says,  —  this  dare  latle 
saint  of  his  mother  !  Poor  Patrick  !  And,  'cause 
Pat  told  him  he  stole  that  ere  slid,  then  he  fell 
a-foul  of  him,  and  bate  him  almost  to  dith.  Poor 
Pat !  my  angel !  mother's  dear,  daiiin'  boy  ! ;' 

Then  Ned  seized  the  policeman's  hand,  and  fell 
upon  his  knees  to  attest  his  innocence.  "  0 
sir!  believe  me,  when  I  tell  you  I  never  stole 
that  sled.  I  found  it  at  ray  door,  with  my  name 
marked  on  it.  I  never  stole  any  thing  in  my  life. 
I  am  no  thief.  I  am  not  idle  in  the  street.  I 
work  for  my  poor,  sick  mother.  Please,  sir,  let 
me  go." 

"  'Taint  so  !  "  says  old  Mag,  stamping  her  foot. 
"  He  did  stale  it ;  and  I  will  appear  in  court,  and 
swear  to  it." 

"  Hear  me,"  says  Ned.  "  I  am  an  innocent 
child,  innocent  as  the  day  is  long.  I  would 
not  wrong  anybody  for  the  world.  I  am  poor ; 
I  have  no  father  to  protect  nae ;  my  mother  is 
dying ! " 

"  'Taint  so  !  "  says  Mag  ;  "  I  seed  her  in  the 
street  a  few  days  ago:  she  hain't  dyin'  no  how  !  " 

"  Oh,  hear  me,  sir  ! "  says  Ned.  "  You  are  my 
only  friend  ;  look  in  pity  upon  me  ;  do  not  lock 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  101 

me  up :  it  will  disgrace  me  for  life,  it  will  kill  my 
poor  mother.  Do  any  thing  else  with  me,  but 
do  not  put  me,  in  prison.  Starve  me ;  strip  me 
naked  in  the  cold;  whip  me  till  my  veins  burst; 
blister  my  back  with  burdens,  and  my  feet  with 
running ;  let  my  hands  be  palsied  with  toil,  but 
let  them  never  be  disgraced  by  a  chain,  or  bar 
red  by  a  prison.  Let  me  walk  erect,  and  hold  up 
my  head  in  innocence ;  and  let  me  shake  this 
poor  fatherless  hand  of  toil,  and  say,  '  It  still  is 
free  ! " 

"  By  Saint  Patrick  !  "  says  Mag,  "  his  hand 
has  been  frae  too  long,  it  has,  sir!  Jist  see 
poor  Pat's  face,  heh  !  " 

"  Oh  that  I  were  a  child  of  yours  !  "  said  Ned, 
"  then  you  would  love  me,  and  pity  me,  and  hear 
my  prayers.  Oh  that  I  was  a  servant  of  yours  ! 
to  wait  on  you,  and  dolour  bidding,  and  be 
truthful  to  you,  and  show  you.  that  even  a  poor 
street-boy  may  have  an  honest  heart.  May  your 
children  never  want  a  father  to  protect  them, 
and  may  they  never  be  poor  !  Alas  !  I  fear  you 
have  no  children,  you  Jook  so  coldly  on  me. 
Would  that  you  had  one  only  child,  one  little 
boy  about  my  age,  with  bright  blue  eyes,  and 
sunny  face,  and  tender  heart,  to  climb  up  into 
your  lap,  and  hug  you,  and  kiss  you  so  as  I  do 
now  !  •'  (Mr.  Kelly  thrusting  him  away.)  "  Oh, 


102  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY;    OR, 

do  not  thrust  me  away  !  Lot  me  love  you  as  I 
would  a  father,  for  I  have  no  father  to  love  :  let 
me  call  you  more  than  a  father, —  even  a  friend! 
I  cannot  go  into  that  dark  cell.  I  cannot  be 
locked  up  in  this  dungeon.  I  cannot  stay  away 
from  my  mother, —  no,  no!  You  must  let  me 
go  ;  you  will  let  me  go,  I  know  you  will !  0 
Mr.  Kelly  !  be  my  dear  friend.  You  are  the  only 
man  in  the  world  that  can  help  me.  Angels 
shall  bless  you;  orphans  shall  love  you.  You  will 
save  me,  I  know  you  will,  —  let  me  kiss  your 
hand.  "  Better  kiss  Pat  Murphy's  hand  !  "  said 
Kelly,  twitching  away  his  hand.  •'•'  That's  so  !  " 
says  Mag.  "  Patrick  Kelly,  ye  is  a  gintleman 
every  inch  of  ye  ;  yis  ye  ba,  a  right  blissid  gin- 
tlernan  !  " 

"  Oh,  hear  me,  Mr.  Kelly  !  I  did  wrong  to 
strike  Pat  Murphy  (mj| mother  will  blame  me)  ; 
but  my  mother  will  forgive  me,  and  God  will 
forgive  me.  and  none  but  you  so  hard  as  not  to 
forgive  me.  But  1  feel  you  will  forgive  me  ;  yes, 
I  know  you  will.  I  have  something  here," 
(smiting  his  breast)  "  that  tells  me-  you  are  a 
man.  You  would  not  blast  an  orphan's  pros 
pects;  you  would  not  hurt  the  innocent;  you 
would  riot  break  a  mother's  heart?  Then  don't 
iet  me  goto  the  courts  ;  don't  have  it  said  I  have 
oeen  in  jail  !  If  your  heart  were  stone,  you  would 


"  I  cannot  go  into  that  dark  cell!  I  cannot  be  locked  up  in  a  dungeon! 
I  cannot  stay  away  from  my  sick  mother !  No  !  ,no  !  Mr.  Kelly.  Sly  ii.  ~>ther 
is  dying.  You  must  let  ir.e  go!  You  \vill  let  me  go:  I  know  y\  i  will. 
Throw  off  the  Policeman  ;  put  on  the  Man !  and  let  me  go !  "  Page  1C2. 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  103 

feel  for  me  ;  if  your  eyes  were  balls  of  glass,  they 
would  weep.  Oh,  let  me  off  1  you  never  shall  seo 
me  fightin'  again.  1  am.no  fighter;  I  would 
not  hurt  a  worm.  Let  me  off,  and  I  will  show  you 
how  true  I  will  be,  how  thankful  to  you ;  and 
how  a  poor,  sick,  dying  mother,  will  bless  you  !  " 

"  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Kelly,  "  that  your  mother 
has  taught  you  better  things  than  to  fight  and 
steal.  If  you  are  thoroughly  punished  for  this, 
it  will  be  a  lesson  to  you,"  putting  a  key  in 
the  lock,  and  opening  the  iron  door  to  one  of  the 
cells. 

"  0  Mr.  Kelly !  you  will  not  turn  that  key 
on  me  !  you  will  not  lock  me  in  there  !  The 
creaking  of  the  door  makes  me  shudder ;  its  very 
look  frightens  me  ;  the  angry  lock  scares  me  ; 
the  sound  of  the  turning  key  pierces  my  heart ! 
I  cannot  go  in  there ;  i  cannot  be  behind  those 
bars !  I  cannot  go  out  with  irons  upon  my 
wrists.  Let  me  see  your  wrists.  There  are  no 
irons  on  them,  no  mark  of  irons  ;  no  red  blistered 
streak  of  shame.  Oh,  how  those  irons  would 
weep,  to  be  put  on  my  hands  !  Ah  !  their  weep 
ing  mouths  would  refuse  to  close  upon  me, 
their  jaws  would  set  at  sight  of  so  cruel  an 
intent.  My  hands  are  as  innocent  as  yours,  Mr. 
Kelly  !  Look  at  them  !  they  have  done  no 
crime;  they  ought  not  to  be  bound.  Oh,  how 


104  NED    KEVINS    THE   NEWSBOY;    OK, 

my  mother  would  weep,  and  angels  would  weep, 
and  you  would  weep  (you  couldn't  help  weep 
ing),  if  you  should  fasten  me  in  there  !  I  heard 
you  sigh  a  moment  ago,  and  the  tears  fell.  You 
had  some  little  feeling ;  your  heart  was  not  all  of 
stone  ;  no,  it  was  not.  You  thought  of  your  boy 
in  my  place,  and  you  did  weep ;  yes,  I  saw  the 
tear  :  now  pity  me,  sir  !  now  take  advantage  of 
the  occasion  just  now  that  your  heart  is  tender,; 
now  throw  off  the  policeman,  put  on  the  man, 
catch  at  pity,  let  your  victim  go.  Heaven  will 
smile  on  the  deed ;  God  will  bless  you  ;  and  this 
poor,  weeping,  fatherless  boy  on  his  knees  at 
your  feet,  pleading  for  forgiveness,  shall  rise  up 
and  bless  you,  and  say  that  the  jail  hath  been 
robbed  of  its  prey,  and  a  helpless  orphan  rescued 
from  doom." 

"  But  I  must  lock  you  up  for  one  night,  and 
you  can  have  your  trial  in  the  morning,''  said 
Kelly. 

"  One  night,  one  night !  did  you  say  ?  one 
night  in  jail,  one  night  in  a  dungeon  !  one  night 
away  from  my  mother,  —  my  poor  sick  mother  ! 
Oh,  sir !  I  was  never  away  from  her  a  single 
night  in  my  life.  One  night  from  my  mother, 
now  that  she  is  sick  and  dying,  and  has  no  helper  ! 
Is  this  my  gratitude  for  all  her  sacrifices  for  me  ? 


STREET    LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  105 

Can  I  leave  her  without  a  fire  ?     Have  I  a  heart 
to  do  it?" 

"  You  must  leave  her/'  said  Kelly,  seizing 
him  by  the  arm,  and  dragging  him  to  the  cell, 
while  Ned  cried  and  shrieked,  as  the  door  closed 
in  upon  him,  "  0  my  mother,  my  mother  ! 
She  is  freezing,  starving,  dying,  all  alone,  her 
Eddie  far  away.  0  mother,  mother  !  Eddie 
will  come  home ;  he  won't  stay  away  !  Do  not 
cry,  mother ;  Eddie  will  come  home  !  Do  not 
die  this  night,  do  not  die  before  he  comes  !  He 
is  coming,  he  will  come  ;  yes,  he  will.  He  has 
not  gone  away  to  leave  you  without  a  fire  :  he 
will  come.  0  mother  !  mother  1 " 


CHAPTER    X. 

INTRODUCTION   TO   MRS.   SOPHIA  NEVINS,   NED'S 
MOTHER. 

kAT  MURPHY'S  wounds  not  being  fatal, 
he  left  the  police-station  in  high  glee,  re 
joicing  that  he  had  cleared  the  street  at 
last  from  that  thorn  in  the  flesh  to  evil 
doers, —  Ned  Nevins.  Skipping  and  jump 
ing,  he  scampered  off  to  Mrs.  Nevins's 
house  in  Orange  Lane  ;  and,  passing  through  the 
entry  passage-way,  he  came  to  the  door  where 
the  sick  woman  lay.  Then,  in  malicious  frolic, 
he  placed  his  lips  to  the  keyhole,  and  bawled 
out,  "  Ned's  in  prison  !  Poor  Ned,  the  beak  has 
got  him  !  "  Then,  uttering  a  fiendish  shriek,  he 
ran  through  the  passage,  out  of  the  house  undis 
covered.  Soon  he  came  back  again  to  the  key 
hole  ;  and,  placing  his  hands  over  his  lips  to  make 
a  doleful  sound,  he  cried,  "  Poor  Eddie,  darling 
boy  !  Eddie  won't  come  to-night,  he's  "  -  but 
this  sentence  was  cut  short  by  an  Irish  woman 
from  another  door  in  the  passage-way,  who 
cried,  — 

106 


STREET    LIFi:    IX   BOSTOX.  107 

"  Out,  ye  young  rascal !  don't  be  torraentin' 
that  poor  sick  crather.  She  be  a-most  did  now. 
Away  wid  ye'r,  you  scamp,  or  I'll  be  arter  put-, 
tin'  the  police  on  ye'r  track :  be  gone,  and  let 
the  poor  crather  die  asey."  Now,  as  a  rush  of 
other  women  was  seen  coming  pell-mell  towards 
him,  Pat,  with  his  coat-tail  standing  horizontally 
in  the  air,  took  to  his  heels,  and  fled. 

Let  us  enter  the  room  of  Mrs.  Sophia  Nevins. 
It  is  on  the  north  side  of  the  house,  —  a  room 
which  a  sunbeam  never  penetrated,  and  scarcely 
ever  a  ray  of  comfort  or  hope.  The  sun  rises 
and  sets,  but  casts  no  cheering  beam  on  her 
face.  Men  come  and  go  as  regularly  as  the  week 
passes;  but  they  are  not  messengers  of  mercy: 
they  come  to  collect  rent,  or  to  hurry  up  the 
neglected  sewing-work.  Within  ten  feet  from 
her  head,  the  Worcester  trains,  rumbling  with 
passengers  and  heavy  freight,  pass  every  few 
minutes,  shaking  the  building  with  hideous  jar, 
and  piercing  the  ear  of  the  dying  with  the  whit 
tles'  shriek. 

Mrs.  Nevins  is  asleep;  she  has  at  last  fo and 
a  drug  that  stupefies  her,  and  makes  her  insensi 
ble.  She  heard  not,  or  heeded  not.  the  sound  at 
the  keyhole  ;  and  the  rumbling  cars  startle  her 
but  for  a  moment,  unless  when  some  unusual 
sound  occurs,  such  as  the  creaking  of  wheels,  or 


108  NED   KEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;-    OR, 

grating  of  the  brakes :  these  noises  seem  to 
pierce  her  soul.  Strange  place  for  a  woman  of 
her  education  and  refinement !  But  poverty,  like 
an  armed  man,  hath  forced  her  step  by  step  to 
this.  She  could  still  have  been  in  comfort,  and 
perhaps  in  affluence,  if  she  would  have  parted 
with  her  child ;  but  this  she  could  not  do.  A 
strange  infatuation  possessed  her :  she  would 
not  part  with  it  for  the  world.  Every  eye  that 
gazed-uponit  made  her  jealous;  and  every  offer 
for  its  adoption  aroused  her  anger.  She  could 
hear  it  call  no  other  person  "  Mother ;  "  no,  not 
in  heaven.  By  parting  with  it,  she  could  be  re 
stored  to  society  ;  but,  by  clinging  to  it,  she  could 
revel  in  its  love,  and  drink  in  the  ocean  of  its 
charms.  By  night,  it  was  her  only  comfort  and 
solace.  As  it  lay  in  her  bosom,  and  its  little 
heart  throbbed  by  hers,  all  care  and  sorrow  were 
banished  away.  Its  sparkling  eyes,  imaging 
nothing  but  love ;  its  tiny  hands  playfully  tan 
gling  in  her  curls,  and  clapping  together  in  glee  ; 
its  prattling  voice,  cooing  in  loving  innocence, 
and  crowing  over  imagined  victories  ;  its  rosy 
cheek,  its  alabaster  forehead,  and  its  silken  locks, 
—  all  awakened  sensations  of  extreme  delight. 
Where  that  child  was,  there  was  her  paradise. 

When  the  time  came  that  she  must  be  parted 
from    it,    or    be    ostracised,   then    banishment 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.          109 

seemed  but  a  holiday  choice.  So  long  as  these 
little  arms  were  clinging  to  her  neck,  these  tiny 
feet  were  dancing  in  her  lap,  these  eyelet  gems 
were  gleaming  in  her  face,  these  ruby  lips  were 
printing  one  kiss  upon  her  cheek,  and  receiving 
a  thousand  kisses  in  return,  so  long  as  she  could 
hear  its  cries,  and  pity  its  tears,  and  relieve  its 
wants,  she  was  supremely  happy. 

What  will  not  love  accomplish?  It  nerves 
the  arm  of  toil  to  perform  herculean  tasks ;  it 
strengthens  weary  feet,  and  shortens  the  longest 
journey  ;  it  lightens  the  load  of  care,  and  makes 
labor  but  a  pastime  ;  it  looks  the  eagle  blind, 
and  espies  sails  of  hope  farther  off  than  the  half- 
discovered  topsail  seen  by  a  wrecked  mariner 
while  drifting  on  his  mast. 

It  tastes  luxuries  in  the  crumbs  of  a  mouldy 
crust;  it  hears  seraphic  minstrelsy  in  the  sim 
plest  speech ;  it  feels  a  rapture  at  the  slightest 
touch,  and  glows  with  ardor  at  the  smallest 
sense  or  sound.  Such  were  the  feelings  of 
Sophia  Nevins. 

But  an  educated,  refined,  delicate  female,  un 
accustomed  to  toil,  cannot  endure  fatigue  like  a 
muscular  Margaret  or  a  Bridget.  Health  must 
finally  fail,  and  finance  be  wanting.  There  she 
lies  a  martyr :  she  is  but  the  wreck  of  her  for 
mer  self,  yet  beautiful  in  ruins.  See  that  wide 


110  NED    KEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OK, 

forehead,  that  high  and  noble  brow,  that  Gre 
cian  nose,  that  chin  of  firmness,  that  mouth  of 
eloquence,  and  those  temples  of  ideality  !  With 
such  endowments,  she  must  have  succeeded,  if 
she  only  had  health.  But  here  the  parents  were 
to  blame. 

Why  did  they  keep  her  in  the  embroidery- 
room,  like  a  caged  bird,  undeveloped  in  physical 
frame,  planting  seeds  of  death  with  no  thought 
of  future  contingencies  ?  Oh  !  it  was  for  so 
ciety,  for  fashion's  sake.  A  curse  on  the  fash 
ion  that  can  cramp  and  distort  the  mothers  of 
our  race,  and  convert  their  progeny  into  dwarfs  ! 
Let  every  woman  of  the  land  have  physical  ex 
ercise  ;  let  every  muscle  be  developed,  and  the 
lungs  have  full  play,  if  they  are  to  produce  vig 
orous  men. 

Here  lies  a  victim  of  parental  softness  and 
false  pride.  By  disease  planted  in  childhood, 
her  constitution  yielded  and  broke  at  the  first 
touch  of  labor.  Oh,  what  a  leap  she  has  made, 
in  jumping  from  affluence  to  this  den  of  poverty 
and  crime  ! 

She  sleeps  !  It  is  a  delirious  sleep.  She  sigh?, 
and  groans  ;  the  tears  flow  ;  and  she  cries,  "  0 
Eddie  !  why  do  you  not  come,  when  your  mother 
is  so  sick?  0  Eddie!  how  can  you  stay  away 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  Ill 

from  your  mother  ?"  Then  she  becomes  quiet 
again. 

See  those  Irish  women  gather  around  her  ! 
One  of  them  watches  the  trunk,  as  if  to  get  hold 
of  it,  then  looks  around  the  room  to  see  if  there 
is  nothing  else  to  steal.  Alas  !  there  are  no  val 
uables  left.  The  room  is  almost  bare.  One  thing 
after  another  has  been  pawned  or  sold,  until 
there  remains  one  old  bedtick  filled  with  shav 
ings,  on  which  she  lies  ;  a  few  torn  coverlids, 
bearing  the  mark  of  her  youthful  needle-work, 
but  now  not  half  enough  to  keep  her  warm ;  a 
broken  stove,  and  a  few  dishes,  on  which  meat  is 
still  waiting  for  Eddie's  meal ;  two  broken-backed 
chairs,  an  old  table,  and  a  few  other  articles,  not 
worth  enough  to  pay  an  auctioneer  for  his  servi 
ces.  In  her  trunk  are  a  number  of  mementoes, 
which  she  will  keep  till  she  dies,  though  she  may 
starve  to  death  for  want  of  their  worth  in  money. 
Also  on  her  hand  is  a  ring,  which,  she  says,  has 
never  been  off  her  finger  since  first  placed  there 
by  the  hand  of  him,  her  betrayer,  who  may  find 
it  in  her  coffin. 

"  She'll  niver  ba  any  bater,  she  ba  a-"most  did, 
poor  crather  !  "  said  a  thievish  Irish  woman  by 
her  side,  as  she  felt  of  her  pulse,  and  gazed  in 
tently  upon  the  ring  as  if  soon  to  make  it  her 
prize. 


112      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

"  Yis  !  she  will  ba  bater,"  •  said  a  benevolent 
old  lady  with  pipe  in  her  mouth.  "  I  has  sane 
her  worse  nor  this,  and  sane  her  mends  herself, 
and  gits  up  agin,  sure.  She  ba  only  worried 
'cause  Eddie  don't  come.  Sha's  in  a  sort  of  a 
drowse  like  now.  When  sha  twitches  and  jerks, 
you  can  hear  her  talk  in  her  slape  :  sha  talks 
'bout  nuthin  but  Eddie,  at  all,  at  all.  Oh,  how  sha 
loves  that  ere  boy  !  sha  sames  sorter  crazy  arter 
him." 

Now  the  Irish  women  are  silent  for  a  moment 
in  watching  Mrs.  Nevins,  when  she  broke  forth 
in  sobs  and  groans  :  — 

"0  Eddie  !  how  can  you  treat  me  so?"  she 
said,  half  awake,  half  asleep,  and  half  deranged  ; 
with  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks,  and  wet 
ting  her  pillow.  "  You  never  served  me  so 
before.  I  will  forgive  you  if  you  will  but  come 
back.  Do  come  back,  my  boy." 

Then  she  thrust  out  her  pale  hand,  as  if  to 
place  it  on  his  head,  but,  alas  !  there  was  no 
Eddie  there. 

"0  my  boy!  you  are  not  here.  Ah,  me!  I 
fear  Eddie  must  be  killed  :  where  can  ho  In;  ? 
0  Eddie,  Eddie!  Why  am  I  brought  to  this? 
Speak,  ye  tattered  rags  of  my  distress ;  speak, 
ye  shreds  of  poverty  ;  speak,  ye  relics  of  better 


STREET    LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  113 

days,  —  has  it  come  to  this?  Have  I  not  suf 
fered  enough  ?  " 

"  0  thoa  pale  ghost  of  despair  !  have  I  not 
become  a  slave  of  thy  fortunes  ?  Cans't  thou 
not  say,  'Hold,  enough'?  Have  I  not  been 
wedded  to  thee  by  indissoluble  ties  of  adver 
sity  ?  I  have  combed  thy  shredded  locks,  and 
kissed  thy  beaded  brow ;  I  have  been  crushed 
at  thy  feet,  and  wallowed  in  thy  foam ;  I  have 
drank  thy  sighs,  and  fed  upon  thy  tears  ;  I  have 
echoed  thy  groans,  and  tuned  my  heart's  min 
strelsy  to  thy  wails  ;  I  have  looked  into  thy  face 
until  my  features  have  shaped  themselves  to 
thine  image.  I  am  a  child  of  despair,  —  his  own 
adopted  child,  grown  under  his  shadow,  nur 
tured  in  his  dungeon,  and  fed  by  his  poisonous 
breath." 

"  0  my  God  !  if  there  be  mercy  in  store  for  a 
poor  wretch  like  me,  oh,  pity  me,  and  save  my 
fatherless  boy ! " 

With  these  exclamations,  she  fell  back  upon 
her  couch,  senseless  and  exhausted. 


CHAPTER    XL 

NED   A   PENITENT    PRISONER.  —  HIS    COMPANIONS  IN 
THE   BLACK  MARIA. 


Ned,  is  your  place  for  the  pres- 
mmi\    enV  sa'^  Patrick  Kelly,  the  policeman, 
^&x    as  he  thrust  him  into   the   cell.     "  You 
have    had     your    last   street-fight,    and 
stolen  your  last  sled.      The  street  is  no 
place   for  you ;  to-morrow  you  will   see 
an   institution   better  than  is  found  in  Orange 
Lane." 

Then  he  slammed-to  the  iron  gate  with  a 
frightful  jar,  that  echoed  through  the  whole 
building  ;  then  seized  the  key,  arid  thrust  it  ino 
the  lock  with  such  terrible  sternness,  that  Ned 
fainted  in  his  cell.  How  long  he  lay  there,  he 
knew  not ;  for  time  had  lost  its  reckoning  with 
him. 

Little  by  little  he  came  to  his  senses,  and 
opened  his  bewildered  eyes ;  but  when  he  saw 
the  bars  and  grates,  and  realized  where  he  -was, 
he  shrieked  and  groaned  and  shuddered  and 
swooned  again.  Oh,  what  a  piteous  wail  burst 

114 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  115 

from  that  young,  innocent  heart  when  he  thought 
of  his  awful  condition  !  Such  shrieks  and  wails 
ought  to  make  the  very  stones  weep,  and  the 
bolts  yield:  and  none  but  a  butcher  or  jailer 
could  look  coldly  on. 

As  he  slowly  rose  from  the  stone  floor,  and 
reached  out  his  hands  for  succor,  he  instinctive 
ly  began  to  pray.  But  now  a  double  blackness 
settled  upon  his  brow,  not  of  a  dizzy  brain  only, 
but  the  blackness  of  despair.  How  could  he 
pray  ?  He  had  broken  his  mother's  precepts,  and 
broken  the  law  of  God  :  he  felt  himself  lost,  lost ! 
As  whitest  garments  show  quickest  the  stain,  so 
the  purest  at  heart  are  often  most  troubled  with 
conscience.  Ned  felt  condemned  ;  every  pecca 
dillo  of  his  life  rose  in  frightful  apparition  before 
him  ;  every  petty  quarrel  with  his  schoolmates, 
every  deception  towards  his  mother,  every  pin  or 
penny  that  he  had  purloined  from  her,  now  stared 
him  in  the  face.  He  thought  he  must  be  guilty, 
or  God  would  not  have  suffered  him  to  be  thrust 
into  prison.  His  hair  bristled  with  horror, 
awful  sounds  were  ringing  in  his  ears,  dole 
ful  eyes  seemed  peering  through  the  darkness, 
gibbering  spirits  were .  taunting  him ;  and  his 
blood  ran  cold  with  fright. 

Amidst  the  awful  gloom,  he  seemed  sliding 
down  an  inclined  plane,  at  the  top  of  which  he 


116      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  |  OR, 

saw  his  mother  looking  down  upon  him,  and 
weeping,  and  crying,  "  0  Eddie,  Eddie  1  has  it 
come  to  this  ?  0  my  precious  Eddie  1  are  you 
lost?"  And,  at  the  bottom  of  the  plane,  he  saw 
surging  billows  rolling  and  foaming  with  doleful 
murmurings,  like  those  he  had  pictured  in  his 
infancy  concerning  the  gulf  of  perdition. 

Down,  down,  he  settled  on  the  slippery  plane, 
striving  with  outstretched  arms  to  rise  ;  but  all 
in  vain.  And  now  the  breath  from  the  infernal 
regions  strikes  his  cheek ;  and  the  cold,  beaded 
sweat  drops  from  his  brow.  0  horror  of  horrors  ! 
blackness  made  hideous,  and  shapes  and  images 
frightful,  by  a  distorted  and  overtaxed  brain  ! 

At  last  he  falls  into  a  drowse,  a  fitful,  terrible 
drowse.  He  twitches  and  jerks,  and  dreams 
of  hell.  In  a  moment,  he  appears  to  be  con 
versing  with  spirits  lost.  His  lips  move,  and  his 
tongue  jabbers:  he  startles  at  fancy's  imagery 
like  a  maniac. 

The  first  spirit  which  he  met  was  one  like 
his  own,  —  one  who  had  struck  the  fatal  blow, 
and  had  left  the  victim  dead  at  his  feet.  The 
blood  was  still  upon  his  hand,  and  could  never 
be  effaced.  His  name  was  Charley  Nesbitt. 
In  a  moment  of  anger,  he  had  done  the  deed,  and 
now  had  an  eternity  to  repent  of  it. 

"  0  Ned,  my  old  playmate  \    have  you   come 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  117 

to  this  horrible  place?  Where  are  the  teach 
ings  of  your  mother?"  and  then  he  vanished. 

Ned  was  horrified,  and  wished  to  flee ;  but 
the  heavy  grasp  of  the  nightmare  held  him  fast : 
there*  was  no  escape. 

Next  he  saw  a  drunkard,  with  cup  in  hand, 
wandering  on  the  shores,  seeking  for  drink.  To 
every  cindered  rock,  he  cried  "  Drink,  drink  ! 
give  me  drink!  for  I  am  mad  with  thirst. n 
But  every  stream  that  come  oozing  out  from  the 
rock  only  added  i'uel  to  the  fire  of  his  thirst.  He 
took  the  acrid  draught,  then  madly  cried  for 
more,  then  drank  again,  then  cursed  the  draught ; 
and  .thus  existence  was  continued,  for  he  was 
not  allowed  to  die.  When  he  saw  Ned,  he 
stopped  and  stared,  and  cried  "  What !  is  it  you, 
Eddie  ?  you,  here  ?  what  have  you  done  ?  "  Then 
Ned  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  He  sobbed  and 
cried  in  his  sleep,  and  shook  with  groans  ;  but  he 
could  not  break  from  the  spell. 

Now  he  saw  the  miser,  with  muck-rake  in 
hand,  compelled  to  scrape  over  the  refuse  and 
marl  of  this  devastated  region,  in  like  manner 
as  Ned  had  been  compelled  to  dig  at  the  coal- 
clump.  The  miser  was  shrivelled  into  deformity. 
His  head  was  large ;  but  his  waist  was  like  a 
wasp's :  he  had  no  heart  left.  What  a  change  in 
his  fortune  !  He  -seemed  desirous  to  speak  to 


118  NED   NEVINS   THE  NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

Ned ;  but  Ned  crouched  down  breathlessly  still, 
until  his  attention  was  turned  away. 

Then  he  saw  the  oppressor  of  the  poor,  having 
a  voracious  appetite,  but  no  food.  His  eyes 
looked  pitifully  upwards,  his  mouth  was  open,  his 
jaws  were  lank,  he^  cried  continually,  "  Meat, 
meat !  "  but  there  was  no  meat  to  be  had.  Thus 
the  maw-worm  of  appetite  was  gnawing  upon 
his  vitals  day  after  day,  where  the  "  worm  dieth 
not,  and  the  fire  is  not  quenched." 

Now  he  sees  the  profane  man,  the  blasphemer, 
compelled  to  repeat  the  oaths  and  imprecations, 
and  perjuries  and  blasphemies,  which  he  indulged 
in  while  on  earth.  The  task  is  hard,  for  he  has 
no  heart  for  the  work  ;  but  the  law  is  inexorable, 
and  must  be  obeyed.  Now  comes  such  a  thun 
der-clap  of  shrieks  and  oaths  and  blasphemies,  as 
if  Pandemonium  itself  had  split  its  ribs  of  ad 
amant,  and  burst  with  its  own  explosion.  At  the 
hideous  sound,  Ned,  shuddering,  shrieked,  and 
pitched  from  his  bunk  out  on  to  the  stone  floor, 
and  awoke.  The  noise  was,  however^  not  ima 
ginary,  but  real ;  for,  in  the  adjoining  cells,  were 
men  afflicted  with  the  delirium-tremens.  Hence 
the  yells  that  aroused  Ned  from  his  dreams,  and 
drove  him  from  his  bunk. 

It  is  midnight.  Hark  !  A  carriage  is  heard  to 
halt  before  the  station-house.  The  outer  doors 
open :  now  the  key  is  heard  in  the  cell-doors,  aks 


STREET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  119 

one  by  one  they  open.  Now  it  touches  the  lock 
of  Ned's  cell,  as  the  name  of  Edward  Nevins  is 
called.  Now  the  men  with  delirium-tremens 
appear.  There  is  also  a  murderer,  a  robber,  an 
incendiary,  and  a  street-walker.  They  are  all 
hand-cuffed  and  marched  out,  and  hustled  into 
the  Black  Maria  together,  and  locked  in,  with  no 
guard  inside  to  prevent  the  maniacs  from  mur 
dering  the  innocent.  Oh,  what  company  for  a 
tender-hearted,  innocent,  lamb-like  child,  such  as 
Eddie  Nevins  ! 

But  Eddie  thinks  not  of  his  company ;  his 
thoughts  are  two  deeply  centred  on  himself. 
They  may  swear  and  howl  and  fight,  and  bite 
each  other's  thumbs  off,  as  they  have  been  known 
to  do;  but  he  heeds  them  not.  Oh  the  thoughts 
that  swell  his  breast !  Does  he  now  pass  over 
these  streets  for  the  last  time  ?  Ah  !  what  will 
that  mother  do  now  ?  She  forsook  home  -and 
friends  and  wealth,  and  hid  herself  in  poverty, 
that  she  might  live  with  her  darling  boy. 

If  Eddie  Nevins  had  no  secret  hope  of  being 
acquitted,  he  would  rather  die  than  live,  — 
rather  die  than  be  parted  from  his  mother. 

Now  the  carriage  arrives  at  the  Tombs,  and 
empties  itself  of  its  dreadful  load.  One  by  one 
the  prisoners  come  out  of  the  Black  Maria.  They 
aro  met  by  a  squad  of  policemen,  and  marched  to 
their  cells  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  What  abed- 


120  NED    NEVINS    THE   NEWSBOY;    OK, 

lam  do  these  Tombs  present !  As  the  culprits 
are  here  only  to  await  trial,  and  many  of  them 
too  intoxicated  to  keep  still,  strict  prison-disci 
pline  cannot  be  expected. 

There  is  a  crazy  prostitute,  singing-  bawdy 
songs,  and  rolling  out  obscene  language  like  a 
flood.  There  are  men  with  delirium-tremens, 
fighting  with  ghosts  and  spirits  infernal.  Some 
are  butting  their  heads  against  the  walls  until 
the  blood  gushes  out.  One  is  striving  to 
cut  his  throat ;  others  require  straps  upon  them 
to  prevent  violence.  There  is  a  young  man 
crazed  for  the  first  time.  He  sings  and  howls, 
and  prays  and  swears,  in  a  medley  of  piety  and 
profanity,  more  like  a  fiend  than  a  son  of  pious 
parents.  Five  persons,  whose  stomachs  are  over 
loaded  with  drink,  are  retching  at  the  same  time. 
There  are  forty-five  in  all.  Twenty  are  charged 
with  drunkenness ;  ten  for  thieving ;  ten  for 
night-walking;  and  five  are  boys  of  the  street. 

What  company  for  a  child  of  prayer  !  What  a 
school  for  a  boy  who  had  never  before  seen  a 
court-room,  or  visited  a  prisoner's  cell  !  What 
processes  of  hardening  go  on  here  !  How  fast  a 
person  may  lose  his  self-respect  and  manhood ! 
My  God  !  is  there  no  better  place  than  thi-s  for 
the  unfortunate  children  of  neglect?  0  ye 
philanthropists,  awake  to  the  calls  of  the  street- 
boys  !  Let  every  neighborhood  form  itself  into 


STREET   LIFE  IN   BOSTON.  121 

a  committee  of  the  whole,  to  look  after  them,  and 
give  them  a  helping  hand,  before  they  are  driven 
beyond  the  reach  of  help  and  hope. 

Now  daylight  peeps  into  those  cells.  Some  are 
a  little  sobered,  and  awaking  to  the  awful  sense 
of  their  condition.  Others  are  still  noisy,  bois 
terous,  and  crazed.  Some  are  crying  for  drink, 
drink,  drink  !  as  if  their  very  existence  depended 
upon  the  cooling  draught  of  water.  Nine  o'clock 
anives;  and  this  den  of  human  fiends  rattles 
with  the  keys  of  the  jailer,  and  cell  after  cell  is 
opened,  as  each  culprit's  name  is  called ;  and  a 
procession  is  formed  of  reeking,  filthy,  abject 
wretches.  They  march  up  the  stone  stairs,  Ned 
Nevins  in  the  midst,  and  sit  down  in  the  prison 
ers'  dock  for  examination.  The  dock  is  about 
six  feet  lower  than  the  court-room  floor;  so  that 
the  prisoners  are  hid  from  public  view,  except 
such  as  are  called  to  rise,  and  take  the  prisoner's 
stand  for  trial.  Sometimes  a  friend  of  the 
accused  is  allowed  to  look  over  into  the  dock  to 
recognize  his  fellow;  but  not  often.  At  any  rate, 
there  is  no  sympathizing  friend  bending  over  to 
offer  encouragement  to  Ned  Nevins.  Such  a 
friend  would  be  as  the  face  of  an  angel  bending 
over  the  battlements  of  heaven.  Alas  for  the 
poor  boy  !  this  is  not  a  court  of  love  and  mercy, 
but  of  justice. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

MR.  BENEDICT'S  ARGUMENT  WITH  SOLOMON  LEVI. 


morning,"  said  Mr.  Theopliilus  Bene 
dict,  entering  the  counting-room  of  Solo 
mon  Levi,  the  Jew.  "  Good  morning, 
sir.  I  have  called  to  solicit  aid  fora  few 
destitute  children.  I  thought  you  might 
like  to  share  in  the  blessing  of  aiding 
them."  —  "Ah,  Hitter  Benedict  !"  replied  Solo 
mon,  "  you  come  to  te  wrong  place.  You  hash 
got  into  te  wrong  shop,  I  guess,  heh?  I  keeps  te 
moneys  to  let  :  I  no  gives  tern  vay,  heh  ?  Where 
be  te  profits  if  I  gives  te  moneys  vay,  heh?"  — 
"  But,"  said  Mr.  Benedict,  "  out  of  your  abun 
dance,  you  can  spare  a  little  for  the  Lord's  poor, 
and  you  will  lay  up  treasures  in  heaven."  -  —  "  No, 
not  I,  Hitter  Benedict.  I  puts  my  treasures  in 
te  iron  box,  vhere  I  can  gits  him  vhen  I  vants 
him." 

"  But  thieves  may  steal,  or  fire  consume  them," 

said  Hr.  Benedict.    "  You  had  better  make  de 

posits  in  the  Bank  of  Heaven."-—  u  Ah,  Mitter 

Benedict  !  I  makes  no  sich  'posits.  I  risk  him  in  te 

122 


STKEET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON*.  123 

iron  box.  1  fear  te  checks  on  tat  bank  vhat  you, 
speaks  of  be  no  goot.  I  no  possible  can  shave 
tern :  tay  no  goot  wit  te  brokers.  Tay  say  to 
me,  'Solomon,  vaht  ish  tat  you  hash  got,  heh?' 
Ten  I  says,  'I  don'ts  know,  Mynheer.  Tay  be 
von  of  Mitter  Benedict's  checks  on  te  bank  vhat 
he  speaks  of.'  Ten  tay  say,  '  Tish  no  goot :  te 
peoples  no  like  tish  kind  of  stocks.  Tay  no  like 
tish  paper.  Tay  likes  te  hard  moneys.'  "  —  "  But 
somebody  must  support  these  famishing,  neglect 
ed  children."  —  "Yah,  yah!  let  tern  go  to  te 
poor-house :  it  be  better  for  tern  and  me  too." 
"  No,  Mr.  Levi,  it  is  not  better  for  them,  nor  you 
either.  The  State  is  a  hard  step-mother.  She 
holds  her  children  with  a  hard  grasp.  They  do 
not  become  affectionate  by  her  embrace." — "Veil, 
vhat  of  tat?  vhat  does  I  cares  for  'fection,  heh? 
If  she  keeps  tern  from  stealin',  tat  be  enough." 

"  But,  hear  me,  sir.  It  is  for  your  interest 
as  well  as  theirs  that  I  speak.  A  little  timely 
assistance  now  may  save  you  a  round  sum  in 
taxes  by  and  by.  Aid  a  boy  now  in  getting  on 
his  feet,  or  finding  a  home,  and  you  save  the 
State  all  future  expense.  To  support  a  person  in 
the  alms-house  or  jail  costs  two  hundred  dollars  a 
year.  To  continue  that  support  dnringan  ordinary 
life  costs  many  thousands.  To  find  a  good  home 
for  a  child  will  not  cost  twenty  dollars.  There  are 


124  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

as  many  families  wishing  to  adopt  children  as 
there  are  children  to  be  adopted.  Thousands  of 
desolate  hearts  are  praying  for  an  angel  to  come 
to  them  in  shape  of  some  dear  little  orphan.  To 
give  this  child  a  home  before  he  becomes  vitiated 
carries  a  blessing  to  some  childless  fireside,  and 
saves  the  child  to  the  State.  In  fifty  years,  the 
State  of  Massachusetts  has  expended  about 
eighteen  million  dollars  for  supporting  her 
dependent  and  criminal  classes.  Could  these 
classes  have  been  made  productive  instead  of 
t dependent,  they  would  have  added  to  the  wealth 
of  the  State  five  times  eighteen  million.  In 
nine  years,  the  State  has  expended  for  juvenile 
delinquents  at  "Westborough  and  other  places 
eight  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars;  being 
on  an  average  of  four  hundred  and  ninety- 
four  dollars  per  head.  Supposing  that  one 
out  of  four  of  these  delinquents  does  really 
reform,  then  the  cost  of  actual  reforms  will  be 
a  thousand  nine  hundred  and  sixty-seven  dol 
lars  per  head.  The  State  has  not  wealth  enough 
to  reform  its  culprits  at  that  price."  —  "  Ish  tat 
possible  ?  How  te  moneys  b.e  squandered  !  Vhy, 
Mitter  Benedict !  how  tings  be  conducted,  hell  ?  " 
"  Yes,  Mr.  Levi,  there  are  men  in  Boston  who 
will  give  next  to  nothing  in  charities,  but  who 
pay  thousands  of  dollars  a  year  in  taxes  to  sup- 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  125 

port  criminals  ;  and,  if  they  did  but  know  it, 
nearly  all  of  this  tax  may  be  avoided." — "  'Voided, 
voided!  did  ye  say?  'Void  taxes?  Vhy,  Mitter 
Benedict !  ish  tar  any  vay  to  'void  tese  big 
taxes  ?  " 

"  There  is,  Mr.   Levi,  a  way  to  avoid  three- 
fourths   of   them."  —  "  Tree-fourts,   tree-fourts! 
did  ye  say?  Veil  tat  vash  goot !  Ye  be's  von  goot 
financier :   pray  tell  how  ish  tat  done,  heh  ?  " 
"  It  is  done  in  a  way  you  may  little  expect." 

"  Tut,  tut,  Mitter  Benedict !  Don't  talk  'bout 
expect !  I  don't  cares  a  bit  how  ish  be  done, 
only  so  'tis  done,  and  te  speculation  saves  my 
moneys."  —  "  Then  I  will  tell  you  :  it  is  done  by 
the  power  of  the  gospel  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ." — "  Oh,  out  on  ye  talk !  Hang  te  de 
ceiver  !  I  don't  believes  tat !  No,  not  a  word  of 
it"  (scratching  his  head, and  stamping  his  feet). 
"Te  gospel  be  von  big  humbug.  Show  me  von 
single  gospel-cure,  I  ten  talk  mit  ye."-  —  "  Well, 
Mr.  Levi,  let  me  speak  of  old  Puritan  times. 
When  these  colonies  were  young,  they  were 
governed  almost  wholly  by  the  precepts  of  the 
gospel.  Their  founders  were  men  of  God. 
Taxes  were  small,  and  crimes  rare.  Rev.  Na 
thaniel  Ward  wrote,  that  he  lived  twelve  years 
among  them,  and  saw  no  drunkard,  and  heard 
but  one  oath.  Now  oaths  are  as  frequent  as  the 


126      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

ticking  of  the  clock,  and  drunkards  as  numerous 
as  an  army  of  rebels." 

"  But  your  gospel  makes  bigots,  and  hangs 
vitches,"  said  the  Jew. 

"  True,  there  may  have  been  some  over-zealous 
ones  who  have  resorted  to  the  uncharitableness 
of  barbarism  to  promote  their  ends.  '  But  this 
belongs  to  the  age  of  barbarism  rather  than  to 
the  gospel  itself.  Now,  sir,  let  me  tell  you  a 
little  about  that  gospel  which  you  so  much  despise 
and  hate.  The  gospel  makes  honest  men  and 
worthy  citizens ;  it  protects  life  and  limb,  en 
hances  the  price  of  property,  reduces  taxes, 
makes  the  pauper  a  supporter  of  himself  and  six; 
turns  breweries  into  bakeries,  gaming-houses  into 
prayer-rooms,  brothels  into  family  sanctuaries; 
makes  the  desert  of  poverty  be  glad,  and  the 
wilderness  to  blossom  as  the  rose.  It  is  better 
than  all  police  institutions  for  reforming  culprits 
and  preventing  crime.  Law  and  policemen  make 
eye-servants  ;  but  the  gospel  changes  the  heart, 
and  reforms  the  character  and  life. 

Oh,  what  a  glorious  instrument  for  overturning 
the  iniquity  of  the  world  !  Let  every  policeman 
try  it,  every  magistrate  judge  by  its  decisions, 
every  politician  abide  by  its  precepts,  every 
family  altar  be  dedicated  to  its  service,  every 
child  trained  to  its  instruction,  every  mother 


STREET    LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  127 

guided  by  its  spirit,  every  father  consecrated 
upon  its  altar,  and  where  would  be  the  culprits, 
the  poor-houses,  the  jails,  the  arsenals?  and 
where  the  need  of  the  thousands  of  watchmen  to 
protect  our  dwellings  ?  "  —  "  Yell,  tat  ish  true  ; 
but  so  it  would  be  if  men  would  obey  te  law  of 
Moses/'  replied  the  Jew. 

"  No,  sir !  life  and  immortality  are  fully  re 
vealed  only  in  the  gospel,  and  through  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  The  law  of  Moses  never  taught 
the  art  of  free  government,  liberty,  equality, 
fraternity,  and  the  individual  nobility  of  man.  It 
was  not  a  promoter  of  universal  education,  and  of 
the  arts  and  the  sciences.  It  had  no  power  to 
change  the  heart:  no  law  has  power  to  change 
the  heart.  Law  may  demand  the  penalty,  —  an 
eye  for  an  eye,  tooth  for  tooth,  burning  for  burn 
ing  ;  but  the  heart  may  still  remain  unchanged. 
Restitution  will  not  change  the  heart :  the  thief 
may  restore  the  five  dollars  which  he  has  stolen, 
and  still  be  a  thief.  Repentance  will  not  change 
the  heart:  a  man  may  repent,  and  still  remain 
unconverted,  unregenerate.  Nothing  but  the 
spirit  of  Christ,  through  the  blood  of  the  atone 
ment,  can  change  the  heart.  Christ  only  can  do 
the  work ;  and  he  is  able  to  save  to  the  utter 
most, —  a  dying  thief,  a  wicked  Manasseh,  9. 
treacherous  Judas,  —  save  to  the  very  ends  of 


128  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

the  earth  all  that  will  come  unto  him.  Hail,  holy 
Jesus,  Son  of  God,  Prince  of  peace,  King  of 
kings,  Lord  of  lords!  let  the  whole  earth  submit 
to  thy  reign,  let  kings  and  potentates  bow  to 
thee  !  and  all  hearts  adore  thee  !  Let  the  moun 
tain  of  the  Lord's  house  be  established  upon  the 
tops  of  the  mountains,  and  let  all  nations  come 
unto  it."  — "Tut,  tut,  tut!"  said  the  Jew, 
"your  gospel  make  von  big  set  of  hypocrites." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Benedict,  "all  good  currency 
will  have  its  counterfeit.  One  out  of  twelve 
may  be  spurious,  but  the  other  eleven-twelfths 
shall  be  the  salt  of  the  earth.  Yes,  sir  !  the  gos 
pel  that,  with  a  few  poor  unlettered  fishermen  as 
its  apostles,  could  overturn  the  religion  of  the 
whole  Roman  Empire, —  a  religion  supported  by 
imperial  authority,  by  poets  and  philosophers 
the  most  noted  of  any  age  or  clime,  and  by  the 
customs  of  a  thousand  years ;  the  gospel  that 
could  overturn  such  a  religion,  rooted  so  deeply 
in  the  hearts  of  all  classes,  and  sanctioned  by  so 
long  usage,  and  upheld  so  firmly  by  the  imperial 
power,  —  that  gospel  can  yet  overturn  the  impe 
rial  power  of  sin,  dry  up  the  fountains  of  ini 
quity,  bid  the  captive  of  lust  and  appetite  go 
free,  and  restore  Boston,  the  once  Puritan  Boston, 
to  its  primeval  state  ;  when  no  drunkard  shall  be 
found  in  all  its  borders,  no  profane  swearer  be 


STREET   LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  129 

heard  in  its  streets."  —  "  Tush,  Mitter  Benedict! 
avay  vit  ye  prophecy  !  Stick  to  te  facts.  Tell 
me  vhat  goot  te  gospel  now  be  to  Boston,  hell  ! 
How  much  money  does  him  bring  to  Boston, 
heh  ?  How  much  sin  does  him  stop,  heh  ?" 

"Very  well,  let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  Levi,  Bos 
ton  owes  its  prosperity  to  the  gospel.  Religion 
promotes  honesty,  honesty  begets  confidence,  and 
confidence  is  the  soul  of  trade.  By  winning  pub 
lic  confidence,  Boston  has  become  the  second 
city  in  wealth  on  the  continent.  The  gospel 
makes  the  gambler  throw  away  his  cards,  the 
drunkard  his  cups,  the  miser  his  avarice,  the 
thief  his  propensity  for  stealing,  and  the  trader 
his  tricks  of  deceit." — "  Veil,  veil  !  avay  mit 
yer  teories  ;  let  us  have  te  facts.  Who  be  te  per 
sons  made  bitter  by  yer  gospel,  heh  ?  " 

"  You  and  I  are  made  better  by  it.  If  you 
were  born  in  heathendom,  your  property  would  be 
unsafe  ;  and  you  would  not  have  the  respect  for 
moral  virtue  that  you  do  now."  — "  Yes  ;  but  who 
has  been  converted  by  it?  who  be  regenerated? 
vhat  ye  call  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you.  There  is  a  man  living 
on  the  same  street  with  you  who  was  taken  from 
the  jail,  while  his  family  was  supported  by  charity, 
arid  brought  to  the  church  of  God.  He  is  now 
converted,  is  an  honest  man,  and  earns  fifteen 


130        NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY. 

dollars  a  week ;  so  the  gospel  saves  to  the  State 
the  support  of  him  and  his  family,  and  adds  to 
the  public  wealth  the  amount  of  his  wages  be 
sides." —  "Veil,  tat  be  goot,  tat  be  von  goot 
gospel.  Be  tar  any  more  such  converts,  heh?" 
"  Yes,  there  are  scores  of  such,  and  hundreds 
of  less  flagrant  cases  reclaimed  by  the  churches, 
missions,  and  sabbath  schools,  of  Boston.  And, 
what  is  a  hundred  times  better  than  all  this,  there 
are  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  persons 
prevented  from  the  first  step  in  crime  by  these 
institutions.  It  is  hard  to  stop  sliding  in  the 
middle  of  the  hill :  you  must  not  start,  or  you 
must  go  to  the  bottom.  That  which  prevents 
starting  in  a  career  of  vice  is  the  most  useful. 
Though  the  gospel  may  reclaim  ten  thousand 
persons  from  the  error  of  their  ways,  yet  double 
that  number  uncontaminatecl,  who  have  beeh 
prevented  from  entering  into  vice,  have  the 
greater  reason  to  rejoice  at  the  gospel's  power." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

COURT-SCENE.  —  NED'S   TRIAL   AND   NARROW 
ESCAPE. 


court  is  called,  and  Edward  Nevins 
stands  on  the  upper  step  of  the  prison 
ers'  dock.  His  head  reaches  just  above 
the  railing.  He  sees  a  court-room  full  of 
staring  eyes  ;  but  no  eye  is  looking  kindly 
towards  him.  Behind  him,  down  in  the 
dock,  are  some  forty  prisoners  awaiting  trial  ; 
some  of  them  still  under  the  influence  of  strong 
drink;  some  with  blackened  eyes  and  bruised 
faces  ;  most  of  them  are  the  refuse  and  offscour 
ings  of  the  city.  Ned  is  also  in  no  plight  to 
win  favor  or  gain  sympathy.  His  head  is  aching 
and  whirling  with  the  loss  of  sleep,  and  crazed 
with  excitement.  He  was  arrested  in  his  ragged 
clothes  :  his  knotty  hair  stands  on  end,  his  eyes 
are  wild  and  glaring,  his  face  sooty,  and  his 
whole  appearance  forbidding  in  the  extreme. 

Some  of  the  spectators  whisper,  "  There  is  a 
young  rogue  ;  you  can  see  the  mischief  in  his 
eye."  Ned's  chances  of  escape  appear  rather 

131 


132     NED  NEV1NS  THE  KEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

slim.  To  his  right  are  the  friends  of  the  crimi 
nals,  awaiting  the  calling  of  the  prisoners'  names, 
so  as  to  intercede  for  them.  But  there  is  no 
kind  intercessor  for  Ned  Nevins,  —  no  sister  to 
tell  the  story  of  the  plot  laid  against  him,  no 
father  to  give  bail  to  court  for  his  good  behav 
ior,  no  weeping  mother  to  pawn  the  tattered 
clothing  from  her  back  to  pay  his  fine.  His 
mother  was  dying  in  Orange  Lane  :  she  could 
not  relieve  him.  He  stands  alone  to  vindicate 
his  innocence  against  the  machinations  of  old 
Mag  Murphy. 

Ned  was  but  a  poor  newsboy.  What  chance 
has  he  for  mercy,  or  even  justice  ?  Before  him 
are  seated  the  judge  and  his  clerk  ;  the  centre 
of  the  hall  is  filled  by  lawyers,  conversing  about 
their  various  clients ;  but  a  penniless  street- 
boy,  having  no  money  to  fee  them,  is  too  small 
an  object  to  arrest  their  attention  :  therefore  his 
case  will  probably  be  hurried  through  as  soon 
as  possible.  The  clerk  rises,  with  a  warrant  in 
one  hand,  and  a  pen  in  the  other.  The  pen  is  just 
filled  with  ink,  ready  to  write  the  sentence  in  a 
moment ;  for  the  cases  are  many,  and  matters 
must  be  hurried  up.  He  evidently  thinks  the 
boy  had  better  plead  guilty  at  once  to  save  time, 
and  be  sent  off  to  the  Island  immediately ;  for 
his  forbidding  looks  condemn  him. 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  133 

He  said,  "  Edward  Nevins,  you  are  charged 
with  three  counts  :  first,  for  being  idle  and  dis 
orderly  ;  second,  for  stealing  a  sled  belonging  to 
one  David  Nelson ;  and,  third,  for  an  assault 
upon  Patrick  Murphy."  Now  the  clerk  looks 
at  the  boy,  then  puts  his  pen  to  the  document, 
as  if  to  write  the  sentence,  even  before  it  be 
pronounced  by  the  judge  :  for  he  knows  by  long 
experience  what  to  write  if  the  boy  says 
"  guilty/'  as  most  likely  he  will ;  for  what  does 
he  know  about  court-rules  ?  He  has  been 
taught  confession  from  his  infancy,  and  learned 
it  in  his  catechism,  and  has  practised  it  contin 
ually  towards  God  and  his  mother.  Why  not 
confess  now,  and  let  the  court  have  an  easy  time 
of  it  ?  He  will  get  off  quicker,  if  not  better. 
Then  it  is  so  easy  to  write  on  the  document, 
"  Sentenced  this  day,  to  House  of  Correction 
or  Industry  or  Reform-School  or  School-Ship, 
for  six  months,  or  two  years,  or  during  minority. 
It  is  only  for  the  boy  to  say  "  guilty,"  as  he  has 
said  a  thousand  times  to  his  mother ;  and  the 
thing  is  done. 

The  clerk  said  to  Ned,  with  his  pen  touching 
the  warrant,  "  Are  you  guilty,  or  not  guilty  ?  " 
And,  to  his  great  astonishment,  the  little  culprit 
had  the  audacity  to  say,  "  Not  guilty."  The 
clerk,  with  wondering  eyes,  looked  towards  the 


134  NED   KEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

prisoner,  thinking  be  must  have  misunderstood 
him,  and  repeated  the  question  ;  but  the  boy 
answered  firmly,  il  Not  guilty."  Alas  for  the 
poor  salaried  clerk  !  The  boy  was  resolved  to 
assert  his  rights.  The  document  fell  from  the 
clerk's  hands  ;  his  pen  of  ink  was  lost !  He  had  to 
proceed  to  trial  before  recording  sentence. 

He  said,  "  Let  the  following  witnesses  be 
called,  —  Patrick  Kelly,  David  Nelson,  Margaret 
Murphy,  and  Patrick  Murphy.  Hold  up  your 
right  hands.  Do  you  severally  solemnly  swear 
that  the  evidence  you  shall  give  to  this  court  be 
the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth,  —  so  help  you  God?  As  many  of  you  as 
are  Catholics,  kiss  this  Bible.  Mr.  Kelly,  please 
state  to  the  court  what  you  know  concerning 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar.  ' 

Now,  Kelly  was  a  little  "  over  the  bay ;  "  there 
fore  he  exhibited  a  trifle  more  of  the  naivete 
than  he  intended.  "  If  it  plase  yer  'onor,"  said 
Kelly,  "  I  knows  nuthin'  good  of  him.  He  is  in 
the  strate  most  of  the  time.  He  has  no  father, 
an'  the  boys  be  pickin'  at  him  all  the  time.  I 
think  he  would  be  better  off  at  the  Island  ;  then 
the  boys  wouldn't  have  no  one  to  fall  a-foul  on/'' 

"  Do  you  know  who's  to  blame  ?  "  said  the 
judge,  "  he  or  the  boys  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  if  it  plase  yer  'onor,  I  suppose  the 


STBEET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  135 

boys  be  to  blame ;  for  they  pitch  into  him  so, 
'cause  he  has  no  father  to  protect  him,  and  'cause 
his  mother  be  a  bad  woman  what  keeps  a  bad 
house." 

"  She  ain't  a  bad  woman J  "  cried  Ned,  at  the 
top  of  -his  voice,  his  eyes  rolling,  his  muscles 
twitching,  and  his  whole  frame  giving  signs  of 
tremendous  excitement.  "  She  ain't  a  bad 
woman ;  and  he  that  says  she  be  a  bad  woman 
lies  ;  and  I  will  tell  him  so  to  his  face  !  " 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  boy  ! "  said  the  judge,  in 
gentle  tones,  becoming  more  and  more  interested 
in  the  case.  "  Keep  still,  my  lad.  You  shall 
have  a  fair  trial,  and  you  shall  be  allowed  by  and 
by  to  speak  for  yourself."  Then,  turning  to  the 
policeman,  he  said,  "  Why  don't  you  arrest  the 
boys,  instead  of  Edward  Nevins  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  yer  ;onor,  there  be  so  many  on  'em, 
I  should  have  the  whole  neighborhood  down  on 
me  ;  and  I  should  be  in  danger  of  my  own  dear 
Life.  So  I  think  it  best  to  quiet  'em  by  seizing 
on  the  weakest,  and  gitting  him  out  of  the  way." 

"-Well,  what  about  the  sled?"  asked  the 
judge.  "  Oh,  sir  !  yer  'onor,  I  knows  nuthin' 
at  all,  at  all  about  that,  'cept  what  these  are 
folks  says ;  and,  as  to  the  fightin',  I  didn't  see 
when  it  commenced,  nor  who  is  to  blame."  The 
judge  said,  "  That  will  do ;  let  David  Nelson  be 


136  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  |    OR, 

called.  "  Mr.  Nelson,  do  you  recognize  that 
sled  as  your  property  ? "  inquired  the  judge, 
after  the  sled  had  been  shown  him  by  Kelly. 
"  I  do,  your  honor.  It  was  stolen  from  one  of  the 
boys,  while  delivering  his  basket  of  provisions 
from  my  store."  —  "  Do  you  know  any  thing  about 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  ?  "  said  the  judge  ;  "  any 
thing  that  would  tend  to  criminate  him  ?  " — "  No, 
your  honor  :  I  have  no  recollection  of  him  what 
ever." —  "Let  Margaret  Murphy  take  the  wit 
ness-stand.  Now,  Margaret,  tell  the  court  what 
you  know  concerning  the  prisoner  at  the  bar." — 
"  An'  may  it  plase  yer  'onor,"  says  old  Mag,  "  I 
knows  much  about  him,  the  dreadful  crathur,  — 
more  than  I  wants  to  know  about  him.  He  be  a 
stalin'  and  lyin'  and  fightin'  all  the  blissid  time. 
He  says  I  stole,  an'  Pat  stole  ;  an'  he  struck  Pat, 
an'  grabbed  him  by  the  throat,  and  fisted  him : 
an'  I  thought,  on  my  soul,  he  would  kill  him, 
poor  Patrick,  my  dare,  darlin'  boy  !  There  he  ba, 
yer  'onor,  almost  did,  poor  darlin'  boy  !  Oh, 
dear,  oh,  dear !  Boo,  hoo,  hoo  !  "  and  her  fat 
sides  shook,  and  her  rum-blotched  cheeks  glowed 
with  passion,  and  she  felt  for  her  handkerchief  to 
wipe  away  her  crocodile-tears ;  for  she  had  an 
object  in  getting  Ned  sent  away.  She  had  another 
suit  in  court,  at  which  he  was  to  be  a  witness ; 
besides,  this  affair  of  the  meat  and  sled  might 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  187 

turn  out  to  her  serious  disadvantage  if  Ned  be 
acquitted. 

Patrick  Murphy  is  called.  "  Patrick,  tell  the 
court  how  the  quarrel  commenced,"  said  the 
judge.  "  An'  may  it  plase  yer  'onor,"  said 
Pat,  "I  seed  Ned  Nevins  comin'  near  my  house 
with  a  slid  an'  a  basket  of  coal.  I  knowed  he 
stole  the  slid,  so  I  told  him  so."  —  "  How  did  you 
know  ?  "  said  the  judge.  "  I  knowed  it  belonged 
to  Mr.  Nelson,  the  provision-man.  "  How  did  you 
know  that  ?  "  asked  the  judge  quickly.  "  'Cause 
I  had  seen  it  at  his  store,  and  knowed  he  had 
lost  it."  — r "  How  did  you  know  he  had  lost  it  ?  " 
—  "  'Cause,  sir,  yer  'onor,  I  seed  his  boy  go  along 
with  it,  playin'  with  his  dog ;  then  I  seed  him 
come  back,  an'  say  he  had  lost  it."  -  —  "  Didn't  you 
steal  it  ?  "  asked  the  judge  sternly.  "  No,  sir  ! 
I  didn't."  Then  old  Mag  sprang  upon  her  feet 
in  a  great  fluster,  and  said,  "  No,  sir  !  yer  'on- 
or,  no  !  Niver  a  bit  ov  a  slid  did  he  iver  stale  ! 
No,  niver,  niver  !  He  ba  one  of  the  bist  of  boys 
that  iver  lived  :  yis,  he  ba  !  He  wouldn't  stale  a 
copper  !  No,  sir  !  he  wouldn't !  "  —  "  Sit  down, 
Margaret,"  said  the  court.  "  We  are  questioning 
your  son,  not  you."  She  sat  down  in  terrible 
agitation,  stamping  her  foot,  shaking  her  fist, 
wiping  her  face,  and  declaring  that  they  were 
trying  to  ruin  her  poor  innocent  boy.  "  Now, 


138      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

Patrick,"  said  the  judge,  "  Didn't  you  cut  that 
name  on  the  bottom  of  the  sled  ?  "  —  "  Well,  sir, 
if  I  did,  I  didn't  stale  it,"  says  Pat.  "  Then  you 
acknowledge  that  you  did  cut  it,  do  you  ? " 
u  No,  sir  !  "  said  old  Mag,  jumping  up,  and  shak 
ing  her  clinched  hand  in  Pat's  face  with  the 
gesticulations  of  a  fury,  —  a  no,  sir  !  yer  'onor. 
He  niver  didn't  do  no  sich  a  thing !  "  Then  roll 
ing  her  owlish  eyes  at  Pat,  and  puffing  and 
wheezing,  —  "  Let  the  police  take  that  woman 
into  custody  for  contempt  of  court,"  interrupted 
the  judge.  "  Now,  Patrick,"  he  continued, 
"  let  me  see  your  jack-knife."  Then  looking 
at  it,  and  pointing  to  the  blade,  "  I  observe 
that  the  point  of  this  blade  is  gone.  How  did  you 
break  that  knife  ?  Is  not  that  the  point  in  that 
sled,  where  you  cut  the  name  ?  "  —  "  Yis,  sir,  I 
cut  -the  name  ;  but  I  didn't  stale  the  slid." 
—  "Well,"  said  the  judge,  "that  is  enough 
for  the  present.  You  may  sit  down." 

Then  the  judge  said,  turning  to  Ned,  "  Now, 
Edward,  you  can  state  to  the  court  what  means 
you  have  for  getting  a  living,  and  why  you 
should  not  be  sent  to  one  of  the  public  insti 
tutions.  It  is  evident  that  you  did  not  steal  the 
sled ;  but  are  you  idle  and  disorderly  in  the 
streets  ?  " 

Poor  Ned  !   He  was  in  a  hard  place.   He  didn't 


'     STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  139 

know  how  to  commence  to  address  a  court :  he 
didn't  know  what  to  say,  he  was  so  sick  and  diz 
zy  and  frightened;  but, with  a  faltering  voice, he 
began,  "  I  be,  sir,  Mr.  Judge,  a  poor  fatherless 
boy.  My  mother  be  long  sick.  I  don't  know  but 
she  be  dead  since  yesterday.  I  thought  I  seed 
her  spirit  come  to  my  cell  last  night,  and  look  at 
me ;  then  she  turned  away,  and  wouldn't  speak 
to  me.  Then  I  cried  'cause  mother  wouldn't 
speak  to  me,  nor  kiss  me,  'cause  I  was  so  wicked. 
Then  I  thought  it  couldn't  be  my  mother  ;  for  she 
would  speak  to  me,  and  weep  for  me,  and  pray 
for  me,  when  I  had  been  naughty ;  and  she  would 
forgive  me.  She  used  to  say,  '  I  will  forgive 
you,  my  darling,  now  go  to  sleep  ; '  then  she  used 
to  tuck  me  up  warm,  and  kiss  me,  and  say,  '  Good 
night,  Eddie  ;  I  hope  Eddie  will  sleep  good.'  But 
I  couldn't  sleep  last  night ;  no,  I  couldn't  sleep 
in  that  dreadful  place." 

"  That  is  not  the  question,  my  lad,"  said  the 
judge,  interrupting  him :  "  I  want  to  know  what 
you  do  for  a  living."  —  "  Well,  sir,  I  picks  coal  in 
the  mornin',  and  sell  papers  in  the  evenin' ;  and 
sometimes  I  carries  out  baskets  for  a  provision- 
man.  I  ain't  idle,  and  I  don't  fight.  My  mother 
says, '  If  I  do  no  wrong,  somethin'  good  will  come 
to  me.'  1  earns  a  dollar  some  days  ;  and  I 
picks  up  sticks  and  coal  enough  for  all  my 


140     NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  ?)R, 

mother's  fires."-  — "  Don't  you  go  the  theatre, 
and  spend  your  money  ?  " 

"  No,  sir !  I  never  went  to  the  theatre  in  my 
life.  I  goes  nowhere  but  to  work  and  to  bed." 

"Don't  you  go  to  school?  "  —  "  Yes,  sir  :  I  for- 
gits  that.  I  goes  four  nights  a  week  to  Franklin 
night-school." 

"  What  do  you  learn  there  ?  "  —  "I  reads  and 
spells,  and  writes  and  ciphers,  and  studies  gog- 
raphy  ;  and  sometimes,  when  the  city  men  comes 
to  see  us,  I  speaks  pieces." 

"  Why  don't  you  want  to  go  to  the  Island,  or 
to  Westborough  ?  "  —  "  'Cause,  sir,  there  be  bad 
boys  there.  I  shall  learn  bad  things,  and  I  don't 
want  the  name  of  it.  Mother  says  I  must  be 
'spectable,  and  keep  a  good  name  ;  then  folks  will 
trust  me,  and  help  me,  and  love  me.  I  fear,  if  she 
knows  that  I  have  been  in  jail,  she  will  die  :  she 
will  think  I  have  been  bad,  when  I  ain't." 

Then  the  judge  turned  to  the  assembly,  and 
asked,  "  Is  Uncle  Cook  in  the  room  ?  " 

Now,  Uncle  Cook  is  chaplain  of  the  jail, 
and  guardian  of  all  boys  who  arc  discharged  on 
probation  from  the  police  court. 

"  Uncle  Cook,"  said  the  judge,  "  here  is  a 
boy  too  innocent  to  be  arrested,  too  proud  to  go 
to  the  poor-house,  too  self-reliant  for  a  charity- 
school,  too  noble-spirited  to  beg,  and  ashamed  to 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.         141 

be  mean.  Please  take  his  name  and  residence, 
and  have  him  report  himself  to  you  once  a  week 
for  the  next  three  months ;  and  1  will  put  him  on 
probation  for  that  time.  If  he  gets  into  another 
difficulty,  report  him  to  the  court.  I  believe  that 
boy  is  yet  to  make  his  mark  in  the  world.  " 

Then  Uncle  Cook  and  the  officers  and  law 
yers  gave  him  some  money  to  set  him  up  with 
papers ;  and  Mr.  David  Nelson  bade  him  call  at 
his  store,  and  promised  to  give  him  employ 
ment  part  of  the  time.  (Little  did  Mr.  Nelson 
think  who  the  boy  was  that  he  was  inviting  to 
his  house.) 

Upon  gaining  the  street,  Ned  thanked  God 
from  the  lowest  depths  of  his  heart.  Tears  of 
gratitude  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  Purchasing 
his  papers,  he  started  for  home,  crying,  "  Here's 
the  HeraP,  Jirnil,  Trav'ler,  'Ranscrip',"  with  a 
voice  made  sweeter  by  the  sorrows  through 
which  he  had  passed. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

SOLOMON   LEVI    AND    DAVID    NELSON. 

OW,  Mr.  Levi,  how  can  we  settle  ?  "  said 
David  Nelson,  sitting  in  a  private  room  in 
the  Parker  House,  whither  they  had  re 
tired  to  take  some  refreshments,  and  to 
adjust  their  accounts.  Mr.  Nelson  was  a 
grocer  and  provision-dealer.  Solomon 
Levi  was  a  clothier  and  a  broker.  The  boys 
called  him  "  Old  Sol." 

"  Settle  !"  said  Sol,  seizing  a  glass  of  lager-beer. 
"  I  tink  our  accounts  vash  'bout  even,  von  for 
von.  I  clothes  your  family,  and  ye's  feeds  mine. 
Vhat  tink  you,  Mr.  Nelson?"  lifting  his  glass  to 
his  lips  with  a  patronizing  smile.  "  I  think  it's 
Lard  times,"  said  Mr.  Nelson,  "  and  I've  got  to 
shave  mighty  close  this  year."-  —  "  Shave  close  ? 
Yah,  yah  !  "  said  Sol.  "  Shave  close  !  I  guess  ye's 
been  shaving  mighty  close  tese  'ere  ten  year, 
heh?  Vhat  a  pile  of  stocks  ye's  got!  heh  ?  " 
"Yes,"  said  Mr.t Nelson;  "the  Lord  has  pros 
pered  me  somewhat."  —  "  Tut,  tut,  tut !  "  said 
Sol ;  "  don't  say  ish  be  te  Lord ;  more  like  ish  be 

142 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  143 

von  devil,  vhat  help  ye,  lioh  ?  Ye  made  yer  pile 
by  short  veights,  I  guess,  a  little.  Didn't  ye  ? 
Yah,  yah  !  " 

"  Well,  never  mind  that,"  said  Mr.  Nelson ; 
"let  us  resume  our  business.  You  say  that  I 
must  feed  your  family,  arid  you  clothe  mine,  do 
you  ?  What  a  loose  way  of  doing  business  !  Be 
sides,  I  have  only  one  to  clothe  in  your  line,  and 
you  have  ten  to  feed  !  Oh,  fiddle-sticks  !  Which 
side  be  the  devil  on  in  such  a  case?" 

Here  they  were  interrupted  by  a  rap  at  the 
door.  "  Come  in,"  said  Sol ;  when  the  door 
opened,  and  in  came  Bill  Bowlegs,  Sol's  overseer 
of  needle-work,  —  a  large,  two-fisted,  coarse 
grained,  mink-eyed,  hobbling  Anakim.  "  Here, 
Mr.  Levi,  is  the  account  you  ordered  rne  to  bring," 
said  Bill,  cringingly  handing  him  a  paper. 
"  Very  veil,  Bill.  I  vash  engaged  at  dis  time. 
You  can  go  for  de  present,"  pointing  to  the 
door.  So  Bill  swung  his  swaggering  frame  out 
of  the  room.  His  locomotion  was  not  the  best. 
His  legs  seemed  to  have  been  bent  by  a  supera 
bundant  weight  upon  them  in  early  life  ;  but  his 
savage  manners,  his  hard  heart,  his  cruelty  to 
inferiors,  and  his  fawning  obsequiousness 
towards  superiors,  made  him  a  fit  tool  for  Old  Sol 
to  elect  chief  of  staff  in  his  war  on  the  female 
constitution. 


144      NED  XEVIN3  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

"  There,"  said  Sol,  "  tat  bo  von  man  tat  ish 
vorth  his  veight  in  gold  !  See  vlrit  an  eye  he 
hash  got,  heh?  Do  Yankee  -gals  no  cheat  him, 
no  how.  He  see  do  slack  vork  and  do  loose 
stitches  as  far  as  de  hawk  see  von  chicken.  Tay 
don't  pull  te  vool  over  his  eyes;  tay  don't  come 
it  over  him  wit  tar  tears  and  sobs.  Ho  goes  for 
makin'  moneys.  Yes,sar:  he  make  ye  have  von 
big  pile  of  moneys,  —  gold  moneys,  silver  moneys, 
and  tousand-dollar  greenbacks,  heh  ?  " 

"  But  he's  not  cruel  to  the  poor  girls,  is  he?  " 
said  Mr.  Nelson.  "  Tut,  tut !  "  said  the  Jew,  jo 
cosely.  "  None  of  yer  pious  cant,  none  of  yer 
meetin'  talk.  He  hash  to  be  cruel,  or  ve  makes  no 
moneys.  He  is  von  big  voman-killer.  He  sees, 
vhen  te  blue  comes  under  te  eye,  and  tay  coughs, 
and  te  blood  comes  from  te  lungs,  and  tay  be 
pale  and  sick,  tat  tay  don't  draw  to  stitches 
tight.  Ten  he  rap  te  table,  and  stamps  his  foot 
(here  the  Jew  acted  the  part  in  comic  imitation)  ; 
ten  he  look  at  te  vork,  and  scowl  jist  as  if  he 
be  niad ;  ten  he  tear  to  stitches  ;  ten  he  look 
at  te  voman  vith  tat  big  black  eye  of  his,  tat 
lightnin'-nash,  and  he  transfer  te  stitches  of  tat 
vork  right  to  her  side,  so  tat  she  die.  He  hash 
killed  more  vomen  in  Boston  tan  te  var  hash  men 
of  Boston." 

"  Oh  the   wretch  !  "  said  Mr.  Nelson  :  "  he's 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  145 

murdered  them  !  "  — ;i  Vel,no  ;  not  quite  so  bat  as 
tat :  he  not  'sactly  murthered  tern,  but  killed  tern 
by  inches,  —  stitched  tern  to  death."  —  "But," 
said  Mr.  Nelson,  "  they  were  not  obliged  to  work 
for  him."  —  "  Yel,  no  ;  tays  not 'sactly  obleeged  to 
vork :  but  you  see  tay  hash  to  vork  or  starve  ; 
and  starvin  ish  not  te  most  pleasautest  ting  for 
te  stomach,  you  know :  so  tay  choose  to  vork 
rather  tan  starve." 

"  Stafrve  in  Boston  !  good  heavens  !  is  it  pos. 
sible?"  — "Hush,  hush,  David!  don't  get  ex 
cited.  You  see  tar  be  so  many  vomeu  clamor 
ing  for  vork,  dat  ve  give  'em  just  vhat  ve  please, 
say  about  von-fourth  vhat  te  Government  give 
us  for  te  vork ;  den  ve  just  pocket  te  other 
tree-fourts,  and  tats  vhat  make  us  contractors 
te  rich  nabobs  on  State  Street,  heh  ?  "  —  '•  And 
is  there  no  remedy  ?  "  —  "  Vel,  yah  !  tar  ish  two 
remedy :  von  ish  for  te  vomen  to  vork  in  te 
kitchen,  and  te  other  be  for  tern  to  sell  tar  vir 
tue  for  hire.  But  you  see  te  Yankee  gal  ish  too 
proud  to  do  te  housework,  arid  she  be  too  virtu 
ous  to  sell  herself  for  te  moneys.  By  te  powers 
of  Moses  !  how  she  hold  on  to  her  principles, 
heh  ?  Not  all  te  gold  in  te  mint  will  purchase 
te  virtue  of  some  of  tese  Yankee  gals." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Nelson, "  is  not  pride  of 
character  helpful  to  moral  sentiment  ?  "  —  "  Hush, 
10 


140  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

hush  yer  preachin !  don't  talk  of  sentiment. 
T  talks  about  moneys,  tats  all ;  moneys,  sar,  noth- 
in'  but  moneys  !  does  ye  hear?  "  —  "  Well,  then, 
let  us  take  a  financial  view  of  the  matter,"  said 
Mr.  Nelson.*  "  If  these  women  are  too  proud  to 
beg,  and  too  high-minded  to  go  to  the  poor- 
house,  then  the  State  saves  by  their  pride  half 
a  million  of  dollars  a  year  ;  and  you  don't  have  to 
pay  taxes  for  them."  —  "  Vel,  yah  !  tat  ish  sound 
reason,  tat  vas  goot ;  pride  be  von  goot  ting,  yah, 
yah!" — "Now,"  continued  Mr.  Nelson,  "you 
say  they  might  save  themselves  by  selling  their 
virtue  ;  but  would  they  live  longer  by  a  vicious 
life  than  by  a  virtuous  one  ?  Does  not  vice 
kill  more  than  double  the  number  that  the  nee 
dle  does,  after  all  ?  "  —  "  Vel,  I  suppose  so  ;  but 
ten  it  be  sorter  pleasanter  to  be  flattered  up  a 
leetle,  and  dress  fine,  and  all  tat."-  — "Ah,  sir  ! 
but  what  of  the  hereafter  ?  what  of?  "  -  "  Hush, 
hush  !  didn't  I  tell  ye  none  of  yer  preachin'?  I 
be  von  Sadducee.  I  believes  in  neither  angel 
nor  spirit;  I  be  von  Jew,  sir ;  I  loves  moneys. 
You  has  yer  steeples  and  meetins'  and  Sundays. 
I  has  von  Got,  and  von  Sabbath  ;  and  tat  ish 
enough  for  me." 

Now  they  were  interrupted  by  another  knock 
at  the  door,  when  in  came  a  rum-crimsoned 
Irishwoman,  with  an  old  shawl  over  her  head, 


STEEET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  147 

her  arms  almost  bare,  with  both  hands  extended 
and  held  together,  begging  ibr  alms.  How  she 
got  by  the  porters  in  the  hall  is  a  mystery. 
'•  Plase,  seer,  will  ye  ba  so  keend  as  to  give  a 
poor  lone  woman  a  cint  ?  I  'as  had  mithiri'  to  ate  ; 
I  ba  starvin',  seer.  I  'as  put  nuthin'  betwane 
these  ere  dyin'  lips  all  this  ere  blissid  livelong 
day  "  (then  wiping  her  lips,  for  she  had  just 
been  eating).  —  "jist  a  cint,  only  a  cint,  seer; 
plase  give  me  a  cint,  an'  may  all  the  saints  be 
arter  blissin'  ye  for  helpin'  a  poor  sick  crather  ! 
and  may  ye  niver  ba  poor  !  "  —  "  Away  from  this 
door ! "  cried  a  porter,  who  was  passing  that 
way.  "  Go  down  stairs  !  How  came  you  here  ? 
Haven't  you  been  fed  half  a  dozen  times  to-day  ? 
You  are  half  drunk  now.  Down  with  you  !  " 

"  See  there  !  "  said  Nelson.  "  Now  judge  ye 
which  deserves  the  most  sympathy, —  the  honest 
needlewoman,  too  proud  to  beg  and  too  honest 
to  deceive,  or  these  foreign  paupers,  crowding 
our  streets,  and  teaching  their  progeny  nothing 
but  deceit  and  lies.  Europe  has  emptied  her 
self  of  her  scum  and  filth,  and  her  foul  stomach 
has  vomited  them  to  our  shores.  Look  at  the 
children  of  France  !  one  out  of  every  thirteen 
arc  illegitimate ;  look  at  England's  lower- 
classes  !  one  out  of  six  a  pauper  ;  look  at  Italy's 
beggars  !  —  and  will  you  sneer  at  the  pride  and 


148      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

virtue  of  American  women,  the  soul  of  our  in 
dependence,  and  the  glory  of  our  race  ?  God 
forbid,  sir  !" — "  Oh,  no  !"  said  the  Jew;  "I  loves 
virtue,  I  loves  independence  ;  and  I  don't  love  to 
pay  taxes:  therefore,  I  must  say,  America  be  von 
goot  country." 

At  this  juncture,  Mr.  Benedict  came  in.  "  Gen 
tlemen,"  he  said,  '•  1  have  come  to  solicit  your 
aid  for  a  benevolent  object :  I  know  you  must 
approve  of  it." 

"Yah!"  said  the  Jew.  "You  came  to  see 
Mr.  Nelson,  I  guess,  heh?  Tat  be  te  gentle 
man:  he's  been  just  preachin  to  me  some  of  tis 
doctrine,  he's  te  man."- 

"  But,"  said  Nelson,  "  if  you  have  come  after 
money,  Mr.  Levi  is  the  man  :  he  has  the  golden 
pile,  and  more  than  he  can  spend  in  a  lifetime." 
"  No  !  "  said  the  Jew,  —  "  no,  I's  not !  I  be  von 
poor  man  :  ish  be  Mr.  Nelson  vhat  ye  vant." 

At  this  cool  reception,  Mr.  Benedict  left,  with 
out  stating  his  object,  feeling  that  gifts  of 
charity  from  such  men  would  not  bless  the  giver ; 
for  God  loveth  the  cheerful  giver.  These  were 
not  the  men  to  be  a  blessing  to  the  world  for 
elevating  their  race. 

"  Now,  David,"  said  the  Jew,  "  as  you  seem,  to 
have  a  leetle  touch  of  te  pious,  where  do  you  go 
to  church  ?  "  —  "  Nowhere,"  said  Nelson,  his 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  149 

face  coloring.  "  Nowhere  !  ha,  ha  !  I  guess  ye 
does,  or  ye  vouldu't  talk  pious  in  tis  strain."  — 
'•  Well,"  said  Mr.  Nelson,  "  I  hire  a  seat  for  my 
wife  ;  but  I  seldom  go  myself,  except  to  the  col 
ored  church  at  the  West  End.  The  churches 
are  so  cold  and  formal,  and  the  colored  people 
so  earnest  and  devotional,  that  I  often  go  and 
listen  to  them.  In  fact "  (looking  up,  and 
putting  his  hand  on  his  breast),  "  I  have  often 
thought  to  ask  them  to  pray  for  me  ;  for  I  am 
such  a  sinner." 

"Yah,  yah!  You  be  a  sinner,  hell  ?  Vel,  I 
guess  ye  vas.  I  tought  someting  ailed  ye;  come, 
cheer  up,  and  take  a  little  more  brandy."  • 
"  No,  I  can't  now ;  I  have  something  here  that 
liquor  can't  wash  out."  —  "  By  Moses  and  all  te 
prophets  !  if  ye  ain't  jist  ready  to  become  a 
Metedist  or  a  Millerite  !  Vhy,  vhat's  te  matter, 
David  ?  "  —  "  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,"  said  David, 
"  I'm  not  situated  the  best  in  the  world."  —  'Vhy, 
ye  ain't  goin'  to  sign  over,  and  burst  up,  be's 
ye  ?  "  —  "  No,  not  that."  —  "  Lost  childers  ?  "  — 
"  No."  —  "  Lost  property  ?  "  —  "  No."  —  "  Wife 
sick?  "  —  No,  she's  not  exactly  sick  ;  but  "  — 

"  Ah  !  now  I  has  got  ye  :  she  be  cross,  and 
scold,  heh  ?  Yah,  yah  !  tat  it  ? "  —  "  Well,  I 
haven't  done  just  right  in  my  life  "  —  "  Haven't 
ye?  Vhy,  ye  haven't  murdered  nobody,  has 


150  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

ye?" — "  No,  not  exactly  murdered,  but  coming 
plaguy  near  to  it:  truth  is,  I  didn't  marry  the 
woman  I  was  promised  to." — "Oh,  tush  !  vhat  of 
tat  ?  Tis  voman  bring  ye  von  big  pile  of  mon 
eys,  didn't  she  ?  "  —  "  Yes,  she  had  money 
enough  ;  but  "  —  "  Tush,  tush  !  ye's  got  von 
goot  home,  and  von  goot  wife,  and  all  te  goot 
tings  required  in  tis  life.  She  be  virtuous,  be 
she  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  virtuous ;  that  is,  if  there  be 
any  virtue  in  making  a  man  a  perfect  slave. 
Oh,  what  a  lot  I  have  had !  what  a  slave  I  have 
been  !  what  a  fool  in  my  choice  !  There  is  the 
girl  of  my  first  love,  that  amiable  little  angel, 
all  love  and  all  mercy,  making  poverty  itself  a 
paradise,  whose  heart  I  broke  when  I  made 
her  promise  never  to  show  her  face  to  me  again, 
if  I  would  but  leave  a  legacy  for  her  boy.  Ah, 
poor  girl !  her  shadow  is  ever  on  my  track,  her 
image  ever  before  me.  Whenever  I  see  a 
woman  veiled  and  crushed,  ashamed  to  show 
her  face,  walking  these  back  and  by  streets,  I 
think  of  her  arid  her  cruel  fate.  I  am  haunted, 
God  is  angry,  hell  is  gaping,  fiends  are  sporting 
over  my  doom.  Life  is  a  burden,  death  would 
be  a  relief"  (here  the  Jew  strove  to  interrupt 
him,  but  Nelson  continued),  "  unless  I  can  be 
rid  of  this  torture,  this  undying  sting,  this  burn- 


STREET  LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  151 

ing  shame  that  palsies  my  faculties,  poisons  my 
soul,  and  blights  my  hopes.  Gold  is  nothing  : 
all  the  gold  in  the  world  could  purchase  but 
an  Aceldama  of  blood.  0  conscience,  thou 
stern  avenger !  I  feel  thy  tightening  cord 
around  my  neck ;  and  like  a  penitent  Judas, 
throwing  the  accursed  silver  at  Jewish  feet,  I 
seize  the  rope,  and,  bidding  farewell  to  earth, 
swing  in  mid  air  between  hope  and  despair, 
heaven  and  hell !  Angels,  pity  me  ! "  he  said, 
rising  to  his  feet,  and  thrusting  his  hands  to 
his  neck  as  one  in  dclirium-tremens,  striving 
to  tear  away  the  tightening  noose  of  an  imagin 
ary  cord  that  choked  his  utterance. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

DEATH  OP  NED'S  MOTHER,  IN  ORANGE  LANE. 

yORNING  came.  Mrs.  Nevins  had  been 
refreshed  by  sleep.  The  delirium  of 
the  opiates  had  passed,  and  she  up 
braided  herself  for  giving  way  to  de 
spondency.  Had  not  God  promised  to 
be  the  widow's  God,  and  a  father  to  the  father 
less  ?  Had  he  ever  failed  her?  Was  he  not  a 
present  help  in  time  of  trouble  ?  Could  she  de 
spair  ?  True,  she  had  lost  her  boy  ;  he  was  never 
absent  from  her  a  night  before  :  but  new  trials 
must  awaken  new  trusts,  and  elicit  new  endeav 
ors.  With  an  iron  will  and  firm  faith,  she  leaned 
all  the  weight  of  her  soul  on  God  in  prayer,  and 
went  to  sleep.  After  this,  she  was  so  much 
strengthened,  that  she  thought  to  sit  up  in  her 
bed,  and  finish  the  last  pair  of  drawers  hanging  on 
the  chair.  Foolish  thought !  she  was  too  near  her 
grave.  Yet,  rallying  her  expiring  energies,  she 
threw  her  old  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  and,  pro 
curing  some  tea  of  an  Irishwoman,  she  began  to 
sew.  The  stitches  went  hard,  her  brain  whirled^ 

152 


STREET   LIFE  IN   BOSTON.  153 

her  eyes  darkened,  and  she  fell  back  on  her  bed 
for  a  moment;  then,  taking  a  little  more  tea  to 
give  her  strength,  she  tried  again. 

At  this  moment,  the  rent  agent  came  in  to  col 
lect  the  week's  rent.  "  0  sir  !  "  she  cried,  '•  you 
have  come  one  day  too  soon.  What  shall  I  do  ? 
how  can  I  get  the  money ?" — "I  don't  know," 
he  said  :  "  that  is  your  look-out,  not  mine.  I  must 
have  it,  and  have  it  to-day."  — "  Oh,  spare  me, 
sir  !  My  boy  has  been  gone  all  night :  he  didn't 
bring  me  his  coppers  as  usual,  and  my  work  is 
not  finished.  I  tried,  sir,  yes,  indeed  I  have,  this 
morning  I've  tried  hard  to  finish  it,  but  have 
failed".  Oh,  sir !  what  can  I  do?  "  —  "  Don't  know," 
said  he  gruffly ;  "  but  I  must  have  it  mighty  soon, 
or  you  leave  the  house." 

At  this,  she  thought  of  one  more  relic  of  hap 
pier  days  in  her  trunk:  so  she  asked  the  Irish 
woman  to  pawn  it  for  a  dollar,  and  give  it  to 
him ;  and  thus  she  drove  the  wolf  once  more 
from  her  door. 

Soon  the  Jew's  .man,  Mr.  Bowlegs,  came  for 
the  sewing-work.  "  Not  done,  heh  ?  I  thought 
as  much.  These  'ere  sewin'-womcn  are  allers 
j'allin'  down  on  their  beds,  and  givin'  up,  and 
sayin'  they  can't  do  the  work :  git  up,  marm,  and 
let  us  see  your  work."  Then  he  seized  one  gar 
ment,  and  then  another  ;  and,  finding  the  stitches 


154  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

of  one  a  little  loose,  be  began  to  rip  it,  and  tben, 
with  a  savage  jerk,  be  tore  the  garment  almost 
from  end  to  end.  "  Ah,  marm  !  that's  the  way 
you  do  your  work,  heh?  "  flashing  his  keen  black 
eye  like  lightning. 

At  this,  the  poor  woman  gave  a  shriek  and  a 
cough  :  her  lungs  gave  way  again ;  the  blood  came 
to  her  lips,  and  she  fainted.  How  long  she  lay 
in  that  state,  whether  a  day  or  an  hour,  she 
knew  not ,  for  she  lay  in  the  land  of  shadows,  on 
the  brink  of  the  spirit-world.  Finally  she 
opened  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  gazed  to 
wards  the  window,  and  stared  at  the  light,  then 
shuddered,  and  fell  back  as  if  shrinking  from 
some  hideous  object.  Perhaps  the  light  of  life 
was  hateful  to  her ;  but  she  was  a  Christian,  and 
ought  not  to  hate  any  thing  God  had  made.  Now 
Ned  Nevins,  just  returning  from  the  court,  came 
undiscovered  into  the  room.  He  saw  his  mother 
repining  and  despairing,  in  an  agony  of  grief. 
The  big  tears  stole  from  her  sunken  eyes,  and 
rolled  down  her  pale  cheek ;  sighs  gushed  forth, 
and  her  bosom  heaved  with  deep  emotion.  Her 
ruling  passion  was  strong  in  death  :  that  passion 
was  the  love  she  had  for  her  absent  boy.  He 
saw  her  lips  move  ;  she  muttered  unintelligible 
sounds,  then,  when  reviving  a  little,  she  men 
tioned  his  name.  What  a  sight  for  the  poor  per- 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON  155 

secuted  boy  !  He  felt  that  he  was  the  cause  of 
all  this  grief.  Oh,  the  anguish  of  his  soul !  Could 
he  ever  forgive  himself  for  this  night's  absence? 

"  0  Eddie  !  my  dear,  darling  boy  !  Why  don't 
you  come,  Eddie  ?  "  she  said.  "  Your  mother  is 
dying:  can't  I  see  you  before  I  die?  Where 
can  he  be  ?  " 

Then  the  noble-hearted  boy  flew  to  her  side, 
and  stretched  his  arms  over  her  pillow  as  if  to 
beat  back  the  shades  of  death  from  her  brow,  and 
said,  "  0  mother  !  do  not  cry.  You  can  see  me. 
Eddie  is  here  :  look  up,  mother !  see  me  !  here  I 
am !  " 

Then  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  stared  in  be 
wilderment,  as  if  afraid  to  trust  her  senses. 
There  was  her  boy  bending  over  her  pillow, 
almost  palsied  and  petrified  with  fright. 

"  0  mother,  my  dear  mother!  have  I  killed  you? 
have  I  broken  your  poor  heart,  mother  ?  I  aint 
guilty,  mother ;  no,  I  ain't ;  indeed  I  ain't.  Eddie 
is  as  innocent  as  a  lamb.  Look  up,  and  believe 
me,  mother  !  "  Then  he  threw  his  arms  around 
her  neck,  and  kissed  her  hollow  cheek,  and 
smoothed  her  pillow,  and  sighed  and  sobbed,  and 
longed  to  die  with  her  ;  for  what  were  life  to  him 
without  a  mother  ? 

"  0  Eddie  !  is  it  you  ?  Have  you  come  ? 
Where  have  you  been?  Why  could  you  leave 


15G  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY;    OR, 

me  ?  why  serve  me  so  ?  "  she  said  ;  then  looked 
steadily  into  his  face  for  reply.  Ah !  what  a 
look  was  that  for  the  poor  boy  !  —  that  kind,  up 
braiding  look ;  —  that  look  of  truth,  honesty,  jus 
tice,  love,  mercy.  .He  quailed  before  it,  and 
covered  his  face  for  shame.  Then  he  kneeled, 
and  seized  hold  of  her  white  hand,  and  kissed  it, 
and  cried,  "  0  mother,  forgive  me  this  time  !  for 
give  me,  mother  !  forgive  me  before  you  die  !  you 
must  forgive  me  !  "  then,  seizing  her  hand  more 
tightly,  and  kissing  it  again  and  again,  "  I  shall 
die,  mother,  if  you  don't  forgive  me  !  " 

"  I  do  forgive  you,  my  child  ;  but  pray  tell  me 
where  you  have  been  ?  "  she  said,  looking  eager 
ly  at  him. 

"  Now,  mother,"  he  said  in  a  subdued  tone,  as 
if  fearing  to  speak,  "  you  won't  blame  me,  you 
wont  cry  if  I  tell  you,  will  you,  mother  ?  " 

"  I'll  try  not  to,  my  tender-hearted  boy ;  "  but 
—  but  —  but ;  "  then,  giving  a  deep  sigh  with  her 
choked  utterance  she  continued :  "  I  fear  there 
is  something  wrong.  Oh !  tell  me,  my  boy,  and 
relieve  me  from  this  anxious  suspense  ;  "  and  the 
tears  gushed  copiously  from  her  eyes.  "  Tell 
mother,  Eddie,  why  didn't  you  come  home  with 
the  coal,  when  you  knew  how  much  I  needed  it? 
I  fear  you  sold  it,  and  squandered  the  money." 

"  Oh,  no,  mother !  Eddie  wouldn't  dare  to  do 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  157 

such  a  thing.  I  —  I  —  I  couldn't  come  home,"  said 
he,  stammering1.  "  Ah  !  my  boy,  what  has  hap 
pened  ?  where  have  you  been  ?  Mother  is  afraid 
you  have  been  wicked." 

"No,  I  ain't  been  wicked,  mother:  I  been 
'bused  and  persecuted."  —  "  Why,  Eddie,  dear, 
tell  me  !  What  has  befallen  you  ?  "  The  poor 
boy,  trembling  in  every  joint,  dropped  his  head 
by  her  side,  threw  his  arm  around  her  emaciated 
form,  and  strove  to  hide  his  face  in  her  bosom, 
as  he  gasped,  "  0  mother,  don't  let  it  kill  you! 
Oh !  must  I  tell  you,  Eddie  was  locked  up  last 
night?" — "My  God!"  she  shrieked,  clasping 
her  hands,  and  rising  in  her  bed,  and  gazing 
wildly  at  him,  "  has  my  Eddie  been  in  jail  ?  Is 
he  disgraced  ?  Is  he  ruined  ?  0  my  God ! 
must  I  drink  this  cup  also  ?  Can  I  die  with 
the  thought  that  my  boy  is  a  criminal  ?  Oh,  no, 
no  !  It  can't  be  possible.  There  must  be  some  pal 
liating  circumstances.  Tell  mother  all  about  the 
matter,  my  own  dear,  darling  child,"  clasping 
him  closer  to  her  bosom. 

"  Well,  mother,  I  met  Pat  Murphy,  and  he 
said  I  stole  that  sled ;  but  I  didn't  care  much  for 
that.  Then  he  struck  me,  and  knocked  off  my  hat, 
and  called  me  hard  names.  Then  I  said,  '  Let  me 
alone  ;  let  me  go  home  to  my  poor  sick  mother,  for 
she  wants  the  coal.'  Then  he  laughed  at  me, 


158  'NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

and  thrust  his  finger  in  my  face,  and  sneered, 
and  said,  "  Your  mother,  heh  ?  Ha,  ha  !  She's 
one  of  'em  !  That's  so !  "  Here  Ned  choked 
up ;  he  couldn't  speak  for  tears  and  sobs,  he  was 
so  completely  overwhelmed  with  feelings  of  pity 
and  rage.  Then  straightening  up,  and  wiping  his 
eyes,  he  burst  forth  indignantly,  "  Mother,  can 
you  believe  that  he  would  dare  to  do  it  ?  He 
said  that  you,  my  mother,  was  a  bad  woman !  " 

"Well,  my  child,  what  of  that?  What  if  he 
did  ?  Does  that  make  it  so  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Nevins, 
coolly.  Then  Ned,  rising  in  a  rage,  replied, 
"  '  What  of  that  ?  what  of  that  ?  '  do  you  say  ? 
Do  you  think  I  could  look  on,  and  have  that  done 
to  my  mother  ?  No,  no,  my  dear  mother !  no, 
never,  so  long  as  there  was  a  bone  left  in  these 
knuckles,  and  I  had  power  to  strike  !  No,  I 
couldn't :  so  I  gave  the  great  moping  lubber 
what  he  deserved  :  yes,  I  did,  and  I  would  do  it 
agin."  Then  he  chafed,  and  rolled  his  fiery 
eyes,  and  cried  and  raged  for  some  moments. 

"  0  my  child  !  you  should  not  fight ;  you  have 
lost  every  thing,  and  gained  nothing;  besides,  it 
is  unchristian." 

"  Unchristian  or  not,  I  couldn't  see  my  mother 
abused,. and  1  wouldn't." 

"  But  you've  paid  dear  for  it,  I  fear." 

"Yes,  I  have,  mother;  but  it'  may  be  the  last 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  159 

time  that  I  ever  shall  have  an  opportunity  to  do 
it  for  you  on  earth." 

"Well,  my  child,  I  forgive  you  this  time:  but 
do  be  careful  in  the  future  ;  be  careful,  and  gov 
ern  your  passions,  and  do  not  fight." 

And  now,  kind  reader,  the  scene  changes ;  one 
of  our  characters  leaves  the  stage  of  action ;  the 
hour  of  departure  is  at  hand. 

Mrs.  Sophia  Nevius  requests  her  boy  to  kneel 
by  her  side  while  she  places  her  hand  upon  his 
head,  and  utters  her  last  vocal  prayer.  Death  is 
sealing  up  the  portals  of  her  senses  ;  but  the  sight 
of  the  soul  is  unobscured.  Her  boy  is  to  be  set 
afloat  on  the  tide-wave  of  a  great  city :  the  police 
are  watching  him  with  an  evil  eye.  Raising 
herself  in  bed,  and  placing  her  hands  upon  his 
head,  she  prays  :  — 

''  Father  of  the  fatherless :  here  is  the  boy 
thou  gavest  me  ;  I  leave  him.  in  thy  hands.  I 
asked  not  for  him ;  but,  having  received  him, 
thanked  thee,  and  have  given  my  life  for  his. 
Love  constrained  me  :  I  do  not  repent  the  sacri 
fice.  He  is  a  lamb,  with  no  shepherd  to  guide 
him.  The  crimes  of  this  city  already  break  ia 
upon  his  soul,  and  the  suspicious  .eyes  of  the 
watchman  mark  him  as  their  prey.  What  but  a 
superhuman  power  can  save  him  ?  Be  thou,  0 
God  !  more  than  a  mother.  Check  his  wander 
ing  ;  fory-ive  his  errors. 


1GO  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY:    OR, 

"He  now  mounts  the  giddy  wave,  and  starts 
on  life's  fearful  voyage  alone.  A  mother's  hand 
hath  led  him  to  the  shore  of  youthful  responsi 
bility:  he  embarks  on  temptation's  sea  without 
chart  or  pilot.  Take  thouthe  helm,  0  God  !  When 
storms  of  persecution  rage,  may  he  find  a  haven 
in  thee  !  High  rolling  on  the  tide  of  this  great 
city  of  iniquity,  let  guardian  spirits  pilot  him 
over  the  shoals  of  deceit  and  crime.  A  wander 
ing  Ulysses,  may  he  chain  himself  to  the  mast  of 
firmness,  and  stop  his  ears  to  the  voice  of  the 
sirens !  Hear  a  mother's  prayer.  Save  him 
from  a  drunkard's  doom  and  a  felon's  fate. 
Amen.'' 

Then,  turning  towards  her  child,  she  said, 
"  Child  of  my  prayers,  adieu  !  a  long  adieu  ! 
Weep  not  for  me.  Your  loss  is  my  gain.  I 
go  where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and 
the  weary  are  at  rest.  When  the  Lord  maketh 
inquisition  for  blood,  he  forge ttetb  not  the  cry  of 
the  humble.  Although  clouds  and  darkness  are 
round  about  him,  yet  righteousness  and  judg 
ment  are  the  habitation  of  his  throne.  I  commit 
you  to  his  care.  I  fear  you  will  miss  me.  Fare 
well  !  " 

Soon  after  this,  she  breathed  her  last;  and 
Edward  Nevins  felt  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  what  it  was  to  be  an  orphan,  penniless, 


STREET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  161 

friendless,  alone,  in  the  house  of  death.  He 
gazed  around  the  room,  and  saw  the  mementoes 
of  her  refined  taste.  There  were  the  pots  of  faded 
flowers  still  standing  near  the  window  ;  and  there 
the  few  small  pictures  hanging  upon  the  wall ; 
and  there  the  old  trunk,  which  he  would  not  dare 
to  open  at  present,  containing  some  little  precious 
memorials;  and  there  was  the  mother's  Bible,  a 
fountain  of  blessings,  a  well  of  consolations,  from 
whose  unfailing  promises  she  drew,  for  her  spir 
itual  thirst,  waters  of  unceasing  comfort  in  time 
of  trouble.  They  all  spoke  of  things  that  were. 
He  was  alone  with  death. 
11 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

FUNERAL.  —  NED    THE   ONLY    MOURNER.  —  APPEAL 
FOR  THE   NEEDLEWOMAN. 


city  hearse  arrives  before  a  door  in 
Orange  Lane.  A  box  is  carried  out  and 
placed  in  it,  and  a  single  mourner  attends 
the  funeral.  That  mourner  is  Ned  Nev- 
ins,  following  the  hearse  for  a  time,  then 
riding  upon  the  seat  with  the  driver. 
Through  the  crowded  streets  the  hearse  hur 
ries  unceremoniously  along,  passing  by  a  multi 
tude  of  carriages,  omnibuses,  cars,  and  throngs 
of  people  ;  but  nobody  knew,  or  apparently  cared, 
what  was  within,  save  that  lone  sentinel-child 
upon  the  seat,  turning  his  sad  thoughts  within, 
reflecting  on  the  love  of  her  who  was  gone,  and 
on  his  own  abject  and  forlorn  condition. 

Finally  the  driver  condescended  to  ask  him  a 
few  questions  ;  and,  turning  to  the  boy,  he  said, 
"  What  ailed  your  mother,  my  lad  ?  "  —  "  She 
sewed  herself  to  death,  sir."  —  "  Sewed  herself 
to  death  ?  Why,  what  was  that  for  ?  "  —  "  For  me, 
sir,"  said  the  boy,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  u  For 

162 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  1G3 

you  ?  Couldn't  you  do  any  thing  for  your 
self?" —  "Yes,  sir:  but  it  was  too  late;  she 
had  almost  killed  herself  stitchin'  before  I 
knew  it."  — "  Who  did  she  get  her  work 
from?" — "  From  Solomon  Levi,  the  Jew,  sir." 

-  «  Wouldn't  he  help  her  in  her  need  ?  "  —  "  No, 
sir :  he  said  that  all  his  sewing-women  were 
about  alike,  sick  and  dyin',  and  he  wouldn't  help 
none  of  them ;  they'd  better  all  go  to  the  poor- 
house."  -  —  "  And  wouldn't  your  mother  have  been 
alive  now  if  she  had  gone  to  the  poor-house  ?  " 
"  I  suppose  she  would ;  but  she  said  she  rather 
die  than  go."  —  "  Why  ?  "  —  "  Because  it  would 
be  disgraceful." — "  Had  she  no  friends  ?  " — "  She 
might  have  had,  she  said;  but  she  forsook  them 
all  for  me  :  so  she  wore  a  veil  when  she  went  out, 
and  tried  to  keep  close,  and  wouldn't  tell  where 
her  .  folks  lived."  —  "  Had  you  no  father?" 

—  "Don't  know,  sir."  Now  the  tears  started 
afresh  ;  and  the  boy  began  to  move  nervously 
about,  and  seemed  desirous  to  change  the 
subject. 

Mount-Hope  Cemetery  is  at  last  reached.  They 
enter  the  Potter's  Field,  a  place  set  apart  for  the 
burial  of  the  city's  poor.  Two  men  are  stand 
ing,  with  shovels  in  hand,  waiting  for  the  hearse 
to  arrive  :  then  they  pile  in  the  boxes  one  upon 
the  other ;  for  the  trench  is  already  dug,  and  the 


164  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

coffins  were  made  before  the  breath  had  left  the 
body.  The  work  is  a  mere  matter  of  busi 
ness  with  these  men  :  they  cannot  be  expected  to 
feel  like  other  men.  Ned  felt  every  jar  of  the 
coffin  to  pierce  his  soul:  he  wondered  how  these 
men  could  handle  a  coffin  so  roughly.  Each 
grating  sound  of  the  box,  as  it  was  drawn  from 
the  hearse,  made  him  shudder  ;  for  there  was  the 
only  one  in  the  world  that  ever  loved  him  :  she 
was  all  tenderness  and  affection,  and  he  would 
have  her  buried  with  gentle  hands. 

He  saw  her  placed  in  the  lower  tier  of  the 
trench ;  but  what  was  the  number  of  the  box,  and 
where  to  find  her  again,  he  could  riot  tell,  and 
will  not  know  till  doomsday.  Poor  child  !  he 
had  no  grave  over  which  to  plant  the  flowers  still 
blooming  at  home,  and  moisten  them  with  his 
tears  ;  no  tomb  to  mark  the  spot  where  his  dear 
mother  lay.  The  earth  is  thrown  back  and  lev 
elled  over  the  coffins  as  the  trench  is  extended, 
the  front  of  the  boxes  left  bare  until  new  ones 
arrive ;  and  thus  saint  and  sinner,  the  virtuous 
and  the  vicious,  citizens  and  strangers,  white 
and  black,  are  inextricably  mixed,  and  the 
grass  made  greener  from  the  united  dust  of 
their  remains.  Such  is  the  pauper's  funeral, 
such  the  orphan's  fate,  such  the  needlewo 
man's  end  ! 


STREET    LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  165 

Hoar,  ye  inhuman  landlords  !  ye  who  have 
grown  rich  on  the  life-blood  of  the  poor  and 
neglected ;  ye  who  have  streets  called  after 
your  names,  and  those  names  a  terror  to  the 
unfortunate  tenants  !  If  there  be  future  retri 
bution  for  oppressing  the  Lord's  poor,  verily 
you  shall  drink  the  dregs  of  the  cup. 

Arise,  ye  needlewomen  of  America  !  and 
demand  proper  employment  and  remunerative 
w  iges.  Come  thundering  at  the  door  of  public 
opinion  and  popular  prejudice,  and  say,  "  Give 
us  a  chance  for  our  lives,  give  us  place,  give  us 
work,  give  us  wages  !  If  we  are  fit  for  places 
now  occupied  by  men,  give  us  those  places :  if 
we  can  earn  as  much  as  men,  then  give  us  men's 
wages  ! " 

Rise,  and  seize  the  yard-stick,  and  drive  out 
every  ribbon-monger  and  tape-seller  from  behind 
the  counter;  drive  him  from  every  shop  and  store 
where  small  wares  are  sold  !  Arise  !  seize  the 
composing-stick,  set  the  types,  and  stand  by  the 
writing-desk  ;  drive  out  the  able-bodied  men  ;  let 
them  do  heavier  work.  Arise,  ye  gifted  ones  ! 
grasp  the  pen,  and  join  the  multitude  of  your 
sex  in  riding  on  the  triumphal  car  of  authorship. 
Seize  the  chisel :  let  the  cold,  inanimate  marble 
be  made  to  speak,  and  breathe  thoughts  big  with 
immortality. 


166      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

Let  another  Harriet  Hosmer  appear  with  her 
Zenobia,  another  Louisa  Lander  with  her  Vir 
ginia  Dare,  and  another  Miss  Whitney  with  her 
Godiva  !  Let  another  Emma  Stebbins  arise  with 
her  statue  of  Massachusetts'  great  educator, 
Horace  Mann !  Let  another  Miss  Mitchell  ap 
pear  to  measure  the  distances  of  the  fixed  stars, 
and  weigh  the  planets  in  their  courses ! 

Arise,  ye  teachers,  ye  public  educators ! 
hold  your  place  in  the  schoolroom  ;  make  your 
selves  equal  to  men  in  your  profession  ;  then  de 
mand  men's  wages,  or  proper  remuneration. 

Arise,  ye  operatives  of  the  mill,  at  the  spin 
dle,  the  loom,  the  factory,  the  shop,  the  store, 
the  counting-room,  the  printing-office,  and  every 
place  of  female  labor  !  Let  there  be  one  general, 
i  niversal  strike  for  woman's  rights.  Arise,  then, 
ye  who  mould  the  minds  of  youth ;  ye  who  are 
almost  absolute  over  hearts  and  homes;  ye  who 
sway  the  sceptre  over  men's  hearts,  and  play  the 
despot  and  act  the  petty  tyrant  at  will ;  ye  whose 
united  pleadings  never  failed  in  any  revolution  ; 
rise  !  move  heaven  and  earth  by  your  prayers  ! 

Radical  changes  demand  radical  efforts.  Arise, 
then,  and  let  superhuman  efforts  be  put  forth  ! 
Humanity  demands  it;  civilization  demands  it; 
Christianity  demands  it.  God  Almighty  demands 
that  every  yoke  be  broken,  and  the  oppressed 
go  free. 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTOK.  167 

0  ye  sordid  contractors  !  hear  the  cry  of 
the  wretched  and  dying,  with  your  vile  work 
still  in  their  hands. 

Hark  from  under  the  altar  the  cry  of  the 
souls  of  those  who  have  been  martyred  by  this 
unnatural  system  of  labor,  saying,  "  How  long, 
0  Lord  holy  and  true,  dost  thou  not  judge  and 
avenge  our  blood  on  them  that  dwell  on  the 
earth  ?  "  Up,  up.  up,  ye  women  of  America  ! 
Strike  for  your  rights ;  dash  the  cup  of  sorrow 
from  bleeding  lips  !  Elevate  the  condition, 
health,  and  hopes  of  woman.  Up  !  and  give  her 
equal  position  in  labor ;  up !  and  make  labor 
honorable  as  well  as  remunerative  ;  up  !  and  bat 
tle  for  the  right :  make  woman  feel  her  nobility  ; 
let  her  become  self-reliant,  heroic,  independent, 
indomitable. 

Up !  and  rouse  the  conscience  of  the  nation. 
Let  dishonest  contractors,  revelling  in  wealth, 
spending  thousands  at  fashionable  watering- 
places,  sailing  to  Europe,  and  travelling  the 
world  round,  on  your  earnings,  feel  the  stings  of 
an  indignant,  broken-hearted  race.  "  Upon  what 
meat  doth  this  our  Csesar  feed,  that  he  hath 
grown  so  great  ?  " 

Let  the  pale  consumptive  hold  up  to  her  de 
stroyers  the  glittering  weapon  of  her  death,  that 
conscience-stinging  needle,  as  one  through 


168      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR; 

whose  eye  the  scriptural  camel  might  as  easily 
pass,  as  for  them  to  think  of  entering  the  king 
dom  of  heaven.  Let  the  ghosts  of  the  departed, 
with  bony  fingers,  bleeding  lips,  fiery  tongues, 
and  glaring  eyes,  figures  of  dying  consumptives, 
speak  of  long-endured  wrongs,  which,  though 
buried,  are  never  forgotten. 

All  humanity  demands  that  you  act.  The 
coming  generation,  children  yet  to  be,  de 
mand  that  the  mothers  of  our  race  be  well  devel 
oped,  strong,  and  vigorous;  that  they  be  equal 
to  men,  and  eligible  to  every  high  position. 
Thousands  of  women  who  have  no  employment 
demand  your  action.  Ten  thousand  needle 
women  of  this  city,  starving  on  their  scanty  pit 
tance,  pale,  haggard,  with  skeleton  forms,  eyes 
sunken,  cheeks  blanched  and  hollow,  lungs  con 
suming,  sides  aching,  flesh  teeming,  filling  thou 
sands  of  graves  every  year,  demand  that  place 
be  given  to  woman,  and  that  her  labor  be  remu 
nerative. 

Six  thousand  cyprians,  flaunting  the  streets 
of  Boston  and  its  suburbs,  many  of  whom 
have  beer!  starved  to  submission,  to  dishonor 
and  crime,  by  the  unnatural  and  arbitrary  rules 
of  labor,  —  these  degraded,  abandoned  victims  of 
poverty,  oppression,  and  temptation,  demand 
your  help.  Their  average  life  is  four  }-ears. 


STREET   LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  1G9 

Fifteen  hundred  of  them  die  annually,  —  a  long 
procession,  extending  hand  to  hand,  reaching 
more  than  a  mile  ;  and  their  ranks  in  the  serried 
columns  of  garlanded  victims,  marching  to  the 
sacrificial  pyre,  are  filled  by  fresh  supplies. 
Fifteen  hecatombs  of  J^ew  England's  daughters 
to  supply  the  lustful  fires  of  one  city  !  Fifteen 
hundred  fair  virgins,  many  of  them  from  vestal 
fires  on  mountain,  hill,  and  river  side,  daughters 
of  parental  hope  and  prayer,  coming  fresh  from 
the  sanctity  of  their  country  homes,  to  be 
offered  on  the  funeral  pyres  of  intemperance, 
prostitution,  and  homicide  !  Oh,  -what  a  drain 
of  life,  and  nerve,  and  virtue,  and  innocence, 
and  hope,  and  heaven,  to  make  this  horrible  sac 
rifice  ! 

Shudder,  ye  demons  !  howl,  ye  lost !  Let  hell 
echo  back  her  groans,  and  death  utter  shrieks 
of  horror,  that  Boston,  the  pious  city  of  the  Puri 
tans,  the  intellectual  Colossus,  the  pioneer  of  all 
reforms,  the  pride  of  the  whole  earth,  —  that  she 
allows  the  grinding  wheels  of  the  Juggernaut 
of  oppression,  the  crushing  heel  of  Mammon, 
and  the  baleful  fires  of  Moloch,  to  crush,  torture, 
and  devour  so  many  of  her  fair  children,  right, 
in  sight  of  her  schools,  her  courts,  her  altars, 
and  under  the  eaves  of  her  sanctuaries  ! 

Up,  ye  women  of  America  !     Let  your  voices 


170      NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY. 

be  heard  for  the  oppressed !  Tens  of  thousands 
of  the  unfallen  fair,  now  struggling  for  a  liveli 
hood,  demand  your  aid.  An  ounce  of.  preven 
tion  now  is  worth  a  thousand  pounds  of  cure. 
Oh,  awake,  awake  1 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

NED    A  NIGHT   IN    THE   STREET.  —  VISION   OF   HIS 
MOTHER. 

lERE'S  the  Heral',  Jirnil',  Trav'ler,  'Ran- 
scrip',  five  'clock,  last  'dition,"  never 
sounded  from  newsboy's  lips  in  more 
melancholy  strains  than  from  those  of 
Ned  Nevins  on  returning  from  his  moth 
er's  funeral.  He  stood  at  the  corners  of 
the  streets,  crying  his  papers  in  such  piteous 
tones  of  despondency  as  must  compel  the  stones 
to  cry  out,  and  the  angels  to  weep ;  yet  he  found 
but  few  purchasers.  What  did  the  jostling 
crowd  care  for  the  cries  of  a  ragged  street-boy  ? 
Who  knew  whether  he  were  an  honest  boy,  or 
a  thief?  Who  would  take  the  trouble  to  in 
quire  into  his  condition  ?  What  were  his  wants  ? 
what  his  conflicts?  what  sorrows  had  broken 
his  young  heart?  Away  with  such  thoughts! 
He  was  but  a  coal-picker,  a  newsboy,  an  orphan. 
There  was  no  kind-hearted  Mr.  Benedict  to  look 
into  his  case  :  that  gentleman  is  too  busy  on  his 
other  objects  of  charity  ;  he  may  never  cross  hia 

in 


172  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY;    OR, 

track  again.  Night  is  coming  on  ;  but  gloom 
thicker  than  night  gathers  round  him.  His  papers 
are  not  sold.  He  dare  not  go  home  :  he  has  a 
superstitious  dread  of  .sleeping  in  the  room  and 
on  the  bed  where  his  mother  died.  Blacker 
than  darkness  itself  seemed  his  prospect.  Trem 
bling,  shivering,  too  horrified  to  weep,  and  too 
high-minded  to  beg,  he  still  cries  in  piteous 
strains,  "Here's  the  Heral',  Jirnil,  Trav'ler,  'Ran- 
scrip',  five  'clock,  last  *'dition ;  but  his  pitiful 
voice,  echoing  back  from  walls  of  brick  and 
hearts  of  stone,  awakens  but  little  response. 

Hunger  and  excitement  are  at  last  doing 
their  work.  Dizzy  blackness  overshadows  his 
brow  ;  his  brain  reels  ;  the  houses  seem  whirling 
round  his  head.  He  faints,  and  falls  upon  the 
hard,  cold  stones  of  the  sidewalk.  The  fit  is  but 
for  a  moment,  however :  with  a  strong  will  he 
rallies ;  for  he  fears  the  police  may  be  on  his 
track,  and  take  him  to  the  lock-up,  or  send  him 
to  the  Island :  then  farewell  to  all  his  hopes  ;  he 
can  never  visit  his  home  again.  But  he  rises 
in  a  minute,  and  scrabbles  up  his  papers,  and 
looks  around  to  see  if  still  he  is  free;  if  there  be 
no  police  coming  -to  take  him  ;  and  if,  when  the 
dread  of  death  is  passed,  he  may  yet  visit  the 
sad  memorials  of  his  lamented  mother,  and  read 
her  old  Bible  in  Orange  Lane.  Not  tp  attract 


STREET    LIFE    IX    BOSTON.  173 

the  police  by  the  eager  gaze  of  the  crowd,  he 
musters  up  his  courage,  and  starts  off,  crying, 
"  Here's  the  Heral',  Jirnil,  Trav'ler,  'Rauscrip', 
five  'clock,  last'dition,"  but  in  a  subdued,  broken 
tone,  that  told  too  well  the  afflicting  sorrows  of 
a  motherless,  friendless  child. 

The  stars  are  peeping  out  on  the  placid  waters 
of  Boston  Harbor.  The  vast  forests  of  shipping, 
representing  every  nation  and  every  clime,  are 
still  as  death,  save  the  mournful  whistle  of  the 
wind  through  the  cordage,  and  the  low  murmur 
ing  ripples  of  the  waves  that  warble  to  the  sleep 
ing  crews  requiems  of  peace  to  their  slumbers. 
The  wholesale-business  parts  of  the  city  are 
emptied  of  their  population.  The  surging  tide  of 
human  beings  ebbing  and  flowing  —  tides  that 
roll  in  with  the  sun,  and  go  out  with  the  sun  — 
has  receded  ;  only  now  and  then  a  single  team,  or 
a  single  footstep,  is  heard  on  the  pavement.  The 
great ,  stone  warehouses,  with  all  their  treasures 
from  India,  are  closed;  their  fronts,  with  cold 
sculptured  bas-reliefs,  have  no  sympathy  for  the 
poor :  they  stand  frowning  on  an  orphan  shiv 
ering  at  their  doors.  Gladly  would  Ned  rest  his 
weary  limbs  beneath  their  cold  steps,  or  in  some 
old  cart  by  the  forbidden  stable ;  but  he  has  no 
blanket,  and  the  weather  is  cold. 

Looking  at  the  stars  as  his  only  comforters,  he 


174  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY:    OR, 

passes  up  State  Street,  by  the  banking-houses, 
where  fortunes  are  made  and  lost  in  an  hour  by 
the  fate  of  war,  or  the  price  of  gold  ;  but  now  all 
is  silent  and  dark,  save  where,  by  the  dim  light, 
the  private  watchman  is  guarding  the  vaulted 
millions.  Ah,  how  acceptable  to  him  would  be  a 
few  shillings  of  that  hoarded  treasure  !  But 
he  must  not  covet  nor  complain.  Sadly  and 
lonely  he  wends  his  weary  way  to  the  court 
house,  and  seats  himself  upon  the  cold  stone 
steps  of  that  modern  bastile.  What  a  chill 
comes  over  him  when  recollecting  the  night 
once  spent  in  the  Tombs  below !  How  coolly 
is  justice  meted  out  here !  Colder  than  the 
rock  on  which  he  sits,  already  freezing  his  gar 
ments  to  its  side,  is  the  very  place  of  justice. 
What  tears  have  been  shed  over  these  steps ! 
what  sighs  and  groans,  that  have  made  the  wel 
kin  ring!  What  sinking  hearts  have  passed 
over  them,  never  to  corne  out  with  hope  !  What 
sad  partings  have  been  witnessed  here  !  How 
many  a  youth  has  learned  here,  for  the  first  time, 
the  appalling  nature  of  crime,  when  it  was  too 
late  !  How  many  have  been  crushed  forever  by 
too  severe  a  sentence  on  the  first  slight  offence  ! 
Within  is  the  judgment-seat.  Before  this  seat, 
forty  persons  often  appear  in  a  day,  two  hun 
dred  a  week,  ten  thousand  a  year.  What  a 
multitude  for  little  Suffolk  County  ! 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  175 

Just  over  there  is  Judge  Ames's  office,  where 
boys  are  sentenced  to  the  School-ship,  and  from 
thence  to  the  sea,  never  perhaps  to  return. 
Here  is  the  room  where  broken-hearted  wives, 
becoming  insane,  are  sentenced  to  the  asylum  ; 
and  here  is  the  court  of  the  truant-officers, 
where  truant  and  vagrant  boys  are  disposed  of, 
and  sent  to  the  various  institutions. 

By  and  by  the  Black  Maria  will  appear  with 
its  midnight  freight.  Oh,  what  horror  the 
thought  of  it  brings  to  Ned !  recollections  of 
his  one  night's  ride  appal  him.  He  would  not 
see  it :  the  sight  of  it  is  too  dreadful.  He  must 
flee ;  the  police  may  espy  him  brooding  over 
these  cold  steps ;  he  must  escape ;  and  away  he 
goes. 

it  is  hall-past  eleven  o'clock:  the  crowds  from 
the  theatres  are  coming  out,  and  filling  the  side 
walks.  "  Here's  the  HeraP,  Jirnil,  Trav'ler, 
'Ranscrip'.  Paper,  sir  ?  half-price,  only  two 
cents!  Paper,  sir?  last  edition.  Paper,  sir?  "  but 
no  response. 

What  crowds  attend  these  theatres  !  and  how 
few  attend  a  prayer-meeting,  or  even  the  preach 
ing  on  the  sabbath,  in  Boston  ! 

Greater  crowds  are  found  in  the  two  thousand 
drinking-saloons,  even  on  the  sabbath,  than  are 
found  in  the  churches.  What  harvests  those 


NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

saloons  are  reaping !  How  many  families  are 
made  desolate  !  And  these  gambling  hells  !  See, 
there !  a  fight  at  the  door  of  one  of  them  ;  a 
man  is  shot.  The  police  comes,  and  take  the 
parties  to  the  station-house. 

Ned  now  stands  at  the  doors  of  the  dance-halls 
in  North  Street.  As  the  blotched  and  jaded 
wretches  come  pouring  out,  and  reel  towards 
their  homes,  staggering  out  of  hall  after  hall, 
filling  the  streets  with  howls  and  hoots,  what  a 
picture  of  hell !  The  faithful  boy  plies  his  call 
ing,  however,  and  cries,  "  Here's  the  Heral' !  Pa 
per,  sir?  half-price,  only  one  cent !  Paper,  sir?  " 
But  who  is  there  among  these  degraded  beings 
that  would  read  a  paper  at  that  late  hour  ?  Baf 
fled  in  his  last  hope,  the  poor  boy  travels  back 
again,  like  a  spirit  doomed,  finding  no  rest  for 
the  soles  of  his  feet. 

It  is  the  dead  of  night.  The  bell  of  the 
Old  South  strikes  one  ;  and  the  bells  of  HolHs 
Street  and  Castle  Street  answer  the  sound  — 
"  ding,  dong  "  —  like  a  funeral  knell.  Silence 
reigns.  Now  is  the  time  for  burglars  and  incen 
diaries.  Spirits  of  evil  roam  the  earth,  and  now 
is  the  time  for  Ned's  temptation.  Cold,  hungry, 
and  fatigued,  with  nerves  weak,  and  no  protect 
or,  he  may  seem  an  easy  prey. 

An  angel  appeared  to  the  boy,  —  an  angel  of 


STEEET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  177 

darkness,  in  human  shape.  Coming  behind  the 
boy,  he  said,  in  mournful  tones,  "  Pity  me,  young 
lad  ;  hear  the  tale  of  my  woe."  Ned  started  up 
to  see  if  there  were  any  in  the  world  more  to  be 
pitied  than  himself.  The  tempter  continued, 
"  Listen  to  my  complaint.  Like  you,  I  am  an 
exile  and  a  wanderer.  I  have  no  rest  day  nor 
night ;  I  roam  these  streets  with  unblessed  feet, 
a  deserter  from  truth.  I  am  doomed  to  expiate 
my  crimes  by  banishment  from  hope."  Here 
Ned  began  to  suspect  that  all  was  not  right. 
But  the  tempter  continued,  "  I  am  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning.  The  world  owes  me  a 
living;  that  living  I  must  have;  and  the  world 
owes  you  a  living.  Why  do  you  pine  and  starve 
in  the  streets  ?  See,  these  narrow  windows  !  A 
boy  of  your  size  can  enter  there  !  See  that  wa 
ter-spout  !  you  could  climb  that :  it  is  the  ladder 
to  wealth  ;  untold  treasures  lie  before  you.  Look 
at  this  watch,  and  this  purse  of  gold  !  Look  at 
this  match  !  strike  that  match,  and,  by  the  throue 
of  Lucifer,  you  have  a  fortune  !  " 

He  was  about  to  proceed  further,  but  Ned 
could  not  entertain  the  first  idea  of  crime  :  he 
closed  his  ears,  and  turned  and  ran  away.  He 
ran  until  out  of  breath  ;  and,  for  a  long  time,  he 
dare  not  look  back,  the  shape  and  sound  of  tho 
terrible  tempter  so  horrified  his  soul. 

12 


178      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

He  stopped  not  until  he  arrived  on  the  coa)- 
dump  at  the  ocean  side,  where  his  mother  used 
to  meet  him,  and  help  him  carry  home  his  basket 
of  coal.  Would  she  not  again  pity  him  on  that 
lone  strand  ?  His  sorrows  were  great :  none  but 
a  mother  could  feel  his  grief.  He  turned  towards 
the  sky,  and  saw  one  particular  star  looking  down 
upon  him.  He  gazed  upon  its  twinkling,  as  so 
many  smiles  from  heaven.  Ah !  he  took  it  for 
his  ever-vigilant  mother,  shining  from  the  watch- 
towers  of  the  spirit-world. 

But  he  saw  the  star  pass  beneath  a  cloud ; 
then  he  sighed  and  wept,  thinking  that  she 
veiled  her  face  because  he  listened  to  the  voice 
of  the  tempter.  A  shadow  continued  on  his 
brow ;  but  when  the  star  emerged  from  the 
cloud,  shining  brighter  than  before,  he  was 
comforted. 

He  looked  into  the  water,  and  saw  the  same 
star :  it  seemed  on  the  rolling  wave  to  be  com- 
ing  towards  him.  Beautiful  sight !  perhaps  his 
mother  was  once  more  to  visit  him  on  that  deso 
late  shore.  0  rapturous  thought !  Oh  the  joy 
of  his  soul  !  He  seemed  to  hear  her  voice  over 
the  wave,  saying,  "  Eddie,  I  come."  He  heard 
it  speak  in  every  ripple.  Its  music  was  sweeter 
than  the  voice  of  many  waters  sounding  in  the 
paradise  of  God. 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  179 

B  it,  alas  for  him  !  After  looking  on  the  wave  a 
long  while,  and  seeing  the  white  form  receding 
and  disappearing  far  away  without  casting  one 
pitying  look  upon  him,  then  he  knew  that  it  was 
not  his  mother :  no,  it  could  not  be  ;  for  however 
severely  he  had  been  tempted,  or  however  far 
he  had  wandered  from  her  precepts,  yet  she 
would  have  approached  him,  and  prayed  for  him, 
or  soothed  him  with  some  word  of  comfort  in 
that  lone  hour  of  solitude  and  despair.  No;  it 
was  not,  it  could  not  be,  his  mother. 

Now  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  wept  and 
prayed.  He  prayed  long  and  loud.  The  winds, 
and  the  voices  of  the  sea,  mingled  with  his  cries  ; 
but,  high  above  them  all,  went  the  spirit  of  that 
prayer  to  the  ear  of  the  God  of  Sabaoth.  And  the 
God  of  heaven,  the  Father  of  the  fatherless,  the 
widow's  God,  heard  him  and  comforted  him  ;  and, 
as  from  heaven  itself,  this  text  came  to  him,  "  Yea, 
though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow 
of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil ;  for  thou  art  with 
me :  thy  rod  and  thy  staff  they  comfort  me." 
While  praying,  he  heard  the  fire-bells  ring.  He 
arose  from  his  knees,  and  found  that  the  fire  was 
in  the  same  district  where  he  had  met  the 
tempter  an  hour  before.  Ah  !  some  poor  mortal 
had  done  the  deed ;  somebody  had  struck  the 
fatal  mate]),  and  become  ruined  for  life.  He 


180  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY. 

thanked  God  that  lie  had  escaped  :  lie  cheered  up, 
and  took  courage  for  the  future.  Now  the 
niorning-star  is  rising,  the  silence  of  night  is 
breaking,  the  streets  echo  with  the  sound  of 
busy  life.  Market-wagons  are  corning  in  from 
the  country  ;  physicians  and  night-watchers,  and 
printers  and  reporters  for  the  morning  papers, 
are  returning  home :  daylight  appears,  and  Ned 
Kevins  is  still  in  the  street. 


CHAPTER    XVIH. 

NED'S   FIRST   FLOGGING   BY   DAVID   NELSON,   WHO   IS 
INCITED    TO   CEUELTY   BY   MRS.    NELSON. 

)HO  comes  dar?"  says  Dinah  Lee,  the 
contraband  cook  of  Mrs.  Nelson,  to  Ned 
Nevins,  as  he  rapped  at  the  kitchen- 
door,  with  meat-basket  in  hand.  "  Oh, 
it  be's  you,  Ned  !  ye's  brought  de  meat 
fur  de  dinner,  heh  ?  La  sus  !  what  a 
leetle  bit  ob  a  dinner  dis  ere  be  for  all  de  folks, 
heh?  Dar  ain't  'miff  for  Massa  Nelson  hisself 
alone ;  den  dar  be  Missus  Nelson,  and  leetle 
Nellie  too :  and  den  dar  be  myself.  La  sus  !  I 
wants  to  eat  some  thin',  I  guess.  Jerusalem  ! 
dem  folks  thinks  I  don't  wants  nuthin'.  See  dat 
ar  leetle  piece  ob  meat ;  den  see  dem  ar  leetle 
'taters,  and  dem  few  beets  and  turnips  !  La ! 
dar  ain't  so  much  as  Massa  Lee  used  to  gib  to 
his  dog  Ca3sar.  Golly  !  I  shall  hab  to  tie  a  string 
to  de  meat  to  keep  him  in  de  pot ;  for  him  all  bile 
away,  an'  I  lose  him  ;  and  Massa  Nelson  he  say, 
'  "Whar  am  de  meat,  Dinah  ? '  Den  I  say,  '  Dun- 
know,  Massa  Nelson,  guess  him  be  all  gone  to  do 


182  XED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY:    OR, 

gravy.'  La  sus  !  what  stingy  folks  you  Yankees 
be,  heh  !  "  As  Ned  was  well  acquainted  with 
Mrs.  Nelson's  parsimony,  lie  smiled  approvingly, 
but  made  no  reply,  for  his  heart  was  sick  at  the 
death  of  his  mother.  Now  Dinah  Lee  was  a 
young  contraband,  recently  brought  from  Fort 
ress  Monroe.  Whether  she  came  from  the  estate 
of  the  rebel  general,  Robert  E.  Lee,  or  some 
other  Lee,  is  not  stated.  At  any  rate,  she  was 
somewhat  dissatisfied  with  the  narrow  limits  of 
her  new  doimcil,andthe  still  narrower  souls  of  her 
employers.  She  had  been  used  to  large  rooms, 
wide  door-yards,  plenty  of  stores  for  cooking, 
and  more  generous  diet  than  she  found  at  Mrs. 
Nelson's.  "  La  sus  !  "  she  continued,  "  I  cant  see 
how  you  Yankees  lib,  nohow  :  ye  don't  hab 
nuthin'  to  cook,  yo  don't  have  nnthin'  to  eat, 
and  ye  don't  hab  no  room  to  do  nuthin'.  See 
dis  ere  leetle  door-yard !  dar  ain't  room  'nuff 
in  it  to  stretch  a  clothes-line  nohow  you  fix 
him;  and  dis  ere  leetle  kitchen,  —  'cant  turn 
round  in  it  wid  a  mug  of  milk.  Yah,  yah,  yah  ! 
See  how  'nurious  Missus  Nelson  be !  She  "-  —  Here 
Ned  stopped  her.  "  You  don't  mean  'nurious," 
said  he  ;  "  you  don't  mean  'nurious,  you  mean  pe 
nurious"  —  "  Yes,  penurious,"  said  Dinah,  with  a 
drawl  on  the  first  syllable,  and  a  contemptuous 
toss  of  the  head.  "  Yer  thinks  ye  knows  a  sight ; 


STREET    LIFE    IN      BOSTON.  183 

but  ye  ain't  so  smart  as  ye  thinks  ye  be."  Then 
she  continued,  "  See  how  Missus  Nelson  lock  up 
eber  ding !  She  lock  up  do  flour,  an'  de  meal,  an' 
do  sugar,  an'  de  'lasses,  an'  de  spoons  ;  can't  make 
no  hoe-cake,  no  johnny-cakeaf  nor  slap-jacks,  nor 
pies,  nor  puddins,  nor  nuthin'.  She  fights  de 
semtress,  'cause  she  ask  too  much;  she  drives 
off  de  chamber-maid,  'cause  de  poor  girl  wants 
her  pay.  She  sells  ebber  ding  she  can,  'cause 
she  wants  to  be  rich ;  an'  she  no  gib  nuthin'  to 
de  poor.  All  de  poor  might  be  a-starvin'  an' 
she'd  no  help  'em.  She  sells  de  bones  to  de  junk 
man,  an'  de  rags  to  de  ragman,  an'  de  grease  to 
de  soapman  ;  an'  I  werrily  believe  she  drown 
poor  pussy  in  de  wash-tub,  to  get  rid  ob  feedin' 
her.  La  sns  !  she'd"  — 

"  Hush,  hush  !  what  are  you  talking  so  long 
for?"  says  Mrs.  Nelson,  opening  the  parlor- 
door,  and  coming  to  the  kitchen-stairs.  "  What 
do  you  mean  by  keeping  that  boy  from  his 
work,  Dinah?"  —"La  sus,  Missus!"  says  Di 
nah,  "  don't  hurry  me,  den  I's  work  de  cheaper. 
I's  only  pickin'  up  de  bones  to  put  in  de 
basket ;  Massa  Nelson  he  hab  sent  for  um. 
I's  looking  for  to  see  if  dar  be  no  meat  on  um." 
Then,  with  a  sly  chuckle,  "  Meat  on  um  !  "  says 
Dinah  to  Ned  Nevins,  "  meat  on  um  !  "  holding 
up  a  dry  bone :  "  I  guess  dar  nebber  be  no  meat  on 


184  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OB, 

um  ;  no  not  'nuff  to  tempt de  mouse."-  — "Less 
talk  and  more  work  there,  you  child  of  Erebus! 
hurry  up,  and  let  him  begone ! "  says  Mrs. 
Nelson,  entering  the  parlor,  and  closing  the  door. 
Let  us  follow  her,  lyhile  Ned  goes  and  comes  on 
his  journeys,  weary  and  fatigued  by  grief  and 
exposure. 

"  Tink,tink,  tink  !  one,  two !  one,  two !  one,  two, 
three  !  tink,  tink,  tink  !  "  sounded  in  the  parlor, 
as  Nellie  Nelson  sat  before  the  new  piano,  watch 
ing  the  last  tedious  moments  of  the  closing  hour. 
"  Now  Nellie/'  said  Mrs.  Nelson  gravely,  "  as 
your  lesson  is  ended,  I  have  another  to  teach 
you.  It  is  exceedingly  vulgar  for  you  to  mix 
so  much  with  those  poor  children  and  servant- 
girls  "as  you  do  :  you  make  too  free  with  them  al 
together.  We  are  soon  to  move  to  Chester  Park, 
and  you  must  commence  to  learn  your  dignity 
and  importance :  you  are  our  only  daughter ; 
did  you  think  of  that?" — "Yes,  ma?am,"  said 
Nellie  ;  "  but  I  want  to  love  somebody.  I  has  no 
pussy  now ;  and  brother  Willie  and  sister  Jennie 
are  both  dead  ;  and  it  be  so  dreadful  hard  to  tink, 
tink,  tink  at  the  piano  all  the  livelong  day, 
and  to  study  out  the  hard  words  you  make  me 
learn.  Oh,  it  is  so  lonesome!"  —"Lonesome 
or  not."  said  Mrs.  Nelson,  "  you  must  keep  good 
society,  and  avoid  these  poor  children."  •— "  Why, 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.         185 

mother  ?  Why  ain't  they  just  as  good  as  rich 
children  ?  There  is  Susie  Pinkham  ;  she  got  the 
medal  in  the  Franklin  School ;  her  mother  washes 
for  us :  and  there  is  Nellie  Stedman;  she  took  the 
prize  in  the  sabbath  school ;  Her  mother  does  our 
sewing  now :  and  there  is  poor  Ned  Nevins  " 
"  Stop  !  "  says  Mrs.  Nelson,  "  I  will  not  have 
that  boy's  name  mentioned  in  my  presence.  You 
have  flattered  him  and  pitied  him  too  much  ;  you 
have  talked  with  him,  and  asked  him  about  his 
mother  ;  and  you  have  given  him  cake,  and  tried 
to  help  him  carry  out  his  basket,  and  looked  so 
sorrowfully  on  his  old  rags,  that  I  have  been 
actually  ashamed  of  you."-  — "  Why,  mother? 
what  hurt  is  there  in  helping  the  poor  ?  "  —  "  No 
particular  hurt,  if  you  can  only  learn  to  keep 
away  from  them,  and  let  them  know  their  place." 
At  this  moment,  a  tumult  was  heard  in  the  yard. 
"  Don't  strike  me  ! "  said  Ned  Nevins  to  Mr. 
Nelson,  as  he  stood  in  Mr.  Nelson's  back  yard, 
holding  up  his  hands  to  ward  off  the  blows. 
"  Don't  strike  me  in  this  manner  :  you  don't  know 
who  you  are  beating,  sir  !  I  am  no  Irish  beggar, 
to  be  knocked  about  like  a  dog  !  My  mother  said, 
if  I  do  no  wrong,  something  good  will  come  to  me.  I 
never  was  whipped  in  my  life  :  I  scorn  it.  You 
would  not  dare  to  strike  me  if  I  had  a  father  to 
protect  me;  yet  because  I  am  a  helpless,  father- 


186      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR 

less  boy,  ye  think  ye  may  beat  me  like  a  slave. 
No,  sir  !  stop  that !  I'll  stand  for  my  rights  !  " 

"Bights,  rights  !  Ha,  ha  !  You've  got  rights, 
have  ye  ?  "  said  Mr.  Nelson,  ironically.  "  You 
poor  vagabond,  yotfve  got  rights,  I  suppose,  to 
destroy  my  property;  and  I,  poor  silly  mortal, 
must  just  grin  and  bear  it,  and  have  no  redress. 
Yes  !  you  can  break,  burn, or  steal;  and  I, forsooth, 
must  look  calmly  on,  and  pay  the  bills  :  blame  me, 
young  lad,  if  I  haven't  rights  too  !  Might  makes 
right!  I  tell  you,  I'll  take  the  pay  out  of  your 
hide,  you  poor  snivelling,  simpering  drone  ! 

Then  he  fell  unmercifully  upon  the  weeping 
boy,  with  stick  in  hand,  and  gave  him  stroke 
after  stroke,  with  a  sound  that  echoed  through 
the  yard,  and  brought  Mrs.  Nelson  to  the  win 
dow.  "  Oh,  mercy  !  "  said  Mrs.  Nelson,  clinch 
ing  her  hands,  and  shaking  her  false  curls  in  a 
rage.  "  We  shall  have  all  our  property  destroyed 
by  these  heathenish  beggar-boys.  See  there  !  a 
basket  has  fallen,  and  two  or  three  bottles  of  old 
Madeira  are  broken.  Oh  the  careless  brat,  the 
impudent  scamp  !  let  him  sweat  for  it,"  she  con 
tinued.  "  That's  right,  Mr.  Nelson  !  be  a  man  once 
in  your  life  !  stand  up  for  your  rights,  and  teach 
him  a  lesson  which  he  will  remember.  Oh, 
dear!"  she  said,  sighing  in  an  hysterical  fit; 
"  oh,  dear  !  what  shall  we  do  with  these  good- 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  187 

for-nothing,  ragged  urchins,  these  pests  to  de 
cent  society  ?  I  do  hope  we  shall  be  rid  of  them 
when  we  arrive  at  our  new  mansion  in  Chester 
Park." 

Mr.  Nelson,  encouraged  for  once  in  his  life  by 
the  sympathies  of  his  not  over-affectionate  wife, 
felt  the  spirit  of  her  advice  to  nerve  him  on ;  and 
he  redoubled  his  blows,  till  the  flesh  of  the  poor 
boy  was  bruised  and  torn. 

"  La  sus  ! "  says  Dinah,  running  to  the  win 
dow,  and  gazing  at  the  sight.  "  Dat  ar  be  jest 
likes  what  us  niggers  has  been  used  to  get  in 
old  Virginny,  heh  ?  Does  ye  Yankees  beat  de  poor 
sarvants  like  dat?"  —  "Hush,  hush  your  mouth, 
you  black  slave  !  hold  your  tattling  tongue  !  " 
cried  Mrs.  Nelson,  anxious  to  vent  her  spleen  in 
some  way,  hitting  her  a  knock  on  the  head.  "  La 
sus,  Missus  Nelson  !  ye  needn't  be  a-knockin' 
me  ;  it  don't  hurt  none  :  I  is  got  used  to  dat."  — 
"  Then  I  will  strike  you  harder  till  it  does  hurt" 
(hitting  her  another  knock) ;  "  and  you  shall  know 
your  place,  and  keep  your  tongue  still."  — "  O 
Missus  !  it  wont  do  no  good  to  strike  me :  I 
knows  my  place  now  !  It  only  makes  me  feel 
wusser,  an'  kind  ob  hateful  like  !  Gingoes  !  it 
makes  me  mad  I  hates  everybody,  I  do  ;  I  hates 
myself;  den  I  bumps  my  head  'ginst  de  door 
posts,  and  strikes  myself,  and  bangs  myself,  and 


188  NED    KEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

bites  my  lips  ;  den  I  tinks  what  a  fool  I  was  to 
act  so."  —  "  Then  you  must  hold  your  tongue,  do 
better,  and  mind  your  work  ;  then  you  won't  get 
hit,"  said  Mrs.  Nelson.  "  Do  better !  did  ye 
say  ?  La  sus  !  It  ain't  de  doin\  Missus  ;  it  ain't 
doiri  better:  it  is  beirf  in  de  way  when  de  gun  goes 

of!" 

This  last  expression  raised  the  anger  of 
Mrs.  Nelson  to  fever-heat :  she  clinched  her 
hands ;  she  chafed  and  scowled,  and  bit  her  lips, 
to  think  of  her  false  position ;  she  burst  into  a 
paroxysm  of  tears  upon  discovering  that  she 
could  not  subdue  the  poor  unlettered  dependant 
whom  she  despised.  Rising  in  rage,  she  was 
about  to  vent  her  vengeance  in  more  terrible 
demonstrations,  when  little  Nellie,  interposing 
her  delicate  form,  with  hands  upraised  in  sup 
plication,  her  face  bedewed  with  tears,  fell  down 
before  her,  and  cried,  "  Don't,  mother,  don't  strike 
her  :  she  will  be  good  !  1  know  she  will."  -  — "  No, 
I's  shan't  be  good  nuther  !  I's  ugly  !  I  feels 
wicked  as  I  can  Jib." — ".But  you  will  be  good  to 
me?"  said  Nellie,  with  such  angelic  grace  and 
tone,  that  might  have  touched  a  heart  of  stone. 
You  know  it's  wrong  to  talk  and  act  so,  Dinah  : 
you  will  be  good  to  me  ?  "  —  "  No  I's  won't  bes 
good  to  nobody.  I  feels  like  murder  when  I 
seed  that  poor  boy  whipped  so  hard.  0  J  emimaJ 


STREET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  189 

how  I  shudder ;  I  bes  all  bilin'  ober  wid  wincgai 
Tarnation,  how  I  feels  !  "  working  herself  into  a 
passion,  and  showing  her  big  lips,  and  grating 
her  white  ivory  teeth,  with  a  jar  that  started 
Nellie  from  her  seat.  "  0  Dinah !  "  said  Nel 
lie,  "  you  make  me  shudder  and  tremble,  when 
you  show  so  much  temper.  0  Dinah  !  how  can 
you  be  so  wicked  ? "  seizing  hold  of  Dinah's 
hand,  and  trying  to  allay  her  anger  by  gentle 
touches  of  affection.  "  Not  be  good  to  me,  when 
I  have  been  so  good  to  you,  and  taught  you  to 
read,  and  say  your  prayers,  and  love  you  so  ?  " 
"  Don't  say  love"  says  Mrs.  Nelson,  scornfully ; 
say  like  or  cared  for :  you  can't  love  a  person  that 
is  so  low  and  vulgar."  — ''  Yes,  I  can,  mother  :  I 
love  everybody  in  the  world.  I  love  you,  I  love 
papa,  and  I  love  poor  Ned  Nevins  ;  and  I  love 
Dinah,!  do  :  don't  I  love  you,  Dinah?  "  she  said, 
throwing  the  magic  spell  of  her  loving  glance 
upon  the  poor  despised  contraband,  and  exorcis 
ing,  as  by  a  magician's  wand,  the  evil  spirits  from 
her  nature.  "  La  sus  !  I  guess  you  do  lub  me, 
Nellie  ;  "  falling  on  her  knees  before  her,  and 
throwing  her  arms  around  Nellie's  waist.  "I 
guess  ye  does,  Nellie.  Ye  can  lub  a  poor  nigger, 
I  knows  ye  can  :  yer  leetle  heart  be  full  of  lub 
for  ebbcrbody.  I  wouldn't  stay  in  Massa  Nelson's 
house  two  minutes,  if  it  warn't  for  you,  Nellie. 


190  NED    KEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

You  reads  stories  to  me,  an'  shows  me  de  pic- 
turs,  an'  tells  me  how  de  Yankees  lib,  an'  what  de 
childers  learns  when  da  goes  to  school,  an'  talks 
about  de  Bible  an'  Jesus,  an'  de  childers  of  Isra- 
him  in  bondage,  an'  says  prayers  for  me,  den  I 
be  so  happy  ;  "  then  grasping  her  hands  tighter 
around  the  child's  waist,  and  hugging  her  little 
innocent  breast  closely  to  her  dark  face,  with  a 
heart  overflowing  with  gratitude,  she  blubbered 
out  the  big  tears,  and  sobbed,  and  cried  like  a 
baby.  Her  feelings  were  overcome ;  she  was 
completely  subdued,  and  became  as  gentle  as  a 
lamb.  Such  is  the  power  of  love,  even  the  love 
of  a  little  child,  to  subdue  the  stubborn  will  of 
the  apparently  incorrigible. 

Meanwhile,  Ned  Nevins,  with  a  sorrowful 
heart  and  sad  countenance,  was  proceeding  with 
his  work,  thinking  continually  of  the  death  of 
his  mother,  and  of  the  shame  and  mortification 
of  being  whipped  ;  but  telling  no  one  of  his  sor 
rows,  not  even  Nellie,  whom  he  savv  watching 
him  on  the  staircase,  with  an  eye  of  pity,  that 
made  his  heart  overflow  with  gratitude  to  God 
for  sending  him  one  friend  that  could  weep  at 
his  distress.  Strengthened  by  the  thought,  he 
went  trudging  up  stairs,  with  his  boxes  of  goods 
and  baskets  of  wine,  to  the  garret,  which  was 
now  used  as  a  store-room  for  speculative  pur 
poses,  as  goods  were  rising  in  value. 


STREET    LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  191 

u  Oh  dear,  what  work  !  "  said  Mrs.  Nelson. 
"  These  boxes  make  so  much  litter  and  dirt,  and 
these  street-boys  are  so  careless  and  offensive. 
I  do  hope  we  shall  have  no  such  doings  as  these 
when  we  get  to  our  new  mansion.  Then  she 
turned  away,  consoling  herself  with  the  encour 
aging  prospects  of  her  new  domicil,  her  future 
sanctum  sanctorum,  in  the  select  precincts  of 
Chester  Park. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

NED'S  SICKNESS.  —  ANGEL  WATCHER.  —  ANGEL 

OP   THE    STAIRCASE. 

CORNING  came  to  Mr.  Nelson's,  but  no 
Ned  Nevins.  What  could  this  mean? 
Ned  had  been  usually  as  punctual  as 
the  sun  on  the  dial.  A  flash  of  convic 
tion  struck  Mr.  Nelson's  mind,  that  all 
was  not  right.  Yesterday's  proceed 
ings  might  have  been  a  little  too  severe  for  the 
poor  boy  ;  especially  after  learning  the  death  of 
Ned's  mother,  and  of  Ned's  exposure  all  night 
in  the  street.  How  could  the  boy  have  toiled 
the  day  after  that  exposure  as  he  did  for  him  ? 
What  wonder  if  he  had  dropped  a  basket,  or 
broken  a  bottle  ?  As  he  sat  down  to  dinner,  he 
said,  "  Mrs.  Nelson,  my  dear,  hadn't  we  better 
send  and  inquire  after  Ned  ?  Perhaps  he  is 
sick ;  I  must  have  somebody  to  do  my  work.'1 
"  No  !  "  said  she  angrily,  showing  her  disgust 
for  him,  and  scowling  her  face.  "  Get  a  man, 
a  respectable  man,  to  do  your  work  ;  let  us  have 
no  more  of  these  beggar-boys." 

192 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  193 

"  But  do  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Nelson,  that  he 
has  lost  his  mother  ?  "  —  "  Well,  what  of  that  ? 
Perhaps  the  mother  was  no  help  to  him ;  let 
him  go  to-  the  poor-house  ;  what  do  you  care?  " 

"  But,  my  dear,  I  fear  we  were  too  severe 
with  him  yesterday ;  I  wish  Dinah  to  go  and 
^ee." 

"  Don't  know  whar  Ned  libs,"  said  Dinah, 
gruffly.  "  Perhaps  Nellie  knows,"  said  Mr. 
Nelson.  "  There,  'tis  again  !  "  said  Mrs.  Nel 
son,  shaking  herself  in  quite  a  rage.  "  You 
must  get  our  dear  little  Nellie's  name  mixed  up 
again  with  that  beggar-boy,  Ned  Nevins.  Good 
heavens !  when  will  you  learn  the  dignity  of 
your  position,  Mr.  Nelson  ?  When  shall  we  be 
free  from  vulgarisms  ?  Oh  !  when  shall  we  get 
to  Chester  Park  ?  " 

The  truth  is,  Nellie  did  know  where  Ned 
lived,  for  he  had  told  her.  And,  more  than  this, 
Nellie  had  seen,  beneath  that  tattered  garb  of 
his,  a  boy  of  true  merit,  —  a  generous,  aspiring, 
noble  heart.  Ned  had  felt  that  he  had  a  friend 
in  her ;  for  she  watched  him  intently  when  he 
carne  with  his  basket,  and  inquired  particularly 
after  his  health,  and  that  of  his  poor  mother, 
and  slily  divided  her  sugar  toys  with  him,  and 
sent  little  tokens  to  his  mother.  And,  when  lie 
received  that  mortifying  castigation,  his  heart 

13 


194      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

would  have  broken,  he  would  have  yielded  to 
despair,  for  it  was  the  most  humiliating  calamity 
that  had  ever  befallen  him ;  but  there  was  one 
eye  that  looked  on,  and  pitied  him,  —  one  little 
angel  face  that  stood  at  the  window,  and  saw, 
and  wept.  In  her  tears,  he  felt  strengthened  : 
each  tear  to  him  was  as  the  weight  of  a  talent 
in  the  balance  of  his  grief.  And  when  watch 
ing  with  longing  eye  and  sympathizing  look  his 
weary  toil,  arid  sharing  in  her  young  heart  the 
burden  of  his  sorrow,  she  stole  in  upon  the 
stairs,  unseen  by  her  jealous  mother,  and  spoke 
a  kind  word  to  him,  as  he  bore  the  heavy  boxes 
to  the  attic,  and  said,  "  Are  you  not  tired,  Eddie  ? 
Can't  I  help  you  ?  "  Oh,  what  magic  in  those 
words  !  What  rays  of  comfort  glittered  in  the 
face,  half  veiled  by  dark  ringlets  !  what  beams 
of  hope  in  those  pitying,  love-inspiring  eyes  ! 
Ah!  this  world  could  not  be  a  prison-house  of 
woe,  with  one  such  little  angel  in  it  as  Nellie 
Nelson.  Her  face  was  as  an  angel  of  mercy  ; 
by  her  gentle  look,  weariness  was  dispelled, 
sickness  forgotten,  pain  banished,  the  grave 
hid,  hope  inspired  ;  she  was  an  angel  of  the 
staircase.  Yet  what  had  Ned  done  to  deserve 
her  smiles,  her  pity,  her  love  ? 

He   was  only  a  poor  orphan  street-boy,  tat 
tered,  dejected.      Besides,  he    had   no    mother 


STREET  LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  195 

now  to  talk  to  Nellie  about,  and  nothing  to  com 
mand  her  attention.  He  went  to  his  home  on 
the  night  of  his  flogging,  sad  and  disheartened. 
Oh  the  mortification,  the  chagrin,  of  being 
whipped  !  Sick  and  weary,  he  sought  his  couch : 
he  had  no  fear  of  home  now,  and  no  dread  of 
the  bed  on  which  his  mother  lay.  •  He  was  too 
sick  for  reflection ;  he  fell  upon  the  bed,  and 
went  to  sleep.  But  sleep  could  not  restore  his 
health ;  that  had  been  too  much  shattered  by 
watchings  and  exposures,  and  by  the  heavy 
blows  of  Mr.  Nelson.  Fitful  dreams  troubled 
him  ;  horrid  phantoms  appeared,  shapes  of  terror ; 
the  room  was  whirling  round  ;  the  rattling  of  the 
engine,  with  its  long  train  of  cars,  rolling  all 
night  near  the  head  of  his  bed,  seemed  as  the 
engine  of  death  bearing  multitudes  to  the  tomb. 
The  very  bed  beneath  him  seemed  whirling 
round,  and  bearing  him  down,  down,  to  some 
bottomless  gulf  below.  Horrid  fright !  At  last, 
he  found  some  of  the  opiates  that  induced  his 
mother  to  sleep,  and  he  fell  heavily  on  his  couch 
to  sleep  again.  This  time  he  slept  a  long  sleep, 
one  that  seemed  to  know  no  waking.  One  of 
the  Irishwomen  of  the  house  said,  as  she  looked 
in  upon  him,  "  Poor  boy  !  it  ba  almost  over  with 
the  dare  little  crather;  he  will  soon  ba  with  his 
mother,  darling  child." 


196  NED   NEVINS   THE    NEWSBOY  |    OR, 

At  eleven  o'clock  he  rallied  a  little,  just  the 
time  when  Mr.  Nelson  wanted  him  most ;  but  he 
fell  back  to  sleep  again,  lay  closer  to  the  bed, 
hugged  the  pillow,  breathed  heavier,  and  lay 
more  stupid  than  ever.  Finally  he  rallied  again, 
and  woke  ;  but,  looking  towards  the  light,  he 
sighed  and  fell  back,  as  if  he  would  seek  the 
shades  below,  and  be  with  his  mother.  Why 
should  he  desire  to  live  longer?  What  reason 
had  he  to  hope?  Yet  there  was  one  object  to 
inspire  his  hope,  one  that  loved  him  still,  —  one 
lone  star  that  shone  upon  him  in  his  desolation, 
when  all  other  constellations  of  the  universe 
were  dim.  That  star  was  Nellie  Nelson ;  and 
that  star  was  now  shining  right  down  in  his 
face  ;  but  he  was  asleep,  and  knew  it  not.  Ah  ! 
could  it  be  that  she  was  in  that  squalid  room  in 
Orange  Lane  ?  Yes,  there  she  stood,  a  lone 
watcher,  a  spirit  pure  as  a  snowflake  lit  from 
heaven ;  in  voiceless  silence  she  stood,  gazing 
on  the  care-worn  features  of  the  sleeping  boy. 
tier  dark,  penetrating  eyes  were  as  a  deep  well 
of  sympathy  ;  they  watered  in  pity  as  she  gazed. 
Her  little  half-concealed  bosom  heaved  above 
her  low  silk  waist,  and  beat  in  harmony  with  his 
deep  sighs  ;  and  her  tender  sympathies  shud 
dered  at  the  suppressed  sobs  of  his  over-bur 
dened  heart.  In  modest  diffidence  she  stood, 


STREET   LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  197 

her  long  black  curls  falling  gracefully  over  her 
snow  white  shoulders,  vying  with  silks  and 
gauze,  and  golden  necklace,  to  hide  from  public 
gaze  the  blushing  beauty  of  the  form  that  had 
deigned  to  weep. 

Ah,  what  a  form  was  that  to  be  seen  amidst 
the  infernal  surroundings  of  Orange  Lane  ! 
Profane  wretches  and  rude  boys  stood  silent 
and  aghast  when,  she  approached ;  old  men 
stepped  modestly  back  to  give  way  for  the  fairy 
footsteps  of  her  tripping  feet ;  and  old  hags 
bowed  their  diminished  heads  in  shame  and  rev 
erential  awe  at  seeing  a  young  Madonna  enter 
these  long  infected,  God-forsaken  abodes  of 
vice. 

What  a  contrast  to  Ned  Kevins  !  She  was 
born  in  affluence  ;  he  in  most  abject  poverty. 
She  was  clothed  in  silks  and  gold  ;  he  in  rags. 
Her  couch  was  the  richest  that  gold  could  pur 
chase  ;  his  was  a  bed  of  shavings,  covered  by 
thin,  tattered  bed-quilts,  but  quilted  by  a  moth 
er's  hand  in  her  happier  days.  Nellie  Nelson  stood 
in  that  dark  room,  a  child  of  fairest  prospects, 
garbed  in  costliest  attire,  the  picture  of  happi 
ness  itself.  Yet  she*  was  not  content,  while  she 
saw  suffering  that  her  gentle  hand  could  relieve. 
She  bent  over  the  bed,  placing  her  lips  close  to 
his  cheek,  and  her  soft  hand  upon  his  forehead, 


198  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  |    OR, 

and  said,  as  she  breathed  in  dulcet  cadences 
upon  his  dull  ear,  "0  Eddie!  be  you  sick?:' 
As  the  gentle  voice  struck  his  sleeping  ear, 
Ned  started  in  his  slumbers,  as  if  it  were  the 
voice  of  his  mother.  Then  muttering  some 
unintelligible  sounds  in  his  dreams,  he  sighed 
heavily,  and  said,  "  Oh,  no,  it  is  not  my  mother  1 
No :  I  have  no  mother  !  Eddie  has  no  mother 
now  !  "  Then  turning  over  in  his  bed,  with  a 
shudder,  and  a  groan,  he  slept  on,  without  open 
ing  his  eyes.  0  happy  sleep  !  if  it  could  but 
hide  his  pain,  or  obliterate  his  woes.  Then  the 
vigilant  watcher  by  his  side  again  said,  "  0 
Eddie,  be  you  sick?  hear  me,  Eddie,  Nellie  has 
come  !  "  but,  as  she  shook  his  shoulder  to  wake 
him,  she  only  started  the  pain  in  his  bruised 
frame,  and  turned  the  course  of  his  dreams  into 
the  channel  of  yesterday's  proceedings.  '"'Don't 
strike  me,  Mr.  Nelson  !  don't  strike  me  !  I  never 
was  whipped  in  my  life  !  "  he  murmured  on. 
11  0  Eddie  !  "  cried  the  weeping  girl,  "  It  is  not 
Mr.  Nelson  !  it  is  Nellie  Nelson,  Eddie,  your 
friend  Nellie.  She  has  come  to  see  if  you  were 
sick ;  wake  up,  Eddie  !  " 

Ned  awoke,  he  opened  his  eyes,  he  stared, 
but  he  could  not  believe  his  senses:  he  dare  not 
speak.  There  was  the  little  angel  of  the  stair 
case,  the  Peri  of  beauty,  bending  over  him,  like 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  199 

hope  over  the  dying.  Her  face  was  stiiFused  as 
by  an  April  shower ;  her  cheeks  were  flushed  as 
by  the  rainbow  of  promise  ;  and  now  the  sun  of 
her  smiles,  breaking  through  the  thick  clouds 
of  suspense,  shone  into  his  waking  eyes  like  the 
light  of  heaven. 

With  gentle  grace,  she  threw  her  arms  around 
his  neck,  and  kissed  his  cheek,  and  said,  "  0 
Eddie,  be  you  sick  ?  I  thought  you  was  sick,  so 
I  sent  Dinah  back  to  get  you  some  broth ;  now 
you  must  look  up,  and  see  me,  for  she  will  be 
here  in  a  few  minutes,  and  then  I  must  go." 
Ned  at  first  thought  an  angel  had  been  sent 
him,  through  the  prayers  of  his  mothe'r ;  but, 
when  he  saw  that  it  was  Nellie,  he  blushed  to 
think  of  the  state  of  his  room  for  such  a  visitor, 
and  of  his  own  unworthiness.  "  0  Nellie  !  " 
he  said,  "  how  did  you  find  the  way  here  to  this 
terrible  place?  What  will  your  mother  say? 
I  know  she  hates  me  ;  and  Mr.  Nelson  would  not 
have  struck  me  if  he  had  cared  for  me." 

'•  But  my  father  is  sorry  for  it,"  said  Nellie ; 
"  and  when  I  told  him  about  your  poor  mother, 
how  she  died,  and  no  one  went  to  the  funeral, 
and  how  sad  and  lonely  you  was,  and  how  you 
must  feel  after  being  whipped,  then  my  father 
cried,  and  said,  '  Poor  boy  !  Dinah  must  go  and 
see  him.'  But,  as  Dinah  didn't  know  the  way,  I 
came  with  her :  so  you  see  my  father  has  some 


200  NED   NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;   OR, 

feeling  for'you  after  all.  Then,  Eddie,  dear  Eddie  ! 
if  you  knew  how  much  I  feel  for  you,  then  you 
would  want  to  live  for  my  sake,"  she  said,  weep 
ing.  Then  she  bent  over  in  anxious  suspense, 
as  if  fishing  for  pearls  in  the  deep  of  ocean;  and, 
when  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  eye,  she 
seemed  to  have  found  the  long-sought  gem;  then 
with  kisses  and  caresses  she  brings  the  sub 
merged  treasure  to  the  light  of  day  by  the  net  of 
her  love.  She  kisses  him  again  and  again,  while 
her  silken  tresses  fall  luxuriantly  over  his  pale 
features,  awakening  hope,  and  leaving  him  in  a 
maze  of  happy  bewilderment.  "  0  Nellie  ! ' 
said  Ned,  lifting  up  her  head  from  his  cheek,  and 
looking  into  her  eyes,  "  how  can  you  care  for  or 
pity  me,  when  your  mother  is  so  opposed  to  me? 
What  merits  have  I,  that  you  should  pity  me  ? 
I  am  but  a  poor  orphan  street-boy.  It  would  be 
a  shame  for  you  to  know  me  in  society,  or  speak 
my  name  before  your  mother.  Oh  !  do  not  bestow 
your  pity  on  me  :  I  can  never  repay  it." 

"  Pity  you  !  "  says  Nellie,  "  why  ?  I  can  pity 
anybody.  I  can  pity  you,  and  help  you  ;  and  that 
will  wrong  nobody.  Pity  don't  cost  any  thing.'' 
"  But,"  said  Ned,  "  I  am  not  worthy  of  your  pity 
or  anybody's  pity  ;  I  broke  the  precepts  of  my 
faithful  mother,  and  got  into  a  fight,  and  dis 
graced  myself  by  being  locked  up ;  then  I  am 
poor,  and  have  no  chance  for  learning,  and  no 


STEEET   LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  201 

way  to  get  money ;  and  I  don't  want  to  disgrace 
you,  dear  Nellie,  by  having  it  said  you  ever  cared 
for  or  pitied  me."  -  —  "  But  you  will  not  always 
be  so  poor."  —  "  Oh,  I  don't  know,  Nellie  !  that  all 
rests  with  my  heavenly  Father." 

"  No,  you  cannot  be  poor ;  you  will  have  work, 
and  lay  up  something,  and  buy  a  home  ;  then  I 
will  come  and  see  you,  Eddie."  —  "  Ah,  Nellie  !  I 
fear  that  is  too  much  to  hope  ;  yet  my  mother 
said,  if  I  do  no  wrong,  sometliin'1  good  will  come  to 
me."-  —  "  No,  it  is  not  too  much  to  hope ;  for  God 
will  help  you,  Eddie ;  he  will  give  you  friends, 
and  a  place  to  live  in,  and  success ;  for  you  have 
been  so  faithful  to  your  poor  mother,  and  you 
have  such  a  tender  heart,  arid  are  so  good  and 
truthful.  My  dear  Eddie,"  she  said,  giving 
him  a  kiss,  "  oh,  how  I  love  you,  Eddie  !  you  seem 
just  like  a  brother  to  me.  God  will  give  you 
friends ;  yes,  I  know  he  will,  and  you  will  yet  be 
happy." 

"  0  Nellie,  I  thank  you  for  thinking  so  well 
of  me,  and  coming  to  see  me.  I  wish  I  were  as 
good  as  you  think  me.  Your  kind  words  are  medi 
cine  to  my  soul,  and  your  smiles  better  than  the 
light  of  day  :  I  fear  you  have  done  too  much  for 
your  own  good." 

"Ah,  Eddie!  I  have  done  nothing  for  you  :  1 
wish  I  could  do  something.  When  I  am  gone,  1 
shall  think  of  you ;  I  want  you  to  think  of  me; 


202  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY. 

and  we  will  think  of  each  other  when  we  say 
our  prayers  to-night.  If  I  am  not  allowed 
to  see  you  to-morrow,  when  you  come  with  the 
basket,  then  I  will  place  my  white  pocket  hand 
kerchief  at  the  window,  so  you  may  know  that 
I  remember  you."-  —  "0  Nellie!  how  kind  you 
are  !  how  can  I  repay  you  ?  "  —  "  By  pr.aying  for 
me,  Eddie,  and  asking  God  to  give  me  as  good  a 
heart  as  you  have  got/'  At  this  moment,  Dinah 
came  into  the  room,  with  her  pail  of  smoking 
broth,  crying  "  La  sus !  Missus  Nelson  didn't 
want  me  to  warm  it,  nor  heat  it  at  all ;  but  I 
guess  I  would  a  leetle."  The  words  were  scarce 
ly  out  from  her  lips  when  Mrs.  Nelson  appeared 
also  at  the  door,  much  excited.  At  sight  of  her, 
Ned's  face  colored,  for  it  had  been  quite  pale ; 
his  heart  went  pit-a-pat ;  he  trembled.  Oh,  how 
he  pitied  poor  Nellie  !  he  could  not  see  her  suf 
fer  for  him  ;  he  could  not  see  her  punished.  No  ! 
he  would  rather  die  in  his  bed. 

"  Ah,  my  daughter !  that  is  the  way  you  do, 
is  it?  "  said  Mrs.  Nelson.  "  You  send  Dinah  away, 
so  that  you  can  stay  here,  in  this  dirty  room, 
surrounded  by  these  low  Irish,  heli  ?  just  as  if 
you  were  not  Mr.  David  Nelson's  only  daughter  ! 
yes,  soon  to  be  daughter  of  David  Nelson,  Esq., 
of  Chester  Park.  0  !  0  !  0  !  "  wringing  her  hands, 
•and  shuddering  in  a  kind  of  genteel  horror  I 


CHAPTER    XX. 

MES.  NELSON'S  VISIT  TO  MRS.  NOODLE  IN  CHESTER 
PAEK. 


,  Nellie  !  "  said  Mrs.  Nelson,  "  we 
shall  be  late.  The  carriage  is  at  the  door. 
We  are  to  make  our  visit  of  inspection 
to  Mrs.  Noodle's  mansion  in  Chester 
Park  to-day  .  I  hope  the  ride  will  improve 
your  health,  my  dear." 

.Nellie  went  with  fearful  apprehensions,  pained 
at  her  mother's  Chester-Park  mania.  She  trem 
bled  to  see  how  cruel,  tyrannical,  and  heartless 
her  mother  became,  when  aspiring  after  the 
vanities  of  high  life  :  she  sickened  at  the 
thought.  One  spark  of  tender  feeling,  one  token 
of  Dinah's  gratitude,  one  loving  look  from  Eddie, 
would  outweigh  them  all. 

Now  Mrs.  Noodle  is  averse  to  receiving  visits 
from  any  but  the  select  few  of  upper-tendom. 
Efer  husband  died  after  acquiring  a  fortune  in  a 
business  which  would  not  bear  the  scrutiny  of 
the  present  State  constabulary  ;  leaving  her  in  af 
fluence.  Her  dwelling  is  magnificently  fur- 

203 


204  NED    KEVINS   THE    NEWSBOY  ;    01?, 

nished ;  every  thing  is  comme  ilfaut,  betokening 
wealth.  Mrs.  Noodle  lives  alone,  has  three  ser 
vants,  is  proud,  vain,  simple,  and  selfish.  In  her 
former  humble  condition  in  life,  her  education 
had  been  sadJy  neglected.  One  could  scarcely 
recognize  a  scrub-woman  of  the  North  End  in 
the  now  fashionable  lady  of  Chester  Park.  Mrs. 
Noodle  has  been  to  Europe.  What  she  saw,  she 
don't  remember ;  what  she  went  for,  she  didn't 
know,  except  it  was  to  please  her  son,  and  be 
classed  among  the  elite  !  (Pardon  me,  she  don't 
know  what  that  word  means.)  The  truth  is,  she 
didn't  carry  knowledge  enough  with  her  to 
bring  any  back.  She  couldn't  see  London  for 
the  houses ;  she  couldn't  see  Saint  Paul's,  on 
account  of  the  massive  walls ;  and  she  couldn't 
see  the  Alps,  on  account  of  the  mountains.  Paris 
had  so  many  hard  names,  she  couldn't  remember 
one  of  them.  Her  journey  was  as  wearisome  and 
sickening  as  in  early  d-ays  her  scrubbing  over 
the  Avash-tub  was  pleasant  and  healthful. 

She  saw  one  object,  however,  which  she  re 
membered  :  that  was  a  redoubtable  live  Lord. 
Whether  he  had  wings  like  a  cherubim,  or  horns 
like  the  teraphim,  she  had  not  the  penetration  to 
discover,  neither  could  she  remember. 

Books,  paintings,  and  statuary,  she  had  no  taste 
for.  A  leaf  plucked  from  the  tomb  of  Virgil 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  ^UO 

awakened  no  poetic  sensation  ;  but  a  sight  of  a 
piece  of  the  queen's  candle  transported  her  into 
ecstasies.  She  was  no  reader,  except  of  a  few 
short  articles  in  the  evening  paper,  and  in  the 
Ladies'  "Magazine  of  Fashion."  She  had  a 
photograph  album,  containing  likenesses  of  a  few 
royal  personages,  and  of  herself,  her  son  and 
his  daughter,  and  the  poodle-dog,  but  studiously 
omitting  all  her  poor  relations. 

She  kept  a  diary ;  but  what  she  could  put  into 
it  is  a  mystery.  She  spent  her  time  in  watching 
servants,  in  locking  and  unlocking  closets  and 
store-rooms,  to  deal  out  carefully  weighed 
stores  for  cooking,  and  in  opening  servants' 
trunks  to  see  if  they  had  not  stolen  some 
thing.  Each  day  she  arranged  her  silver- ware 
in  a  different  position,  thus  making  seven  dispo 
sitions  of  it  a  week.  If  a  scratch  should  befall 
one  of  the  articles,  she  would  most  likely  set  it 
down  in  her  diary  as  a  sign  of  general  decay, 
and  of  the  untrustiness  of  servants. 

Mrs.  Noodle's  appetite  is  not  so  good  as  when 
she  in  early  life  exercised  at  manual  labor :  she 
is  somewhat  troubled  with  those  genteel  com 
plaints, —  ennui  and  dyspepsia. 

Lest  the  servants  be  troubled  in  the  same  way, 
she  feeds  them  short,  and  drives  them  hard. 
The  luxury  of  pie,  cake,  or  puddings,  they  do 


206  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  :    OR, 

not  enjoy,  except  when  visitors  appear  (and  that 
is  not  often),  or  when  the  'young  Noodles  conie 
to  spend  the  day  with  grandma.  Then  there 
may  be  a  few  fragments  left  for  the  servants. 

What  she  does  not  have  in  meats,  she  makes 
lip  in  display.  Her  table  is  elegantly  set  with 
China-ware,  bearing  her  initials,  and  silver-ware 
lined  with  gold.  Imaginary  ills  prevent  her  par 
taking  of  any  but  the  plainest  food.  All  she  has 
for  the  morning  meal  is  a  piece  of  toast  and  a  cup 
of  tea.  For  dinner,  she  has  a  cup  of  tea  and  a 
plate  of  beans. 

See  Mrs.  Noodle  seated  alone  at  her  table,  sole 
possessor  of  all  this  glitter  and  gold,  "  monarch 
of  all  she  surveys."  No  poor  relations  annoy 
her ;  no  greedy  eye  covets  her  meal ;  there 
she  sits  alone  in  her  glory.  She  taps  her  foot 
upon  a  concealed  spring  in  the  .floor,  and  her 
obsequious  man,  Shrugs,  appears,  with  the  air  of 
an  attache.  His  whole  attire  is  recherche,  with 
white  satin  vest,  white  neck-tie,  and  gloves  to 
correspond.  Pie  takes  his  station  behind  his 
mistress  ;  she  nods  her  head ;  Shrugs  proceeds  to 
the  speaking  tube,  gives  the  order,  and  forthwith 
the  dumb-waiter  is  heard  slowly  rising  from  tho 
basement,  bearing  the  anticipated  meal. 

Wonderful  to  tell  !  it  bears  only  a  cup  of  tea  1 
a  plate  of  beans  !  Shrugs  takes  them  upon  a 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  207 

silver  salver  to  the  table.     Bowing  obsequiously, 
he  retires,  awaiting  further  orders. 

0  luxury  !  what  a  display  over  a  plate  of 
beans  !  What  magnificent  pomp  !  Three  ser 
vants  and  a  c?wm6-waiter  called  into  requisi 
tion  to  supply  a  plate  of  beans  ! 

Such  aping  after  aristocratic  show  and  for 
eign  customs  is  unprofitable  and  un-American. 
Such  a  waste  of  time  and  labor  demoralizes 
both  the  serving  and  the  served.  These  persons 
should  be  employed  in  more  useful  household  or 
mechanical  work.  Of  what  use  are  they  in  the 
world  ?  What  sciences,  arts,  or  philanthropic 
efforts,  would  such  a  system  of  labor  develop  ? 

But  Mrs.  Noodle  was  entirely  swallowed  up  in 
self.  She  had  a  convulsive  abhorrence  of  mis 
sionaries,  and  philanthropists :  the  very  thought 
of  them  alarmed  her.  If  a  collector  called  to 
collect  funds  for  the  poor  or  the  orphans,  she 
immediately  went  into  hysterics,  and  asked  for 
water  to  prevent  her  from  fainting. 

A  ring  is  heard  at  Mrs.  Noodle's  door,  and  the 
•nan    Shrugs,   in   white    gloves,   appears. 
Mrs.    Noodle   in?"  —  "No,   madam!    she's 
in  !  "  says  he,  coloring. 

"  Yes,  she  is  in!"  cried  the  kitchen  maid: 
"  I  wouldn't  lie  for  nobody." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Shrugs,  "  she  is  in ;  but  she 
is  very  particularly  engaged  !  " 


208  NED    KEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

"  So  am  I  engaged  !  and  was  engaged  to  Mr 
David  Nelson  twenty  years  ago  !  Tell  your 
mistress  that  Mrs.  Nelson,  wife  of  David  Nelson, 
Esq.,  of  the  firm  of  Nelson  '&  Co.,  sojourning  in 
Chester  Park,  is  at  the  door." 

Now,  Mrs.  Noodle,  hearing  the  loud  conversa 
tion,  opened  the  door  of  her  sitting-room,  tc 
listen  a  moment,  when  in  comes  Shrugs,  cry 
ing,  "  Whew,  Mrs.  Noodle  !  My  Lady  Nelson  is 
at  the  door  !  Lord  Nelson's  wife  !  I  guess. 
Oh  !  Kezia,  princess  royal !  how  she  struts  !  " 
Then  out  came  Mrs.  Noodle,  very  anxious  to 
see  her  distinguished  guest,  and  to  make  an 
apology. 

"  Pardon  me  for  detaining  you  so  long,  Mrs. 
Nelson :  there  are  so  many  vulgar  people  calling 
now  a  days,  we  must  make  a  distinction,  you 
know ! " 

11  Certainly,  certainly  !  Mrs.  Noodle,  "  a  great 
distinction  I  " 

"  Then  you  appreciate  my  position  ?  "  —  "  Ap 
preciate  it?  Mercy  on  me  !  I  don't  know  why  I 
shouldn't,  Mrs.  Noodle  :  1  have  nothing  but  beg 
gars  and  peddlers  and'  street-boys  calling  all 
the  time."-  —  "  Oh  you  are  not  an  English  lady, 
then?"  —  "Not  exactly,  though  Mr.  Nelson  is 
of  English  descent."  •  -  "  Ah  !  I  thought  I  might 
renew  my  happy  acquaintance  with  some  distin- 


STREET    LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  209 

guished  personage  of  England."  —  "I  am  very 
sorry  to  disappoint  you,  Mrs.  Noodle  ;  but  I  have 
heard  so  much  of  your  splendid  mansion,  and 
your  superb  furniture,  I  have  come  to  solicit  an 
examination  of  them,  preparatory  to  furnishing 
one  for  myself  in  Chester  Park."  -  — "  Then  you 
intend  to  reside  among  us,  Mrs.  Nelson,  do 
you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  :  that  is  the  height  of  my  ambition. 
I  long  for  the  pure,  serene  air,  the  refined,  gen 
teel  society,  of  Chester  Park.  My  present  dwell 
ing  and  surroundings  are  not  at  all  congenial. 
Nellie  is  our  only  child:  her  aspirations  have 
greatly  deteriorated;  her  sympathies  have  already 
taken  a  bias  towards  the  poor  and  degraded. 
La,  me  !  don't  you  think  my  daughter  would 
rather  be  playing  in  the  dirt  with  street-children 
than  to  be  here  to-day!"  —  "Oh,  shocking!" 
said  Mrs.  Noodle ;  "  I  scarcely  can  believe  it ; 
but  such  are  the  fruits  of  mingling  in  low  soci 
ety." —  "Yes,  Mrs.  Noodle,  to-day  she  would 
rather  be  in  her  old  dress,  teaching  Dinah  in  the 
kitchen,  than  to  be  attired  genteelly,  as  you  see 
her  there.  Why,  Nellie  !  where  are  your  gloves, 
child?  It's  the  strangest  thing  in  the  world  you 
can't  keep  your  gloves  on  a  minute.  Hold  up 
your  head  :  why  do  you  stoop  so?  " 

"  Well,  ma,  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Nellie,  placing 

14 


210      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

her  hand  upon  her  side.  •  "  I  feel  too  tight  here." 
—  "Pshaw!"  replied  her  mother,  petulantly, 
"  you  are  always  crying  about  being  too  tightly 
laced.  But  we  are  detaining  you,  Mrs.  Noodle: 
will  you  be  kind  enough  to  show  us  over  the 
house  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Mrs.  Nelson.  You  shall 
see  every  thing  for  yourself."  Then  Mrs.  Noodle 
escorted  her  inquisitive  Yankee  visitor  from 
room  to  room,  elated  at  the  opportunity  (for  she 
was  but  too  happy  to  display  all  her  riches) ;  and 
like  Hezekiah  of  old,  showing  his  treasures  to 
the  spies  of  Babylon,  she  kept  nothing  back. 

There  were  the  cold,  frescoed  walls,  echoing 
to  every  sound  but  that  of  joy  ;  the  rich,  heavy 
cashmere  and  brocade  curtains,  adorning  the  win 
dows,  but  excluding  the  beautiful  sunlight  of 
God's  love.  There  were  rosewood  tables,  chairs, 
and  side-board,  sofas,  ottomans,  and  a  magnificent 
escritoire  of  the  same  costly  material,  which, 
however,  was  never  used  for  literary  purposes. 
There  was  the  parlor-grand  piano,  silent  as  the 
grave.  No  heavenly  strains  or  angelic  sounds 
were  heard  emanating  from  its  silver  chords  ; 
for  Mrs.  Noodle  had  no  music  in  her  soul. 
There  were  the  long  looking-glasses,  elaborately 
set  in  polished  rosewood  ;  and  the  chandeliers, 
sparkling  with  a  thousand  glittering  jets,  as  the 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  211 

light  reflected  upon  the  pendants.  The  carpets 
were  of  the  best  foreign  manufacture,  —  Brus 
sels,  Turkey,  &c. ;  home-productions  being  too 
vulgar  for  a  Noodle. 

"  Oh,  how  magnificent ! "  says  Mrs.  Nelson. 
"  Superb  !  elegant !  Why,  Mrs.  Noodle,  like  the 
Queen  of  Sheba,  I  may  say,  '  The  half  hath  not 
been  told.  You  must  be  the  happiest  mortal 
living.' " 

"  Yes,  I  ought  to  be,  I  can't  help  being  happy  ; 
but  — but  —  if — and  (hesitating).  Yes,  I  am; 
but"- 

"  Away  with  your  buts  and  ifs,  Mrs.  Noodle ! 
who  can  be  happier  than  you  ?  "  — "  But  ser 
vants  are  troublesome,  you  know  :  they  require 
so  much  watching,  are  so  deceitful  and  dis 
honest.  I  cannot  trust  them  even  with  the 
sugar  for  my  tea.  I  keep  my  keys  by  my  side 
all  the  day  long,  looking  after  servants,  locking 
and  unlocking.  Ah,  me  !  I  sometimes  wish  my 
self  back  to  my  humble  home  again." 

"  Tush,  tush  !  Mrs.  Noodle.  Think  what  soci 
ety  you  have  here,  magnificent  society !  Oh 
the  select,  the  elite  society  of  Chester  Park ! " 

"  Yes  !  Mrs.  Nelson  ;  but  Chester  Park  is  wan 
ing."  -  — "  Waning,  Mrs.  Noodle,  how?  What 
do  you  mean  ?  "  —  "  Why,  there '  are  so  many 
butchers  and  bakers  crowding  in."  (Mrs.  Nelson 


212      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

took  this  as  a  rebuke  to  herself;  for  .her  husband 
was  a  provision-dealer.) 

At  this  moment,  Nellie  cried,  "  Oh !  take  me 
away  from  this  dreadful  place.  0  my  head, 
my  head ! "  The  poor  child  became  dizzy 
while  gazing  upon  all  this  vain  show  and 
useless  parade.  She  grew  faint,  and  called  for 
Dinah,  and  asked  to  be  carried  home.  She  was 
shocked  at  her  mother's  pride  and  heartless- 
ness.  That  mother  seemed  forgetful  of  all 
tender  ties,  willing  to  sacrifice  even  Nellie  her 
self  upon  the  altar  of  pride  and  vain  glory. 

Nellie  could  not  consent  to  the  offering.  Her 
heart  sickened,  her  cheeks  grew  pallid ;  she  called 
for  water,  and,  throwing  up  her'hands,  she  cried, 
"  I  am  faint,  mother.  Oh  !  take  me  away  from 
this  dreadful  place  :  it  feels  so  cold  and  death 
like.  Oh  !  do  take  me  home,  where  Dinah  will 
bathe  my  head."  And  she  fell  senseless  upon  the 
floor. 

The  engine  which  Nellie  heard  at  Ned  Nev- 
ins's  house  in  Orange  Lane  seemed  rumbling  by. 
Ah  !  the  sound  of  that  swift  messenger  was  pre 
monitory  of  death.  The  winged  car  was  ap 
proaching  for  her  departure.  Poor  child  !  she  is 
too  delicate  for  earth,  too  unselfish  to  live  in  this 
age  of  traffic,  where  hearts  are  bought  arid  sold, 
and  gold  is  adored  as  God. 


STEEET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  213 

The  fainting  girl  was  taken  up  in  the  arms  of 
Shrugs,  and  borne  to  the  carriage,  and  carried 
back  to  her  more  congenial  homo :  while  the 
trembling  mother  began  to  ponder  on  the  first 
premonitory  lessons  of  vanity,  on  the  instability 
of  all  earthly  hopes  and  prospects,  and  on  her 
first,  though  not  very  pleasant,  associations  with 
Noodledom;  in  Chester  Park. 


CHAPTER    XXL 

ANNIVERSARY    MEETINGS. — ADDRESSES    BY   THE 
GOVERNOR,   MAYOR,   WENDELL    PHILLIPS,  ETC. 

SERIES  of  anniversary  meetings  com 
menced  in  Franklin  School  Building, 
Jan.  17,  1864.  The  pastor  opened  the 
meeting  with  prayer,  and  commenced  to 
read  the  report,  when  the  Governor 
arrived. 

As  Gov.  Andrew  approached  the  altar,  the  chil 
dren  of  the  sabbath  school  rose  with  a  song  of 
welcome,  and  very  prettily  sang,  "  Happy  Greet 
ing."  The  Governor  remained  standing  until 
the  song  was  ended,  then  began  to  address,  first 
the  children,  then  the  adult  members,  of  the 
Mission. 

One  thing  he  regretted:  the  boys  of  the  night 
school  were  debarred  the  privilege  of  meeting  on 
this  occasion.  They  were  to  have  a  separate 
meeting :  he  wished  it  were  otherwise.  He  de 
sired  to  stand  on  a  platform  wide  enough  to. 
embrace  philanthropic  men  of  every  creed. 
He  would  grasp  the  hand  of  Father  Healy, 

214 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON  215 

Father  Williams,  and  Bishop  Fitzpatrick,  and 
say,  "  Let  us  all  work  together  for  our  eoni- 
mon  humanity."  He  had  great  respect  for 
those  men.  But  a  system  that  will  not  frater 
nize  with  Christian  men,  and  is  opposed  to  free 
schools,  a  free  press,  and  free  discussion,  is  un- 
American,  and  at  variance  with  the  genius  of  our 
institutions. 

SPEECH  OF  JUDGE  RUSSELL.  —  Judge  Russell's 
name  is  a  household  word.  Among  all  philan 
thropic  names,  none  appear  so  often  before  the 
public,  few  take  in  so  wide  a  grasp  of  charity, 
and  none  is  more  acceptable,  because  no  man 
can  better  say  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time. 
If  the  ladies  of  the  great  New-England  Fair  wish 
to  make  an  announcement,  Judge  Russell's  sil 
very  voice  must  tell  the  silver  story. 

This  morning  he  had  just  come  from  the 
School  Ship,  where  he  meets  almost  every  sab 
bath  morning  to  address  a  hundred  and  sixty 
boys.  He  said  his  text  was  a  salt-water  text :  he 
would  speak  from  lessons  of  the  morning.  The 
iron  steamship  "  Caledonia "  lay,  full  of  holes, 
almost  a  wreck  in  Boston  Harbor.  She,  through 
a  false  compass,  had  struck  on  Cape  Cod.  Con 
science  may  become  false,  like  the  needle  that 
will  not  traverse  ;  then  comes  the  wreck  of  char 
acter.  A  beautiful  ship  in  the  harbor  was  load-' 


216  NED    KEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

ing  for  China :  her  freight  and  her  armament 
were  described,  and  compared  with  such  as  are 
needed  for  the  voyage  of  life.  In  that  ship  there 
may  be  one  wormy  timber.  The  carpenter  has 
thought  to  hide  it  from  sight ;  no  one  discovers 
its* weakness  till  at  sea,  when  a  storm  comes;  then 
the  worm-eaten  timber  gives  way,  and  the  ship 
goes  down.  So  may  one  spot  on  your  character, 
one  sinful  habit,  destroy  the  hopes  of  a  lifetime. 
He  instanced  "  The  Chesapeake."  This  beautiful 
steamer  was  sailing  gently  by  our  shores,  when 
suddenly  a  company  of  pirates  from  within  seized 
her,  and  made  her  their  prey.  Your  foes  most  to 
be  feared  are  not  those  from  without,  but  traitor 
thoughts  from  within.  Many  such  lessons  he 
related,  and  with  telling  effect. 

EX-MAYOR  QUINCY'S  ADDRESS.  —  Hon.  Josiah 
Quincy  said  our  country  is  a  grand  Union  Mis 
sion  :  our  soldiers  bear  the  light  of  the  gospel  of 
freedom  and  civilization  to  a  worse  than  heathen 
land.  Virginia's  governor  had  boasted  that  she 
was  exempt  from  the  pestilence  of  free  schools. 
Twenty  thousand  of  her  white  population  could 
not  read.  Darker  statistics,  and  more  startling 
facts,  came  from  States  farther  south. 

He  then  portrayed  a  Christian  character  in  life 
and  in  death.  It  was  more  easy  to  die  a  Christian's 
death  than  to  live  a  Christian's  life.  He  related 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  217 

scenes  in  the  life  and  death  of  Horace  Mann  and 
John  Quincy  Adams,  and  concluded  by  saying, 
that  we  do  not  prize  the  golden  opportunities 
we  have  for  doing  good. 

When  Mr.  Eldridge,  of  the  School  Ship,  spoke 
of  retiring  from  teaching  the  boys  there,  Mr. 
Quiiicy  rose,  and  replied  in  tears,  "  No,  never! 
do  not  retire  from  so  noble  a  work.  Heaven  will 
smile  upon  you ;  God  will  bless  you :  it  is  the 
noblest  work  of  all  the  earth." 

MEETING  OF  THE  NEWSBOYS.  —  No  little  excite 
ment  occurred  Monday  evening,  during  the  ex 
hibition  of  the  newsboys,  and  the  delivery  of 
addresses  to  them  by  Ex-Mayor  Wightman, 
Wendell  Phillips,  and  Mr.  Philbrick,  Superintend 
ent  of  Public  Schools.  The  boys  expected  a 
treat,  and  they  came  in  high  glee.  They  had 
been  promised  a  chance  to  speak  on  the  same 
stage  with  these  notables,  one  after  the 
other,  —  now  a  newsboy,  now  a  mayor ;  now 
a  coal-picker,  now  the  principal  of  the  schools ; 
now  a  boot-shiner,  and  now  the  one  whom 
Mr.  Beecher  calls  "  the  most  admirable  orator 
of  the  world."  They  appreciated  the  impor 
tance  of  the  occasion,  and  were  determined  to 
do  their  best.  The  first  boy  called  to  speak, 
however,  did  not  come  to  time.  The  laugh 
of  his  companions,  and  the  staring  eyes  of 


218  NED   NEV1NS  ,THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

the  audience,  frightened  him.  But  the  mas 
ter  of  the  exhibition,  himself  a  graduate  of  the 
Mission,  was  not  easily  discouraged.  He  had 
counted  much  on  his  reputation,  and  scorned  a 
failure.  He  aroused  them  by  his  eloquence, 
then  called  for  a  volunteer.  Up  rose  a  hand  ; 
the  spell  was  broken :  a  boy  rose  to  speak,  and 
shouts  followed.  The  boy  went  through  with 
his  piece  admirably,  and  came  down  from 
the.  stage  amidst  vociferous  and  tumultuous  ap 
plause.  Several  boys  followed  him,  to  the  great 
delight  of  the  audience.  Then  came  forward  the 
boy  who  failed  at  first,  and  by  his  clear,  correct, 
and  pathetic  enunciation,  actually  beat  them  all. 
Indeed,  the  recitations  of  the  boys  were  the 
greater  charm  of  the  evening. 

What  could  awaken  more  interest  than  two 
hundred  street-boys,  —  fifty-one  without  a  father, 
many  of  them  without  employment,  and  nearly 
all  of  them  started  on  the  highway  of  either 
appetite  or  lust,  or  crime  ?  They  were  to  be  a 
menagerie  of  wild  tigers  let  loose  on  this  city, 
or  to  be  tamed,  and  schooled  for  useful  citizens. 
The  eyes  of  the  whole  city  were  upon  them. 
Who  could  draw  a  crowd,  or  awaken  public 
interest,  like  them  ?  Day  before  this,  the  Gov 
ernor,  the  Judge  of  the  Superior  Court,  and 
Boston's  most  eloquent  Ex-Mayor,  all  had  spoken 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.         219 

for  the  Mission.  All  were  noted  orators  ;  yet  they 
had  failed  to  attract  the  crowd  or  win  the  atten 
tion  elicited  by  these  untutored  boys  of  the 
street.  They  were  the  foci  upon  which  centred 
the  concentrated  rays  of  pity,  admiration,  and 
hope.  In  them,  hunger  cried  for  bread,  inno 
cence  demanded  protection,  instinct  spurned 
bad  example,  conscience  fought  against  tempta 
tion,  and  genius  was  struggling  for  the  light. 
They  seemed  to  say,  "  Give  us  a  chance,  or  we 
will  make  you  trouble  ;  school  us  and  care  for 
us,  or  we  will  cost  you  dear." 

It  takes  genius  even  to  sell  a  paper.  These 
boys  are  geniuses  :  the  truth  is,  they  know  too 
much.  Who  has  brighter  instincts?  Who  can 
find  a  flaw  quicker,  or  catch  at  a  slipping  word  ? 
Who  meets  your  rebuke  with  a  keener  repartee  ? 
Who  can  upset  your  argument  by  a  more  palpa 
ble  hit?  Their  wits  have  been  sharpened  by 
hunger,  and  ground  on  the  stone  of  self-reliance 
and  exposure.  Who,  then,  would  wish  to  talk 
to  such  a  crowd,  or  hope  to  keep  their  restless 
tongues  and  feet  still  ? 

MAYOR'S  WIGHTMAN'S  SPEECH.  —  Two  repre 
sentative  men,  of  antagonistic  political  principles, 
were  to  meet  on  the  same  stage,  and  address 
them,  —  Mayor  Wightman  the  conservative, 


220      NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

and  Wendell  Phillips  the  radical.  These  two 
party-leaders,  antagonistic  as  lions,  were  to  meet 
as  lambs :  yet  how  could  they  speak  together  in 
the  same  cause  ?  for  they  had  had  sore  differ 
ences.  When  the  storm  of  war  was  brewing, 
Mayor  Wightman  saw  its  dreaded  thunderbolts  : 
and,  knowing  its  cause,  he  laid  it  at  the  feet  of 
the  abolitionists.  As  a  prophet,  he  saw  our 
commerce  swept  from  the  sea,  our  property 
wasted,  and  our  land  deluged  in  blood.  He 
dreaded  the  coming  catastrophe.  Standing  at 
the  head  of  a  great  conservative  constituency, 
composed  of  the  wealth  and  power  of  Boston, 
he  said,  "  Boston  must  be  purged  ;  these 
fanatics  must  be  put  down  ;  Tremont  Temple 
shall  be  closed."  Alas  for  him !  his  mandate 
was  like  Mrs.  Parti.ngton's  broom  against  the 
ocean :  tl>e  tempest  lowered,  and  thundered  on, 
and  soon  the  tide  of  war  swept  into  its  vortex 
men  of  all  political  creeds.  Now  we  see  the 
conservative  and  radical  striking  hands  together, 
as  we  shall  soon  see,  in  our  distracted  country, 
the  South  and  North  striking  hands,  and  embra 
cing  and  kissing  each  other.  But  will  Mr.  Wight 
man  hold  these  boys  ?  Yes,  as  conservatism 
holds  the  peace  of  society.  He  will  hold  them 
by  not  stirring  their  passions ;  he  will  hold 
them  negatively.  When  he  rose,  the  dignity  of 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  221 

his  official  position  commanded  respect  ;  and  his 
subject,  though  not  exciting,  was  entertaining. 
He  was  as  cool  before  that  volcanic  pile  of  human 
passion  as  a  Cambridge  professor  over  his  fossils. 
His  philosophical  teachings,  presented  with  ocu 
lar  demonstrations,  were  plain,  simple,  and  in 
structive.  For  half  an  hour,  the  boys  listened, 
most  of  them  attentively.  He  could  say  at  the 
close,  what  but  few  speakers  could  say  before  ' 
such  a  crowd,  "  I  kept  them  still,  and  held  their 
attention." 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS  AND  THE  NEWSBOYS.  — 
Wendell  Phillips  is  a  prophet  born  before  his 
time.  Living  in  this  or  any  other  age,  he  must 
necessarily  say  unpalatable  things.  He  sees 
coining  peril  while  other  eyes  are  seared  ;  he 
sounds  alarm  when  his  words,  like  those  of  Lot 
to  his  sons-in-law,  appear  as  "  one  that  mocked." 
Before  him  sat  the  children  of  that  foreign  immi 
gration  which  is  soon  to  rule  us,  or  we  are  to 
Americanize  it.  Boston  is  fast  yielding  to  the 
foreign  vote,  and  it  requires  not  even  a  prophet 
to  see  the  coming  struggle.  Hence  Mr.  Phillips's 
interest.  It  was  quarter  to  nine  o'clock  when  he 
rose  to  speak.  For  two  long,  weary  hours  these 
wild,  restless,  unmanageable  boys  had  been  con 
fined,  with  no  relief,  no  ventilation  for  their 


222     NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

pent-up  spirits.  They  were  uneasy  as  mice  in  a 
trap :  what  man  would  dare  speak  to  them  now  ? 
They  had  heard,  however,  so  much  of  Mr.  Phil- 
lips's  fame,  they  were  prepared  for  a  moment,  out 
of  mere  curiosity,  to  keep  silent. 

He  looked  upon  them  like  a  father.  His  coun 
tenance  was  benignant ;  benevolence  beamed 
from  his  eye.  How  amiable  !  Is  this  the  much- 
' dreaded  Wendell  Phillips?  How  delicate  his 
hand  ;  how  feminine  his  complexion  ;  how  sweet 
the  tones  of  his  voice;  how  clear  his  accent; 
how  deliberate  in  speech !  This  the  terrible 
political  ranter,  that  has  dissevered  peaceful 
states,  and  shaken  to  its  centre  a  united  con 
tinent  ?  Yes,  that  is  the  man.  Then  his  looks 
deceive  us.  By  the  soft  drop  of  his  leaden 
words,  we  should  suspect  that  he  had  but  little 
flint  and  fire  within,  and  should  place  him  in  the 
ladies'  parlor  rather  than  in  the  arena  of  political 
strife. 

He  must  have  two  natures,  the  meek  and  the 
ferocious.  Thus  far,  however,  he  has  shown 
nothing  but  meekness.  But  meekness  will  not 
hold  that  nervous,  restless  pile  of  bone  and  sinew 
long,  and  ferocity  would  forfeit  their  confidence. 
What,  then,  will  hold  them  ?  Nothing  but  ge 
nius.  Is  he  the  man  for  that  ?  Let  us  see. 

Said  Mr.  Phillips,  "  We  are  all  in  one  ship ;  we 


STREET   LIFE  IN   BOSTON.  223 

have  one  common  interest ;  we  go  down  with 
you,  or  you  make  the  voyage  with  us.  We  owe 
you  much  ;  you  owe  us  much.  Many  of  you  are 
newsboys.  Free  schools  make  newsboys ;  with 
out  education,  no  one  would  buy  a  paper.  You 
could  not  live  in  Paris  or  London.  Mind 
makes  the  man  ;  thoughts  build  a  nation.  Who 
made  the  first  steamboat  ?  • '  —  "  Robert  Fulton," 
answered  a  dozen  voices.  "  Then  Robert  Fulton 
made  these  United  States."  —  "  Boo-hoo-hoo  !  I 
don't  believe  that,'7  shouted  several  voices.  "  Let 
me  tell  you,  boys,  what  you  can  do  if  you  will 
try.  Theodore  Parker  purchased  his  first  book 
by  picking  whortleberries  ;  my  classmate  in  col 
lege  spent  the  first  shilling  he  ever  earned  for  a 
book.  Now  let  me  tell  you  of  two  other  boys 
who  have  lived  in  Boston.  One  was  the  son  of 
wealth,  whose  father  doted  so  much  on  him  that 
he  had  his  son's  portrait  painted  on  the  large 
panel  of  almost  every  door  in  the  house.  The 
house  was  a  splendid  mansion,  the  finest  in  the 
city,  and  the  panels  were  made  expressly  for  the 
portraits.  Let  me  tell  you  the  fate  of  that  son : 
he  died  in  the  poorhouse.  The  other  was  a  boy 
who  came  in  from  the  country  without  a  dollar, 
and  asked  to  stay  for  two  weeks  at  a  store  where 
they  had  already  a  boy :  he  wished  to  stay  until 
he  could  get  a  situation.  At  the  end  of  two 


224     NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSLOY ;  OR, 

weeks,  the  merchant,  seeing  that  he  had  made 
himself  useful,  determined  to  keep  him  and  the 
other  boy  also.  Soon  this  boy  became  a  partner, 
and  in  ten  years  he  bought  out  his  partner,  and 
is  now  the  richest  man  in  Boston,  building  his 
house  on  Beacon  Street.  There  is  hope,  then,  for 
you,  —  hope  for  any  boy  who  will  try. 

"Who  commands  at  Charleston?"  — "  Gill- 
more,"  was  the  reply.  "  Do  you  know  about  his 
guns  ? "  No  answer.  "  Well,  I  will  tell  you. 
They  will  send  a  shot  five  miles :  Mr.  Parrott,  the 
inventor  of  them,  was  a  poor  New-Hampshire 
boy.  His  thoughts  were  worth  fifty  thousand 
men.  Stevenson,  the  first  locomotive  builder, 
was  worth  a  hundred  thousand  men.  You  see 
then,  that  the  character  and  brains  make  men.  Do 
you  know  Gen.  Butler  ?  "  —  "  Yes,  sir ! "  —  "  Yes, 
sir ! "  —  "  Yes,  sir-ee  ! "  —  "  Well,  I  see  you  do." 
By  this  time  all  had  waked  up  in  earnest ;  the  noise 
became  difficult  of  suppression ;  the  sexton  be 
came  alarmed  for  the  safety  of  the  seats,  and  the 
policeman  came  forward  to  make  arrests.  "  Let 
them  alone,"  said  Mr.  Phillips :  "  I  will  take  care 
of  them.  I  was  asking  you  about  Gen.  But 
ler.  He  is  the  coming  man  of  America.  When 
hewing  his  way  from  Annapolis  to  the  defence 
of  Washington,  he  saw  a  broken  engine,  and 
asked  if  any  man  among  his  troops  could  repair 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  225 

it.  Suddenly  a  man  sprang  from  the  ranks,  and 
said,  '  I  can  do  it,  for  I  helped  make  it.' —  '  Can 
any  man  repair  this  track?' — 'lean,'  cried  a 
voice,  '  for  I  helped  build  the  Fitchburg  Rail 
road.'  On  another  occasion,  the  general  and  all 
his  troops  on  board  a  ship  came  near  going  down 
by  the  treachery  of  a  pilot.  <  Is  there  any  man 
that  can  steer  this  ship*?'  cried  the  General. 
'  Yes,'  replied  a  soldier ;  '  I  am  from  Marblehead, 
and  I  can  steer  it  round  the  world.' 

"  These  soldiers  are  New-England  boys,  and 
they  carry  the  free  schools  with  them:  their 
very  hands  are  taught  to  think.  There  are  more 
brains  in  the  hands  of  a  New-England  boy  than 
in  the  heads  of  the  European  populace."  This 
caused  some  sensation,  as  most  of  these  boys 
are  of  foreign  descent,  and  free  schools  are 
looked  upon  with  suspicion.  Mr.  Phillips  contin 
ued,  "  Our  shops  and  our  mills  are  taught  to 
think :  New  England  thinks  for  Boston,  and  Bos 
ton  thinks  for  the  world. 

"  You,  then,  are  Americans ;  you  are  Boston 
boys."  —  "No!  we  ain't!"  shouted  a  score  of 
voices  ;  "  We  are  from  Ireland,  the  auld  Emerald 
Isle  !  "  Great  confusion,  much  shouting  and 
stamping.  "  It  is  all  over  now,"  thought  almost 
every  one  except  Mr.  Phillips.  He  had  been  ac 
customed  to  confusion  and  tumult,  in  old  anti- 


226  NED    KEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

slavery  times.  Indeed  he  delighted  in  the  ex 
citement  ;  he  courted  the  conflict  that  he  might 
win  the  victory :  but  how  shall  he  regain  his 
lost  ground  ?  how  win  back  his  audience  ?  Ward 
Beecher  had  no  harder  task  in  striving  to  con 
vert  the  secesh  sympathizers  of  a  Liverpool 
mob  to  the  interests  of  the  North,  than  Wendell 
Phillips  had  in  striving  'to  Americanize  his  audi 
ence,  or  convert  young  Ireland  into  young 
America. 

He  was  not  to  be  disconcerted,  however, 
though  the  spectators  were  terribly  frightened ; 
neither  was  he  the  man  to  attempt  to  brow-beat 
these  rebellious  spirits  into  submission.  He 
must  parley  with  them,  and  play  with  them  in 
medals  of  their  own  coin ;  then  he  must  bide 
his  time.  Before  their  shouts  for  Ireland  had 
fully  died  away,  he  cried  out,  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Daniel  O'Connell  ?  " 
Tremendous  shouts,  and  clapping  of  hands,  and 
every  demonstration  of  applause.  "  I  will  tell 
you  a  story  about  him." 

The  tide  had  now  turned  in  his  favor  :  he  saw 
that  he  had  their  attention  ;  and,  as  he  was  per 
sonally  acquainted  with  Ireland's  distinguished 
patriot,  he  wove  that  man's  history  into  his  dis 
course,  side  by  side  with  Washington. 

He   mixed   the   characters   so    closely,     and 


a   5  -. 

•<    &  _>. 

*   •*•  ~~ 

s  •** 


p.    —  -• 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  227 

jumped  so  often  from  one  country  to  the  other, 
that  in  their  applause  they  scarcely  knew  which 
country  they  were  cheering.  They  thought  it  was 
all  good  ;  "  First-rate  !  bully  for  you  !  "  Now  was 
his  time  to  hit  again  upon  the  glories  of  America. 
This  time  he  was  most  successful.  The  asylum 
for  the  oppressed  of  all  nations,  the  hope  of  an 
enslaved  world,  now  distracted  and  torn  by 
slavery  and  civil  war,  looked  to  her  adopted 
children  for  sympathy  and  support.  Should  she 
look  in  vain  ?  Shall  freedom  or  slavery  tri 
umph?  "  You  are  to  be  the  future  rulers  of 
this  great  nation;  will  you  prove  worthy  ?r 
Deafening  applause  !  and  cries,  "  Yes,  we  will." 
This  touched  the  key  note  of  their  aspirations. 
The  idea  of  ruling  is  a  Hibernian  instinct;  and 
the  thought  of  ruling  this  great  nation  is  a  tall 
consideration.  Now  they  became  as  demonstra 
tive  and  hilarious  as  some  of  the  newly  natural 
ized  on  election  day.  He  said,  pointing  to  the 
star-spangled  banner  over  the  stage,  "  There  is 
our  flag,  will  you  keep  it  ?  will  you  keep  it  ?  "  — 
"  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  we  will !  hurrah  !  bully  !  tiger  !  " 
The  excitement  and  applause  that  followed  baffle 
description.  Suffice  it  to  say,  his  was  a  triumph, 
and  a  triumph  on  the  radical  side.  He  portrayed 
the  evils  of  this  city,  especially  that  of  strong 
drink,  and  bore  down  upon  vice,  until  he  made 
it  appear  hideous. 


228  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY. 

lie  related  the  story  of  Thomas  Beriton,  con 
cerning  his  mother,  on  temperance,  and  thrilled 
their  young  hearts  by  anecdotes  and  illustrations, 
until  near  ten  o'clock,  and  held  their  attention 
to  the  last. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

SNOWBALL  RIOT.  —  APPEAL    TO   THE   RIOTERS. 


hundred  noisy,  boisterous  boys  are 
waiting  at  the  iron  gates  of  Franklin 
building  for  admission.  The  crowd  soon 
increases,  until  it  seems  as  if  the  courts 
and  lanes  of  Boston  have  emptied  them 
selves  of  their  juvenile  delinquents. 
There  are  representatives  from  Orange  Lane, 
Carney  Place,  Hamburg  Street,  Federal  Street, 
and  Fort  Hill,  whose  conditions  say,  "Let  Bos 
ton  beware  :  she  sleeps  on  a  volcano  !  Educate 
us,  and  care  for  us,  or  look  for  thefts,  mobs, 
murders,  and  conflagrations."  The  police  bave 
not  yet  arrived :  the  crowd  becomes  obstreper 
ous. 

Now  some  ladies  and  gentlemen  pass  the 
crowd  to  enter  the  building ;  when,  plump, 
plump,  plump,  the  snowballs  strike  against  the 
door  before  them,  and  dash  into  their  faces. 
"  Oh  dear  !  they  are  killing  me  ;  I  am  all  covered 
with  snow ;  open  the  door,  let  me  in ;  I  shall  die  ! " 
cries  one  lady,  leading  half  a  dozen  others,  who 

229 


230      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

are  muttering  the  same  complaint.  "  Oh  tho 
rascals  !  they  ought  to  be  hung,"  cries  another : 
"they  have  spoiled  rny  new  bonnet."  Still  an 
other,  "  Oh  dear  !  the  snow  is  running  down  my 
neck.  Oh  !  my  bosom  is  full  of  snow."  •  —  "  That's 
so,"  said  her  discarded  lover  by  her  side  ;  "  it  was 
always  cold,  and  full  of  snow:  I  hope  it  may 
freeze."  —  "  Don't  cry,"  said  her  present  gallant, 
"  You  are  out  of  the  storm  now.  I  will  protect 
you."  Now  a  company  of  teachers  approach, 
and  they  fare  but  little  better. 

"  Oh  dear !  they  will  murder  us.  Well,  this  is 
our  reward  for  teaching  them."  Now  comes  the 
sexton,  against  whom  the  boys  have  a  particular 
spite.  He  is  a  strong,  stalwart  man,  one  of  the 
best  to  keep  a  congregation  of  irreverent  young 
men  in  order.  But  a  crowd  of  obstreperous 
boys  out  of  doors,  in  the  dark,  with  snowballs 
in  hand,  waiting  for  a  mark,  are  not  so  easily 
managed.  When  he  passed,  "  Bo,  ho,  ho  ! " 
sounded  along  the  line ;  but  they  stood  back, 
fearing  to  cross  his  track.  When  he  came  near 
the  door,  however,  with  back  towards  them, 
then,  whang,  bang !  how  the  snowbdttsflew!  This 
time  prudence  was  the  better  part  of  valor,  and 
he,  too,  had  to  flee  like  a  woman.  "  There,  there ! " 
he  cried,  shaking  off  the  snow  as  he  came  in : 
"  this  is  what  you  get  for  helping  these  Irish 


STJREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  231 

scalawags.  Our  pastor  forsakes  his  flock  to  teach 
these  ragamuffins,  who  will  soon  rise  up,  arid  cut 
his  throat  to  pay  for  it.  When  you  have  been 
sexton  five  years  in  this  building,  as  I  have  been, 
then  you  will  get  your  eyes  open."  Now  an 
other  company  rush  for  the  door,  and  well  they 
may ;  for  a  shower  of  balls  come  whizzing  by, 
like  rebel  bullets.  Soon  the  police  appear,  and 
order  is  restored :  the  boys  march  into  their  seats, 
to  be  addressed  by  several  gentlemen.  It  is 
well,  perhaps,  for  the  boys,  that  the  speakers  did 
not  witness  the  riot  5  for  then  they  might  have 
felt  more  like  dressing  than  arf-dressing  them. 

Rev.  R.  C.  Waterston  rose  to  speak.  He  start 
ed  night  schools  in  Boston,  thirty  years  ago. 
What  a  change  in  thirty  years  !  Whole  streets 
and  neighborhoods  have  given  way  to  the  foreign 
population ;  ancient  land-marks  are  fast  disap 
pearing  ;  Puritanism  is  becoming  a  thing  of  the 
past.  America's  destiny  rests  on  the  tide-wave 
of  foreign  immigration  :  the  problem  of  her  future 
is  involved  in  these  boys.  Now  is  the  time  to 
solve  the  question, —  shall  they  overwhelm  us? 
or  shall  we  Americanize  them  ? 

Most  of  them  are  Catholics,  averse  to  free 
schools  and  American  ideas.  Puritan  principles 
are  an  offence  unto  them :  their  watchword  is, 
"  Papacy  and  Democracy." 


232  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;   OR, 

They  are  tooth  and  nail  against  what  are 
called  reforms, — against  police  bills,  Maine  Laws, 
negro  suffrage,  and  abolitionists.  Such  being 
the  material  of  Mr.  Waterston's  audience,  how 
could  he  control  them  ?  He  rose  to  speak, 
but  they  would  not  listen :  in  vain  were  the 
efforts  of  the  police  ;  the  feet  of  the  smaller  boys 
went  clitter  clatter,  and  their  tongues  went 
gibber  jabber ;  while  the  larger  boys  were  more 
malicious.  He  said,  "Most  of  you  are  American 
boys,  are  you  not  ?  "  —  "  No  sir,  we  are  from  Ire 
land." —  "Then  let  me  tell  you  what  I  saw  in 
Ireland."  So  he  painted  Irish  scenes,  and  told 
Irish  tales,  until  he  got  their  attention,  then 
produced  his  coup  de  maitre  in  a  way  they  little 
expected.  "  Boys  !  "  said  he,  "  hear  me  for  a 
moment :  I  am  going  to  pray."  This  opened 
their  ears,  and  awakened  their  ideas ;  for  they 
are  more  averse  to  Protestant  prayers  than  to 
free  schools.  "  Hear  me,  boys :  I  want  you  all 
to  keep  still."  Then  came  murmurs  of  evident 
dissatisfaction.  "  Boys  !  you  don't  know  what  I 
mean :  I  am  going  to  pray  for  my  old  friend 
Bishop  Fitzpatrick,  who  is  dangerously  ill."  At 
the  sound  of  "  Bishop  Fitzpatrick,"  a  flash  came 
over  that  audience,  and  in  a  twinkling  the  tu 
mult  ceased  :  every  foot  was  still,  every  whisper 
hushed.  Could  it  be  that  they  were  charmed  to 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  233 

silence  by  the  name  of  a  priest  ?  Yes,  the  key 
of  their  destiny  is  found  in  the  hand  of  the 
priest. 

Mr.  Waterston  took  advantage  of  this :  he 
prayed  for  the  bishop,  the  priests,  and  the  boys ; 
then  he  went  through  with  his  speech  without 
interruption. 

SUPERINTENDENT'S  APPEAL.  —  Then  the  Su 
perintendent  of  the  Mission  arose,  and  said, 
"  Boys,  I  am  ashamed  of  your  conduct  at  the  gate 
this  night.  You  have  disgraced  yourselves  in 
the  estimation  of  your  teachers*  and  the  public. 
Think  what  these  teachers  have  done  for  you  ? 
Many  of  them  have  perilled  their  health  and  lives 
for  you.  Think  of  those,  who,  in  poverty  and 
want,  have  come,  even  from  beds  of  sickness,  to 
teach  you,  such  has  been  their  love  for  you. 
Think  of  that  one  who  lost  her  reason  solely  by 
teaching  you :  she  is  now  conversing  with  ideal 
images  on  the  wall.  She  became  too  anxious 
for  your  good  ;  you  have  driven  her  mad  by  your 
ill  conduct. 

And  what  have  I  not  suffered  also  by  your  in 
sults?  When  I  first  opened  this  school,  I  was 
hooted  and  stoned  in  the  streets.  The  boys  that 
I  have  most  favored  have  often  been  the  most 
ungrateful.  You  have  prejudiced  the  people 
that  worship  here  against  you ;  and  I  alone  have 


234  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OB, 

to  bear  the  responsibility  of  your  deportment. 
You  have  divided  my  church,  injured  the  cause 
of  Christ,  turned  my  brethren  against  me ; 
driven  sleep  from  mine  eyes,  health  from  my 
body,  rest  from  my  mind,  friends  from  my 
bosom,  and  comfort  from  my  soul,  except  that 
comfort  and  satisfaction  one  feels  in  being  right, 
and  doing  good  under  any  circumstances.  And 
why  is  this  ?  Have  I  ever  treated  you  unkindly  ? 
Have  I  ever  laid  violent  hands  upon  you,  or  al 
lowed  any  teacher  to  do  it?  Have  I  ever  striven 
to  proselyte,  of  turn  you  from  your  religion  ? 
Have  I  not  said,  Go  to  your  own  church  on  the 
sabbath,  keep  out  of  the  street,  be  honest,  be 
respectable  ?  The  religion  that  makes  men  hon 
est  is  the  best,  whatever  be  its  creed.  Have  I 
not  been  true  to  my  promise  ?  Have  ]  not 
taught  you,  fed  you,  clothed  you,  and  given  you 
homes,  and  cared  for  you  like  a  father?  And 
what  is  my  reward  for  these  ceaseless  toils? 
You  can  remunerate  me  in  no  way,  except  by 
being  thankful.  Even  this  you  refuse  :  some  of 
you  heap  insult  upon  ingratitude.  Yet,  with  all 
these  discouragements,  I  do  not  cease  to  labor 
for  you,  and  bear  with  you,  and  pray  for  you, 
because  my  Saviour,  whom  I  strive  to  follow,  is 
long-suffering,  full  of  compassion,  and  of  tender 
mercy. 


STREET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  235 

Never  do  I  kneel  by  my  bedside  at  night, 
without  praying  for  the  poor  fatherless*  boys  of 
my  school,  and  the  poor  orphans  of  the  street. 
When  it  storms,  I  think  how  can  the  poor  shiv 
ering  newsboy  sell  his  papers  to-day?  What 
will  he  have  to  eat  ?  and  what  will  his  poor  moth 
er  do  for  want  of  the  few  coppers  he  brings  her  ? 
And  the  coal-picker  and  the  shavings-boy, — what 
will  they  do  in  the  cold  snow-storm  ?  And  the 
market-boy,  with  wet  feet  and  heavy  basket,  trav 
elling  all  day  in  the  rain  and  sleet,  until  almost 
ready  to  drop  down,  not  daring  to  say  he  is  faint 
or  sick  or  cold,  lest  he  lose  his  place,  and  his 
mother  have  no  bread?  I  ask  my  heavenly 
Father  to  pity  you,  and  feed  you,  and  clothe  you, 
and  give  you  homes  and  friends  and  fire  this 
cold  winter.  I  ask  him  to  provide  for  you  as  he 
does  for  the  birds,  and  to  give  you  friends  that 
will  care  for  you,  and  help  you,  and  love  you, 
and  teach  you  things  that  are  for  your  good. 

I  feel  for  you,  and  pity  you,  when  I  re 
member  how  lonely  and  sad  I  felt  when  a  boy ; 
how  I  wished  for  a  friend,  some  one  that  would 
love  and  pity  me ;  how  I  wept  when  I  became 
fatherless,  at  the  tender  age  of  four  years ;  how 
I  repined  at  being  turned  out  of  doors  in  the 
snows  of  winter ;  how  I  grasped  my  mother's 
hand,  and  cried  as  she  led  me  wandering  through 


236  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

December's  snow  to  the  nearest  shelter;  how 
thankful  I  was  for  an  old  store  to  live  in,  and 
even  a  crust  of  bread ;  how  I  wept  when  I  saw 
my  mother  in  that  store,  and  thought  she  would 
die ;  how  I  shuddered  at  seeing  the  drifting 
snow,  like  a  winding  sheet,  beat  through  the  clap 
boards,  and  cover  her  sick  bed ;  how  I  came 
home  from  school,  and  went  into  the  woods  for 
sticks  to  heat  her  gruel,  and  wept  and  sighed 
alone ;  how  I  kneeled  on  the  cold  snow  by  the 
side  of  my  hand-sled,  and  prayed  to  God  amidst 
the  whistling  of  winds  in  the  forest  trees, 
prayed  for  some  sign  of  comfort  and  hope  ;  how 
my  young  soul  wrestled  and  struggled  for  light 
and  hope  in  the  cold  breezes  of  that  dark  even 
ing  ;  how  I  asked  God  to  send  me  friends 
and  food  and  fuel,  to  let  my  mother  live,  to 
make  me  a  good  boy,  never  to  trouble  her  poor 
heart  any  more  ;  how  she  rose  from  her  sick  bed, 
and  set  a  light  in  the  window  to  light  me  home ; 
how  happy  I  was  on  returning  to  find  that 
friends  had  come  to  my  relief,  and  were  watch 
ing  by  her  side ;  how  grateful  I  was  for  every 
favor  ;  how  thankful  for  a  smile,  a  word,  a  look ; 
how  I  took  my  hat  off,  and  bowed  to  anybody 
that  would  look  kindly  on  me  ;  how  I  trembled 
when  anybody  passed  me  coldly  by,  and  would 
not  speak  ;  how  1  treasured  up  the  little  tokens 


STREET  LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  237 

of  early  friendship  •  how  I  loved  the  little  boys 
and  girls  of  the  school,  and  shared  rny  little 
stores  with  them ;  how  I  tasted  of  the  apple  with 
them,  and  found  it  sweeter  than  any  fruit  I  have 
eaten  since  ;  how  glad  I  felt  when  I  had  made 
anybody  happy.  When  I  think  of  this,  I  am 
paid  for  all  the  sacrifices  I  have  made  for  you, 
and  all  the  insults  I  have  borne.  I  shall  continue 
to  help  you,  and  pray  for  you,  though  you  may 
be  unthankful.  I  teach  you  for  the  love  of  doing 
good,  and  not  for  any  earthly  reward." 

He  closed  amid  breathless  silence,  while  many 
a  streak  was  furrowed  on  the  smutty  faces  of  these 
boys  by  falling  tears.  From  this  time  forth,  the 
character  of  the  school  was  completely  changed. 
There  were  no  more  riots,  or  insults  of  any  kind 
to  superintendent  or  teachers :  and  a  more  grate 
ful  and  obedient  class  of  boys,  as  far  as  their 
knowledge  and  habits  of  life  would  allow,  is  not 
often  found.  For  the  next  three  months,  it  was 
but  a  pleasure  to  teach  them :  they  were  grateful 
for  the  smallest  favors ;  their  progress  was  en 
couraging  ;  their  exhibition  in  declamation  was 
a  grand  success  ;  their  deportment  was  respect 
ful  to  all.  When  the  term  closed,  the  boys  part 
ed  with  their  teachers  very  tenderly,  following 
some  of  them  to  their  homes,  thanking  them 
again  and  again,  and  begging  to  be  admitted  to 
their  classes  the  next  season. 


238  NED    NEVINS   THE  NEWSBOY;    OR, 

Not  a  little  of  this  change  was  produced  by 
J.  D.  Philbrick,  Esq.,  Superintendent  of  Public 
Schools.  By  several  addresses  to  the  boys,  he 
showed  them  that  his  heart  yearned  to  see  them 
elevated  and  encouraged.  His  views  were  broad 
enough  to  embrace  the  whole  population,  and  to 
reach  every  child.  He  told  them  of  his  early 
efforts  to  acquire  an  education,  in  a  country 
town  of  New  Hampshire ;  his  privations  and 
scanty  advantages  by  the  log  fire  in  the  old 
country  fireplace.  He  then  related  instances 
of  his  experience  during  his  long  residence  as  a 
teacher  in  Boston.  He  instanced  several  candy 
peddlers  and  newsboys,  who  had  risen  to 
wealth  and  eminence.  One  was  a  wholesale 
merchant  in  Franklin  Street ;  one  lived  on  Bea 
con  Street ;  one  had  graduated  at  the  Latin 
schoool,  had  studied  French,  and  was  now 
having  a  large  salary  in  a  French  house  of  New 
York.  He  would  like  to  have  all  these  boys  go 
to  the  day  school ;  but,  if  they  could  not  do  that, 
then  let  them  do  the  next  best  thing, —  let  them 
study  here. 

Alderman  Nash  stated  what  accident  deter 
mined  his  course  when  a  youth,  and  made  him 
leave  the  broad-axe  of  the  ship-carpenter  in  Ply 
mouth  County  to  tend  store  in  Boston.  He  said 
the  reason  of  his  success  in  that  store  was,  that 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  239 

he  never  attended  theatres,  nor  even  spent  his 
time  in  ice-cream  saloons;  but  he  improved  his 
leisure  hours  in  study  at  home.  Being  in  the 
public  councils  of  the  city  for  many  years,  he 
had  endeavored  4to  spread  popular  education, 
and,  as  far  as  possible,  to  reach  every  class. 

Joseph  Story  stated,  that,  when  President  of 
the  Common  Council  of  Boston,  he  visited  the 
ragged  schools  of  London.  Boston,  with  regard 
to  its  ignorant  and  abject  poor  of  foreign  birth, 
was  fast  becoming  a  second  London.  He  had 
done  all  in  his  power  to  elevate  the  foreign  pop 
ulation,  and  stay  the  tide  of  pauperism  and 
crime.  He  spoke  hopefully  to  the  boys,  en 
couraged  them  by  many  an  anecdote,  and  filled 
their  young  hearts  with  much  enthusiasm.  After 
the  addresses,  the  boys  partook  of  their  refresh 
ments,  and  were  dismissed.  Thus  closed  a 
series  of  anni  versary  meetings. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

A   LOT   ON   THE   AVENUE.  —  MYSTERIOUS   EPISTLE. 

)A  sus  !  "  said  Dinah  Loe,  as  she  loooked  out 
of  Mr.  Nelson's  window,  and  saw  a  car 
riage  drive  up.  "  La  sus  !  if  dey  ain't 
bririgin'  poor  Nellie  in  de  arms  !  Oh,  how 
pale  she  looks !  I  guess  she  be  dyin'." 
Then  she  flew  to  the  door  to  meet  her, 
and  help  her  in.  Nellie  was  sick  and  faint ; 
yet  she  knew  Dinah,  and  reached  out  her 
hand  as  if  longing  to  find  a  friend.  Dinah 
kissed  the  hand,  with  tender  words  of  endear 
ment,  then,  gathering  up  the  faded  form  in  her 
arms,  bore  her  to  her  little  bed  ;  while  Mrs.  Nel 
son  retired  into  the  sitting-room  to  cogitate  on 
her  rather  dubious  prospects  at  Chester  Park. 
The  carriage  had  scarcely  left,  when  another 
sound  was  heard  at  the  door.  It  was  from  Mr. 
Nelson  :  he  was  intoxicated,  muttering  impre 
cations,  and  fumbling  to  find  his  latch-key  At 
last  he  rang  the  bell,  and  Dinah  opened  the  door. 
"  Wife,  I'm  come  !  ain't  ye  glad  to  see  me  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Nelson,  staggering  in.  <;  La  sus  !  I  ain't 

2-10 


STREET   LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  241 

your  wife  !"  says  Dinah  :  "I  ain't  nobody's  wife; 
I  nebber  was  married,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  be,  no 
how.7'  -  —  "  Oh!  beg  yer  pardon,  'scuse  me,  Dinah, 
I  was  not  lookin'.  Where  is  she  ?  Ah  !  here 
is  Mrs.  Nelson;  yes,  here  she  is.  Wife,  ain't  ye 
glad  to  see  me?"  —  "  Wife?  "  said  Mrs.  Nelson, 
contemptuously,  and  with  unmistakable  emphasis, 
"wife?  wife?  do  you  call  me?  you  might  as 
well  call  me  old  woman.  Why  don't  you  say  Mrs. 
Nelson?'1 — "Oh !  'scuse  me,  hie,  hie, Mrs.  Nelson!" 
as  he  reeled  forward  to  pat  her  on  the  cheek, 
"  'scuse  me,  my  dear,  my  chick,  my  gentle 
duck!"  —  "Duck!  do  you  say?  Don't  call  me 
duck,  you  goose,  you  !  Keep  your  distance,  sir." — 
"  Oh !  don't  be  too  hard  with  your  old  beau,  my 
dear.  I've  been  makin'  a  purchase  for  you,  I 
have."  •  — "  Have  you?  "she  said,  starting  up, 
and  changing  her  tone,  not  a  little  anxious  to  know 
what  he  had  purchased ;  for  she  feared  the  ef 
fect  of  his  bargaining,  and  feared  that  she  might 
be  made  penniless  any  day  by  the  machinations 
of  Solomon  Levi,  the  old  Jew. 

"  Yes,  I've  made  a  purchase  for  ye  ;  but  I 
guess  I  won't  tell  ye  jist  now,  hie,  hie  !  "  —  "  Oh, 
do  tell  me  !  "  said  she  in  pathetic  strains ;  "do  tell 
me  what  you  have  purchased  !  " — "  Ah!  you  are 
comin'  to  a  little,  my  dear,  heh  ?  Ha,  ha !  I 
thought  I  could  fetch  you.  Well,  I  have  pur- 

16 


242      NED  NEV1NS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OK, 

chased  a  lot.'"  —  "A  lot,"  said  she,  more  excited 
than  ever,  —  "  a  lot !  Well,  is  it  in  Chester  Park  ?  " 
—  "No,  madam,  it  is  not  in  any  park."— T-"  Oh 
dear!  then  you  have  bought  a  lot  without  con 
sulting  me."  —  "Can't  help  it:  the  bargain  is 
made."-  — "Oh,  do  tell  me!"  said  she,  in  ex 
ceedingly  persuasive  tones,  —  ''do  tell,  where, 
is  the  lot?" — "Well,  madam,  it  is  on  the 
avenue." -  —  "  On  the  avenue?  what  avenue? 
Is  it  Commonwealth  Avenue  ?  "  — "  No,  not  ex- 
actly."  —  "What  then?  you  know  I  wouldn't 
live  on  Harrison  Avenue,  nor  Shawmut  Ave 
nue.  What  avenue  is  it?"  —"Well,  madam,  it 
is  Cypress  Avenue."-—  "" Cypress  Avenue!  Oh 
dear  !  I  believe  you  want  to  kill  me  :  what  do  you 
mean?"  —  "  I  mean  just  what  I  say,  hie,  hie."  — 
"Do  tell  me  where  is  the  lot?"— "Then,  if  I 
must  tell  you,  it  is  at  Forest  Hills,  madam. "- 
"  Well,  there  !  "  said  she,  with  the  utmost  scorn 
and  contempt ;  "  there  !  if  the  man  hasn't  bought 
a  graveyard  !  I  knew  he  wanted  to  Idll  me.  Oh 
dear  !  I  shall  die,  I  shall  die!''  she  said,  crying 
piteously,  and  wringing  her  hands.  "  Very  well,  " 
he  saidf  turning  upon  his  heels  to  go  out,  and  re 
joicing  that  he  had  got  the  advantage  of  her 
once  in  his  life  ;  "  very  well,  madam ;  if  you  are 
so  soon  to  die,  it  is  well  that  I  bought  the  lot, 
for  we  shall  want  to  use  it  immediately,  hie,  hie  !  " 


STREET    LIFE   IN    BOSTON. 

As  he  turned  to  go  out,  and  drew  his  hand  from  his 
pocket  in  demonstrations  of  triumph,  he  inad 
vertently  dropped  a  letter  upon  the  floor,  which 
Mrs.  Nelson  picked  up,  and  read.  The  letter 
was  from  Ned's  mother,  Mrs.  Sophia  Nevins, 
written  just  before  she  died.  The  jealous  woman 
was  but  too  well  pleased  to  get  hold  of  the  doc 
ument,  and  devoured  its  contents  in  greedy 
haste. 

"MR.  NELSON.  Sir, — Ere  this  reaches  you,  I 
shall  be  in  my  grave.  Borne  down  by  grief,  I  die 
within  a  few  blocks  of  your  dwelling.  Yet  you 
know  it  not.  Faithful  to  my  vow,  I  have  veiled  my 
features  from  your  sight,  and  have  never  inter 
fered  with  her  who  has  robbed  me  of  my  affianced 
lord.  Yet  my  shadow  has  ever  been  upon  your 
track :  I  have  followed  you  from  city  to  city,  not 
in  revenge,  but  in  love.  When  you  have  pros 
pered,  I  have  rejoiced,  though  I  had  not  a^crust 
to  eat.  When  you  have  erred,  and  resorted  to 
strong  drink,  I  have  pitied  you  and  prayed  for 
you,  though  you  seem  to  have  had  no  pity  on 
me.  Oh  how  I  repent  that  you  ever  stole  into 
my  reverend  father's  parlor  !  that  you  .ever 
came  into  his  church,  and  joined  in  his  prayers  ! 
that  you  ever  stole  my  heart !  My  life  has  been 
one  long  night  of  penitence  and  prayer.  The  pine- 
tree  still  whistles  with  the  siffhs  T  breathed 


244  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    Oil, 

when  first  I  found  myself  a  forsaken,  useless 
thing.  I  said  to  father,  "  Do  forgive  me  !  " 
but  he  turned  pale ;  his  great  heart  heaved  and 
sighed,  and  he  never  smiled  again.  The  flowers 
still  bloom  with  fragrance,  and  the  rivulet  still 
flows  by  the  banks  whore  we  met;  the  robin  and 
the  wren  still  make  their  nests  in  what  was  then 
my  father's  yard  :  but  my  parents  have  died  with 
broken  hearts;  they  lie  in  premature  graves. 
All  they  could  give  me  was  an  education  and 
a  name  :  the  name  I  wasted,  and  the  education 
became  useless.  And  now,  all  pale  and  chill 
amid  the  abject  surroundings  of  Orange  Lane,  I 
have  hid  myself  to  die.  I  gaze  out  upon  the 
stars,  I  think  of  you,  I  think  of  the  past,  I  think 
of  my  fate  ;  I  see  that  unchanging  north  star, 
Cynosura,  emblem  of  constancy,  now  looking 
down  upon  me,  as  when  first  we  met  at  my  fath 
er's  home.  1  think  how  benignly  it  shone  upon 
us  through  the  lattice-work  in  the  arbor  of  my 
father's  garden,  when  we  first  took  our  evening 
walk.  I  think  of  the  pledge  you  made  me  then 
and  there ;  how  your  unsordid,  youthful  heart 
heav-ed  and  swelled  with  feeling  ;  how  your  over 
flowing  affections  burst  as  a  river  over  its  banks ; 
and  how  my  poor  heart  was  swallowed  up  in 
thine.  All  nature  was  in  sympathy  with  us. 
The  flowers  were  pouring  forth  their  generous 


STEEET    LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  245 

odors,  the  whippoorvvill  singing  wantonly  on  a 
rock  by  our  side;  and  the  gentle  brook,  warbling 
melodiously  over  the  pebbles  through  the  orch 
ard,  and  by  the  flowery  banks  in  ripples,  dashing 
amorously  at  our  feet,  sang  of  love.  I  was  lost  to 
time  and  sense.  I  had  no  heart  of  my  own.  All 
was  thine :  if  I  had  had  a  thousand  hearts,  all 
should  have  been  thine.  Millions  !  in  a  moment! 
0  rapturous  hour !  0  delusive  hope  !  You 
stood  between  me  and  my  God :  you  was  my 
God ;  I  worshipped  you,  and  received  words 
from  your  lips  as  proofs  of  holy  writ.  Your 
glowing  features  looked  as  lair  as  the  chaste 
moon,  and  your  heart  I  thought  as  pure  ;  and  that 
fair  orb  herself  seemed  in  radiant  smiles  of  holy 
approval  to  answer  back  your  caresses,  as  she 
kissed  the  bosom  of  the  yielding  waters  carolling 
at  our  feet,  with  lips  of  ruby,  purple,  and  gold. 
As  the  clustering  grapes  hung  pendent  on  the 
vine,  so  you  hung  upon  my  answering  bosom, 
undeceiving  and  undeceived.  As  the  twining 
tendrils  clung  around  the  trelli?,  so  I  clung 
to  you,  hoping  and  giving  hope.  The  gentle 
zephyrs  bore  our  sympathetic  whispers  to  the 
recording  angel  in  the  skies,  and  our  mutual 
vows  were  plighted,  as  I  thought,  forever.  The 
stars,  to  seal  those  vows,  shone  lustrously  upon 
our  upturned  faces,  as  we  sat,  and  saw  the 


246      NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

pointers  of  Ursa  Major  turning  on  their  mid 
night  round,  circling,  on  the  wheel  of  night, 
the  polar  star.  Ah  !  little  did  I  think  of  the 
bear  behind  those  pointers,  and  less  did  I  be 
lieve  I  was  cherishing  a  bear  in  my  bosom. 

But  that  is  past.  The  same  star  is  there  ;  but 
all  else,  all  things  with  me,  how  changed !  I  was 
but  a  poor  minister's  daughter,  loving,  but  not 
beloved :  having  no  patrimony  but  a  pure  heart 
and  a  good  name.  Another,  who  had  money,  sup 
planted  me  ;  gold  blinded  your  eyes  ;  my  fate  was 
sealed.  All  I  ask  is,  that  you  will  remember 
your  vow  concerning  my  boy.  If  you  have  been 
unfaithful  to  me,  oh,  be  not  to  him  !  He  will  pre 
sent  you  the  parchment  and  the  ring.  I  loved 
him  because  he  looked  like  you :  if  I  parted 
v/ith  him,  I  felt  lonely  ;  if  I  clung  to  him,  I  had 
no  place  in  society.  Without  him,  I  could  teach 
and  live ;  but  with  him  I  must  pine  and  starve. 
I  chose  to  do  the  latter :  the  work  is  nearly  ac 
complished  ;  food  could  not  now  be  relished. 

Yet  I  would  not  change  conditions  with  her 
who  should  be  your  comfort  and  solace.  She 
has  been  a  thorn  in  your  flesh,  the  plague  of  your 
heart,  the  torment  of  your  life.  Tormented  at 
home,  guilty  in  conscience,  intemperate  in  hab 
its,  you  seem  accursed  of  God.  Two  of  your 
children  have  died  cripples  :  the  other  is  too  pure 


STEEET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  247 

for  earth,  and  will  soon  go.  When  Nellie  is  gone, 
remember  my  boy.  Like  a  Sappho,  have  I  loved 
you ;  like  an  Eloise,  have  I  pined  in  banishment 
from  you;  and,  like  a  discarded  Josephine,  have 
I  been  faithful  to  you  to  the  last.  Oh  what  a 
happy  man  I  would  have  made  you  !  Oh  how  I 
would  have  cherished  and  loved  you  !  But  I 
die  in  banishment,  and  on  a  bed  of  shavings. 
It  is  hard  to  die  a  pauper,  but  better  than  to 
break  a  vow.  Like  a  Mary  with  the  young  child, 
I  have  fled  to  the  Egypt  of  strangers,  no  more 
to  return  to  the  Jerusalem  of  my  home.  Fare 
well  !  my  brain  reels,  my  pen  fails  me,  my  lamp 
grows  dim.  Now,  David,  I  leave  you  :  a  morsel 
from  your  table  would  have  been  sweet,  but  no 
more  of  that ;  remember  my  boy.  Again  adieu, 
a  long  adieu  :  no  more  shall  I  trouble  you.  I  am 
going  home  ;  angels  beckon  me  away  :  I  see  my 
father  and  my  mother  on  the  immortal  shores, 
waving  palms  of  welcome.  Ah  !  they  speak  to 
me  :  they  say,  '  Come  away,  my  child  ;  thy  lot  has 
been  hard  ;  come  up  hither.'  Oh !  who  would 
live  always  in  such  a  world  as  this  ?  " 

"  Hark !  they  whisper :  angels  say, 
Sister  spirit,  come  away  : 
Lend,  lend  your  wings!  I  mount,  I  fly  ! 
O  grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ?  " 

Mrs.  Nelson  read  the  letter  with  horror  and 


248      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

astonishment.  She  saw  herself  pictured  in  her 
own  true  colors,  and  blushed  at  her  moral  de 
formity.  What  had  her  wretched  life  been,  but 
a  waste  and  a  torment,  both  to  herself  and  hus 
band  ?  Her  imperious  temper  had  made  home  a 
hell.  She  had  been  straining  after  unattainable 
objects,  harassing  and  being  harassed,  duping 
and  being  duped,  until  her  life  and  character 
had  become  as  false  as  the  showman's  phantas 
magoria.  What  were  all  her  gatherings  at 
balls  and  theatres  and  operas  and  masquerades 
now  ?  Here  was  a  poor  woman  starving  for  a 
crust,  dying  on  a  bed  of  shavings,  yet  having 
more  peace  of  mind  and  solid  comfort  in  one 
hour's  holy  communion  with  God  than  she  had  en 
joyed  in  a  lifetime.  She  confessed  to  herself, 
and  said,  "  Oh  what  a  loving  wife  this  woman 
would  have  made  for  Mr.  Nelson  !  while  I  have 
been  only  a  vixen  and  a  shrew.  What  wonder 
that  he  has  left  home,  and  resorted  to  strong 
drink?  Is  the  prophecy  true,  that  Nellie  must 
die?  Have  all  my  hopes  for  preferment,  and  all 
my  toils  for  wealth  and  fashion  and-  place,  been 
vain  ?  Is  it  true,  that  peace  and  happiness  and 
virtue  are  found  among  the  lowly?  Are  boys 
of  the  street  to  be  encouraged  ?  Is  Ned  Nev- 
ins  so  near  a  relative  ?  Was  his  mother  this 
angel  of  gentleness  and  forbearance  ?  If  so, 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  249 

she  was  a  thousand- fold  better  than  Nellie's 
mother?  Is  this  abjeot  and  penniless  boy  more 
virtuous  than  Mr.  Nelson  himself?  May  not  I 
yet  commence  my  own  life  anew,  and  win  my 
husband  back  to  peace  and  sobriety  ?  Cannot  I 
do  some  little  good  in  the  world  by  alleviating 
and  elevating  the  race  ?  Do  not  these  street- 
boys  present  a  glorious  field  for  philanthropic 
labor?  Then  let  me  throw  off  this  sham,  and 
commence  life  anew  and  in  earnest."  Thus  rea 
soned  Mrs.  Nelson.  From  that  time  forth,  all 
was  changed  in  her  character  and  appearance : 
her  haughtiness,  pride,  and  arrogance  disap 
peared  ;  she  was  studiously  determined  to  follow 
out  her  noble  and  heaven-inspired  resolve,  and, 
being  possessed  of  a  strong  mind,  succeeded. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

NELLIE  NELSON'S  PLEA  TO  A  HAED-HEAETED 
MOTHEE. — THE  MOTHER'S  CONVEESION. 

)ATER!  a  little  water!     Please,  Dinah, 
give  me  a  little  water  !  "  said  Nellie  Nel 
son,  as  she  reached  out  her  little  hand 
from  the  bed,  and  made  signs  of  want. 
Dinah    no    sooner  heard  the   cry  than 
she   flew  down    stairs  after  the  drink, 
happy  in  the  opportunity  of  waiting  on  so  sweet 
a  child. 

"  Nellie,  why  didn't  you  ask  me  for  water?  "  said 
Mrs.  Nelson.  "Why  do  you  always  call  on  Dinah?  " 
"  Because,  mamma,  Dinah  loves  to  do  any  thing 
for  me;  she  wants  to  do  it."  —  "And  don't  I 
love  to  do  it,  my  child  ? "  —  "  Yes,  mamma;  but 
you  speak  so  sharp  to  me,  and  scold  me  when  I 
talk  about  the  poor  children  :  you  say  I  must  not 
gpeak  to  them,  nor  help  them,  nor  give  them  any 
of  my  toys  ;  and  you  make  me  sit  up  so  straight, 
and  lace  so  tightly,  and  keep  my  gloves  on  every 
time  I  go  out:  it  makes  me  sick;  1  don't  feel 
happy,  mamma,  I  don't."-—"  But  you'll  soon  get 

250 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON  251 

used  to  it,  then  you  will  feel  better."— "No, 
mamma,  I  fear  I  shall  never  be  any  better :  I 
grow  worse." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  so,  my  child  !  you  must  get  bet 
ter  :  I  shall  die  if  I  lose  my  Nellie.  You  are  my 
only  child  :  I  cannot  live  without  you',  my  darling. 
Do  look  up,  and  say  you  are  gaining,"  giving 
her  a  kiss,  and  weeping.  "  You  are  better 
now !  just  a  little  better,  are  you  not  ?  Tell 
me." 

"  Oh,  no?  mamma  !  I  have  such  terrible  dreams  : 
I  can't  live  when  I  dream  so ;  I  feel  dreadful.'7  — 
"  Pugh  !  dreams  won't  hurt  you,  my  child  :  you 
can  shake  them  off,  and  forget  them  any  time."  — 
"  No,  I  can't,  mamma :  they  seem  really  true, 
and  appear  again  and  again,  in  the  same  way  ; 
they  alarm  me,  and  I  can't  help  it."  —  "  Pray  tell 
me  what  you  are  dreaming  about  ?  "  —  "I 
dreamed  that  I  was  dying,  mamma,  and  then 
I  went  to  heaven." — "Oh,  don't  talk  about 
dying,  my  child  !  you  will  kill  me,  you  will  break 
my  heart !  " 

"  Then  you  don't  want  to  hear  me,  mamma  ?  " 
—  "  No,  my  child,  I  cannot  hear  you  talk  so :  I 
don't  believe  in  dreams.  You  .must  live,  and  see 
the  flowers,  and  talk  about  birds,  and  play  with 
the  school-children."-—"  But  you  don't  want  me 
to  play  with  any  children  but  the  children  of 
Chester  Park." 


252  NED    NEVJNS   THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OK, 

"  Oh  yes,  my  child  !  you  may  play  with  any 
children,  and  do  any  thing,  and  give  away 
any  thing  you  have,  if  you  will  not  speak 
so  sadly,  and  not  talk  about  dying."  —  "  But 
you  wouldn't  allow  Ned  Nevins  to  come  into 
my  room  ?  "  —  "  Yes,  he  may,  my  daughter  ;  he 
may  go  all  over  the  house,  and  play  with  you 
all  the  time ;  and  he  may  come  and  live  with 
you,  if  you  want  him  here ;  and  he  shall  be  a 
brother  to  you,  if  you  will  but  get  well,  and  not 
talk  about  dying."  — "  Ah,  that  is  what  I 
dreamed,  mother !  I  dreamed  that  I  had  died, 
and  gone  to  heaven."  — "  Don't  talk  so,  dear 
Nellie  :  you  will  kill  me."  —  "  Hear  me,  mother  : 
I  dreamed  that  you  would  not  serve  God,  and  be 
good  to  the  poor,  till  I  was  gone  ;  and  when  I  had 
died,  then  you  felt  lonely  and  sad ;  then  you  took 
in  Ned,  and  kept  him  here,  to  fill  my  place  ;  then 
you  cried,  and  -began  to  pray,  and  wished  you 
had  been  a  Christian,  and  had  helped  the  poor ; 
then  you  became  humble,  and  loved  every 
body,  and  was  kind  to  papa,  and  joined  the 
church,  and  loved  Ned." 

"  But  I  can  love  Ned  now,  my  child ;  and  I  can 
be  kind  and  good,  if  you  will  but  live."  •  —  "  No, 
mamma,  you  can't  be  good  yourself,  your  heart  is 
so  unbelieving  and  so  hard." —  "  Who  told  you 
so?  Who  said  my  heart  was  hard  ?  Who  has  filled 
your  head  with  such  thoughts  ?  " 


STREET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  253 

"  Nobody,  mother ;  but  I  fear  you  have  not 
been  born  again  ?  "  —  "  What  do  )7ou  mean,  my 
child?  what  are  you  talking  about ?"  she  said, 
angrily. 

"  I  mean,  mother,  that  you  have  not  given  up 
all  for  Christ,  and  have  not  become  a  Christian." 
—  "How  do  you  know  that?  How  do  you  know 
what  I  have  become  ?  Ah,  this  is  the  fruit  of 
those  sabbath  schools  !  they  have  taught  you  to 
hate  your  mother."  •  —  "  No,  mamma,  I  don't  hate 
you  ;  I  love  you  all  the  time,  and  love  you  with 
all  my  heart :  but  I  dreamed  that  my  dear  mamma 
would  be  lost  in  tho  great  day  of  judgment,  un 
less  she  were  born  again,  unless  she  had  her 
stubborn  heart  changed  ;  then  she  would  not  see 
God,  nor  his  angels,  nor  little  Willie  and  Jennie, 
but  she  would  be  banished  forever  from  his  pres 
ence  ;  then  I  cried  in  my  sleep,  and  I  prayed  to 
the  Lord  to  save  my  poor  mother.  I  told  the  Lord, 
if  mamma  wouldn't  be  a  Christian  without  it,  then 
let  Nellie  die,  and  go  to  heaven,  and  be  with 
Willie  and  Jennie,  then  mamma  would  want  to 
come  where  we  were  ;  for  she  would  be  lonely 
on  the  earth,  and  would  not  worship  the  things 
of  the  world ;  and  she  would  repent,  and  forsake 
her  sins,  and  give  her  heart  to  God,  and  be  good 
when  I  was  gone,  and  she  had  no  Nellie."  -  —  "  I 
tell  you  I  can  be  good  now,  and  you  must  not 
die." 


254      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

"  No,  mamma,  you  can't  be  good  in  your  own 
strength;  you  can't  change  your  own  heart;  none 
but  Christ  can  make  you  a  Christian ;  and  I  fear 
you  are  not  humble  enough  to  give  Christ  your 
heart,  and  will  not  do  it  till  I  die."  —  "Yes,  I 
will,"  said  the  mother,  as  she  turned  away  to 
weep.  Then  it  was  that  the  proud,  imperious 
woman  began  to  bow  to  the  simple  arguments 
of  a  child,  and  her  stubborn  heart  began  to  yield 
to  the  inspirations  of  gospel  truth.  Angels  were 
watching  her  decision.  Oh,  what  a  struggle  was 
there  between  nature  and  grace  !  She  fought 
like  a  tiger  against  conviction  and  submission ; 
but  fate  seemed  to  corner  her,  God  was  angry 
with  her,  her  child  was  in  danger :  if  she  lost 
that,  all  her  schemes  of  ambition  were  foiled, 
and  all  her  worldly  hopes  blighted. 

She  felt  that  she  was  a  sinner.  The  simple 
words  of  the  child  brought  conviction  to  her 
heart.  The  child  seemed  inspired,  and  would  not 
leave  the  subject  till  the  mother  submitted.  Yet 
how  hard  for  an  imperious,  tyrannical  woman  to 
become  as  docile  and  submissive  as  the  wolf  and 
the  leopard  in  millennial  times,  when  "  a  little 
child  shall  lead  them." 

"  0  Nellie  ! "  she  said,  "  I  want  to  be  good  : 
and,  if  you  will  not  talk  about  dying,  I  will  try  to 
be  good ;  but  I  can't  do  it  in  a  moment.  I  must 
have  time  to  think  about  it." 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  255 

"  Ah,  mamma !  if  you  put  it  off,  you  will  fail,  or 
you  will  try  iu  your  own  strength;  then  you 
never  can  be  a  Christian.  None  but  Jesus  can  do 
helpless  sinners  good.  Come  to  Jesus,  come  just 
now."  —  "  How  can  I,  my  child  ?  It  is  easy  for  a 
little  angel  like  you  to  come  ;  but  I  am  an  aged  and 
hardened  sinner.  My  heart  is  corrupt :  I  fear  there 
is  no  hope  for  me."  —  "  Don't  say  so,  mamma  !  " 
her  little  eyes  brightening  up  with  hope,  and  her 
countenance  flushed  with  the  fever  of  excite 
ment,  —  "  don't  say  there  is  no  hope  ;  for  there  is 
a  promise  for  you,  mamma.  Think  of  the  thief  on 
the  cross,  think  of  wicked  Manasseh !  '  Whosoever 
will  let  him  come.'  Will  you  come  ?  then  you  may 
come,  and  come  just  now."  Then  she  reached  out 
her  little  arms  to  embrace  her  mother ;  then  threw 
them  around  her  neck,  and  printed  the  warm 
kiss  upon  her  cheek,  and  said,  "  0  mamma  !  you 
doirt  know  how  I  love  you  !  I  want  to  get  well 
now  ;  I  want  to  live  so  as  to  make  you  happy."  —  - 
"Now,  Nellie,  you  please  me.  I  want  you  to  talk 
of  living  and  getting  well ;  for  you  don't  know 
how  you  grieve  me  when  you  talk  of  dying." 

"  But,  mamma,  you  should  grieve  because  you 
are  a  sinner,  and  have  no  hope  in  Jesus,  and 
cannot  meet  your  little  ones  in  heaven." 

"  I  do  grieve,  my  child,  and  would  do  any 
thing  in  the  world  to  be  a  Christian."  — "  Then 


NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

you  would  pray,  mamma  ?  "  —  "  Yes,  Nellie,  I  will 
pray.  I  will  do  any  thing;  I  will  give  up  all  for 
Christ ;  I  will  give  my  little  Nellie  to  him  if  lie 
demands  it"  (hugging  her,  and  giving  her  a 
kiss,  and  weeping  bitterly).  "  Yes,  Nellie,  you 
are  not  too  good  to  give  to  Jesus.  0  my  darling, 
how  I  love  you !  how  sweet  your  words  have 
been  to  me  !  "  kissing  her  again.  "  Oh  that  I 
may  love  Jesus  as  well  as  I  do  you  ! "  —  "  You 
may,  mamma,  even  now  if  you  will  pray  to  him, 
and  give  your  heart  to  him,  and  trust  him,  and 
lay  all  in  his  hands.  Come,  mamma,  kneel  by  my 
side,  and  pray  God  to  forgive  you,  and  save  you 
just  now  :  1  never  heard  you  pray  in  my  life." 
—  "  Ah,  Nellie  !  I  can't  pray  now  ;  you  must  ex 
cuse  me."  -  —  "  Then  I  fear  that  Christ  will  not 
receive  you.  If  you  are  ashamed  of  him,  he  will 
be  ashamed  of  you." 

"  I  am  not  ashamed,  my  child ;  but  it  is  hard  to 
commence  to  pray  so  soon."  -  —  "  Mamma  !  your 
heart  cannot  be  right  in  the  work.  You  say 
you  will  pray ;  but  it  is  just  to  please  me,  I  fear. 
Oh  !  you  are  not  honest  before  God :  may  the 
Lord  forgive  you  !  "  —  "  Oh,  don't  think  so,  my 
child  !  I  am  sincere.  I  will  pray  anywhere  and 
any  how,  if  I  may  be  forgiven." 

"  Then  pray  right  here,  mamma  !  "  —  "  I  will, 
dear  child ;  but  how  shall  I  begin,  and  what 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.         257 

shall  I  say?" — "Say,  'Lord,  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner!  save, or  I  perish'!"  Then  that  conscience- 
stricken  mother  bent  her  stout  form  by  the  bed 
side,  and  cried  to  God  from  the  depths  of  an 
afflicted,  broken  heart,  with  an  agony  that  seemed 
to  move  heaven  and  earth,  as  she  said,  "Be  mer 
ciful  unto  me,  0  God  !  hear  me  for  thy  mercy's 
sake !  0  Lord,  forgive  my  sins  !  give  me  a  clean 
heart ;  renew  a  right  spirit  within  me  ;  give  me 
back  the  health  of  my  child  if  it  be  thy  will ;  if 
not,  give  me  grace  to  endure  the  sad  bereave 
ment  !  help  me,  0  Lord,  for  I  am  weak  and  needy ! 
forgive  me,  for  I  am  a  great  sinner !  I  have  sinned 
against  heaven,  and  in  thy  sight,  and  am  not 
worthy  to  take  thy  name  upon  my  lips :  save  me, 
0  Lord,  for  Jesus'  sake  !  Amen." 

She  arose  from  prayer,  when  Nellie  threw  her 
arms  around  her  neck,  and  said,  "  Now,  mamma,  I 
know  you  will  be  a  Christian,  you  appear  so  ear 
nest.  Oh,  how  glad  I  be !  how  kind  you  look  1 
how  sweet  our  home  will  be  1  how  happy  papa 
will  be  when  he  sees  you  are  trying  to  be  good  !  " 
—  "  But,  my  child,  was  I  not  good  before  ?  "  — 
"  No,  mamma,  not  as  a  Christian :  you  could  not 
be  good  without  Christ." 

"  Then  I  am  determined  to  find  Christ.  I  have 
lived  long  enough  in  my  sins,  and,  from  this  time 
forth,  I  give  up  all  for  Christ." 
ir 


258  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

"  0  mamma,  how  happy  you  make  me  !  I  feel 
like  singing  and  praising  God,  I  be  so  happy. 
Now  let  us  sing,  mamma."  Then  they  sang, — 

"  Oil !  happy  day  that  fixed  my  choice 
On  thee,  my  Saviour  and  my  God." 

And  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  that  proud  wo 
man's  heart  was  humbled  and  subdued,  like  the 
heart  of  a  little  child.  Christ  and  Nellie  now  lay 
near  her  heart,  and  earth's  trifles  arid  vanities 
appeared  exceedingly  small  in  her  sight.  To  her 
the  heavens  were  changed ;  there  was  no  frown 
ing  cloud  ;  God  was  good,  God  was  love ;  the 
skies  were  beautiful,  earth  appeared  lovely,  its 
inhabitants  were  attractive  ;  and  she  was  starting 
on  a  life  of  new  existence. 

Oh,  how  anxious  was  she  to  enter  the  fields 
of  missionary  labor !  they  seemed  white,  and 
ready  for  harvest :  the  fields  were  great,  but  the 
laborers  were  few.  How  she  loved  the  place  of 
prayer  !  how  sweet  was  her  communion  with 
God  !  How  beautiful  appeared  the  face  of  every 
child  !  rich  or  poor,  it  had  the  image  of  the  divin 
ity  stamped  upon  it ;  how  different  to  her  eye 
now  appeared  the  boys  of  the  street !  They  had 
precious  immortal  souls,  capable  of  being  eter 
nally  happy  or  miserable.  How  hard  was  their 
lot !  how  small  their  advantages  !  how  meagre 


STREET    LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  259 

their  chances  for  truth  and  honesty  !  how  short 
their  probation  for  eternity  !  Should  not  every 
Christian  philanthropist  be  up  and  doing?  Her 
cry  was,  Awake  !  awake  !  Her  zeal  seemed  as 
fire  shut  up  in  her  bones  :  she  could  not  forbear. 

When  Nellie  should  become  sufficiently  recov 
ered,  she  was  determined  to  visit  the  night- 
school,  and  study  the  history  and  nature  of  those 
boys,  and  see  what  could  be  done  for  them. 
What  a  complete  change  had  come  over  her ! 
From  an  inveterate  hater  of  the  poor  and  needy, 
she  now  becomes  a  philanthropic  enthusiast. 

Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  to  the  rich  fields  of 
holy  endeavor  !  Let  the  blessings  of  the  poor, 
and  them  who  are  ready  to  perish,  be  upon  thee  ! 
Let  the  widow  and  the  orphan  rise  up,  and  call 
thee  blessed !  Let  the  multitude  of  redeemed 
from  the  streets,  the  lanes,  and  the  hovels,  be 
come  stars  in  the  crown  of  thy  rejoicing  in  the 
kingdom  of  God,  for  ever  and  ever  J 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

MBS.  NELSON'S  VISIT  TO  NOETH  STREET.  —  BLACK 
SEA  AND  ITS  WAVES.  —  LOUISA  LOVELL. 

)HOA,  whoa  !  steady  there,  not  so  fast !  " 
said  the  driver  of  a  span  of  high-spir 
ited  horses,  as  they  entered  North  Street, 
with  a  splendid  carriage,  containing  a 
lady,  with  a  policeman  at  her  side.  The 
top  was  thrown  back,  and  the  driver 
was  ordered  to  move  slowly.  It  was  past  ten 
o'clock :  a  thick  mist  hung  over  the  city,  and  the 
lamps  shone  but  dimly;  but  the  dance-halls  of 
North  Street  were  in  full  blast.  The  uneasy 
coursers  foamed, and  champed  the  bit,  and  chafed; 
striving  to  advance  more  swiftly  as  the  music 
from  the  halls  greeted  their  ears,  and  the  calls 
of  the  dancing-masters  sounded  from  hall  to  hall. 
The  breath  of  the  steeds,  mixed  with  the  aqueous 
atmosphere  and  the  mist  of  their  perspiration, 
enveloped  them  in  a  fleecy  cloud,  telling  that  this 
slow  pace  was  not  their  accustomed  speed. 
Hurriedly  had  they  passed  from  the  South  End, 
through  Washington  Street,  by  Faneuil  Hall,  to 

260 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  261 

North  Street ;  and  now  to  be  suddenly  checked, 
and  compelled  to  walk  at  a  slow  tread,  was 
contrary  to  their  custom  and  their  mettle.  They 
seemed  conscious  that  this  was  no  place  for  fine 
carriages  and  respectable  citizens,  —  no  street 
through  which  fashionable  pleasure-seekers 
would  drive.  They  drew  in  their  heads,  and 
twitched  on  the  bits,  as  if  to  loosen  the  reins, 
that  they  might  hurry  away  from  the  scene  ;  but 
they  were  held  by  a  strong  hand,  for  the  orders 
were  explicit.  That  lady  in  the  carriage  is  Mrs. 
David  Nelson,  visiting  North  Street  on  a  tour  of 
inspection.  What  sights  does  she  witiress? 
What  sounds  salute  her  ears  ?  A  hundred 
creaking  fiddles  sound  their  doleful  notes,  a 
thousand  erring  feet  answer  to  the  call.  Here 
the  votaries  of  Bacchus  and  Venus  hold  their  or 
gies  ;  and  vice,  her  high  carnival.  Here  festering 
corruption  holds  perpetual  symposiums.  If  Bos 
ton  be  the  "  hub  of  the  universe,"  then  North 
Street  is  the  "  hopper  "  of  Boston.  It  is  the  hopper 
of  a  great  grinding  mill,  greater  in  its  effects 
than  the  mills  of  any  legitimate  corporation.  Its 
business  is  to  grind  out  fates  and  destinies,  and 
tears  and  sighs  and  groans,  and  despairing 
agonies,  and  crush  and  devour  human  life.  It 
first  blinds  the  victims,  then  destroys.  A  strange 
infatuation  urges  them  on  :  they  dance  like  apples 


2G2  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

iu  the  hopper,  then  sink  at  last  by  their  own  at 
trition.  There  are  mills  in  the  land  for  pul 
verizing  quartz,  and  grinding  grain,  and  crush 
ing  sugar-cane  ;  and  mills  for  triturating  bones: 
but  this  life-consuming  mill,  with  its  thousand 
workmen,  and  its  thousand  sounds  of  horror, 
forced  by  steam-power  from  the  brewery  and 
the  pit,  does  more  than  this,  —  it  crushes  and  de 
vours  both  the  bodies  and  the  souls  of  men. 

If  there  be  one  place  nearer  the  fiery  lake 
than  another,  then  North  Street  enjoys  that  bad 
pre-eminence.  Situated  but  a  few  rods  from 
State  Street,  which  ranks  next  to  Wall  Street  (the 
richest  street  in  this  new  world)  —  behold,  what 
a  contrast !  As  Mrs.  Nelson  enters  this  location, 
she  is  forcibly  reminded  of  Dante's  "'  Inferno,"  with 
the  inscription  over  the  gate  of  hell,  "All  hope 
abandon,  ye  who  enter  here  !  "  As  Virgil  con 
ducted  Dante  through  the  seven  gates  of  Limbo, 
and  through  the  seven  rounds  of  the  nine  circles 
of  hell ;  so  this  policeman  is  prepared  to  conduct 
Mrs.  Nelson  through  the  petty  Pandemonium 
of  Boston's  iniquity  and  crime.  There  is  no 
need  of  old  Charon  the  ferryman  to  bear  these 
miserable  beings  over  the  river  of  death :  they 
are  passing  over  the  waters  of  Acheron  and 
Styx  before  respiration  ceases,  before  their 
souls  have  left  their  bodies. 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.         263 

Mrs.  Nelson  arrives  opposite  Ferry  Street. 
There  is  the  Black  Sea  !  with  its  waves  rolling 
and  foaming,  and  sending  forth  its  own  shame. 
In  this  Black  Sea,  the  lamented  Father  Mason 
once  preached  and  prayed,  and  stood  like  a  dike 
against  the  tides  of  licentiousness  ;  but  now,  alas  ! 
there  is  no  dike,  no  gospel  barrier,  to  check  the 
waves  of  sin.  We  ministers,  with  fastidious 
nicety,  may  gather  up  our  robes,  and  remove  to 
the  South  End.  to  escape  contamination;  yet  the 
evils  do  not  lessen  by  our  departure.  Where 

Father  Mason  stood  and  toiled  and  fell,  now  J • 

0 calls  forth  his  motley  group  of  reeling  vic 
tims  to  the  dance.  The  call  for  the  dance  is  as  the 
charge  to  battle,  where  there  is  no  escape,  and 
no  hope  of  victory.  Further  along  are  other  halls, 
the  El  Dorado,  Bella  tT/ii'.m,  Sweet  Home,  and 
Strangers''  Retreat,  —  names  suggestive,  but,  oh  ! 
how  delusive  to  the  unwary  !  Mrs.  Nelson  pass 
es  the  various  halls  until  she  arrives  at  Com 
mercial  Street,  then,  returning  through  Fleet 
Street  and  Clark  Street  and  Richmond  Street, 
she  prepares,  with  memorandum-book  in  hand,  to 
enter  sbme  of  these  dark  abodes,  conducted  by 
her  guide.  She  is  just  the  woman  for  the  oc 
casion.  Resolute,  of  strong  nerve  and  will,  she  is 
determined  to  probe  the  evils  of  Boston  to  the 
bottom.  Let  us  follow  her  into  one  of  these 
halls. 


264  NED   NEVINS   THE  NEWSBOY;    OR, 

There  stands  the  master  of  assemblies  behind 
the  bar,— a  wide-shouldered,  two-fisted  individual, 
able  to  quell  any  disturbance  which  the  poison 
ous  contents  of  his  decanters  may  excite.  Near 
by,  stands  the  fiddler,  resining  his  bow  and  tu 
ning  his  instrument.  Beyond  these  men  are  a 
set  of  stalls  and  curtains,  the  latter  of  which  we 
will  not  raise.  Seated  on  broken  benches,  at 
either  side  of  the  room,  is  a  motley  crew  of  bloated 
men  and  painted  women,  black  and  white,  mixed 
in  most  unreserved  sociability.  There  is  a  son  of 
Neptune  leaning  on  the  shoulder  of  a  daughter 
of  Venus  ;  and,  like  Palinurus  at  the  helm,  he  falls 
asleep  at  his  post  of  danger.  The  vile  com 
pounds  in  the  potations  have  worked  disastrous 
ly  for  himself  and  his  purse.  "  Who  is  that 
woman  dressed  in  mourning?"  asked  Mrs.  Nel 
son  :  "  how  saint-like  she  looks  !  she  must  be  a 
missionary."  •  — "  No  !  not  quite  a  missionary," 
said  the  policeman :  "  she  is  only  acting  as  a  guy ; 
her  mourning  is  put  on  and  off  to  suit  the  oc 
casion.  She  is  a  sympathetic  character,  mam! 
she  attends  temperance  meetings,  to  weep  over 
the  misfortunes  of  the  inebriate ;  sometimes  she 
may  be  found  in  a  prayer  meeting,  deeply  affect 
ed;  and  in  times  of  revival,  when  a  stranger  min 
isters  in  the  sanctuary,  she  may  be  seen  at  the 
altar,  weeping  like  a  penitent.  She  has  a  tear  in 


STREET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  265 

her  left  eye  for  all  solemn  occasions.  She  ad 
mires  to  be  at  funerals,  and  to  mix  with  the 
mourners ;  she  is  exceedingly  affectionate  ;  she 
enters  into  the  feelings  of  the  unfortunate  with 
a  gusto."  —  "  See  !  there  is  a  young  man  leading 
her  to  a  seat !  "  said  Mrs.  Nelson.  "  Yes  !  "  said 
the  policeman,  "  that  young  man  is  just  in  from 
California ;  he  has  lost  some  money  of  late  :  she 
pities  and  soothes  him,  and  prescribes  a  balm  for 
all  his  woes.  Oh  !  the  tears,  the  gentle  sighs, 
the  soft  caresses,  the  heavings  of  that  tender 
bosom !  Jupiter  and  Juno  !  What  lamb-like 
amiability  of  temper !  But  hold !  see  there  ! 
They  pass  into  another  room :  the  curtain  falls." 

We  will  not  follow  Mrs.  Nelson  and  the  police 
man  through  all  their  perambulations ;  suffice  it 
to  say,  that  in  this  neighborhood  may  be  found 
representatives  of  every  profession  of  crime, 
from  the  boy  stealing  junk,  the  girl  just  being 
initiated,  up  to  criminals  older  and  of  harder 
mould.  There  is  a  man  who  once  moved  in  re 
spectable  society,  but  who  in  an  evil  hour  plunged 
into  intemperance  and  licentiousness,  and  here 
he  ends  his  career.  There  is  one  educated  for 
one  of  the  learned  professions  :  but,  alas  !  his  edu 
cation  is  of  no  avail.  There  is  a  girl,  daughter 
of  a  minister,  reared  in  virtue  and  refinement : 
alas  for  her  fate  !  But  few  of  these  persons, 


26l>  NED    NEVTNS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

however,  have  ever  moved  in  the  higher  walks 
of  life.  They  are  mostly,  persons  brought  up  in 
obscenity  and  degradation.  They  are  diseased, 
demented,  half  idiotic,  a  corrupt  progeny  from 
corrupt  parents,  familiar  with  vice,  foul  mouth 
ed,  offensive,  disgusting.  If  the  out-side  view 
be  so  distasteful,  what  must  be  the  inside,  — the 
hidden,  unrevealed  scenes  of  woe  ? 

Let  us  follow  Mrs.  Nelson  into  the  back  cellar 
of  one  of  these  establishments.  There  lies  a 
girl  dying,  —  a  girl  of  respectable  connections,  but 
now  an  outcast.  Low,  damp,  and  dismal  is  the 
place ;  a  dim  lamp  shines  upon  a  single  watcher, 
who  is  uneasily  waiting  for  the  breath  to  leave, 
so  that  the  dead-wagon  may  be  called.  What  a 
place  for  a  once  refined  and  innocent  girl  to 
meet  her  Maker  !  The  sound  of  the  fiddle  and 
the  roll  of  the  dance  still  go  on  in  the  front  hall ; 
but  she  heeds  them  not :  her  thoughts  are  far 
away  among  the  New-Hampshire  hills,  where 
her  mother  and  sister  are  vainly  praying  for  her 
return.  "  Poor  girl !  Are  you  sick  ?  •'  said  Mrs. 
Nelson.  Startled  at  the  sound  of  a  kind  voice, 
she  opened  her  eyes,  and  gazed  a  moment  in  be 
wilderment  and  wonder  ;  then  she  covered  her 
face,  and  wept,  fearing  that  it  might  be  the  voice 
of  her  mother.  "  0,  0,  0  !  "  she  sobbed,  with 
her  hands  covering  her  face.  "  I  cannot  see  my 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  267 

mother  here."  —  "It  is  not  your  mother,"  said 
Mrs.  Nelson  :  "  pray  tell  me  your  name."  —  "  They 
call  me  Louisa  Lovell ;  but  that  is  tho  name  of 
my  shame,"  she  said,  covering  her  face  again, 
and  crying  and  sobbing  aloud.  "  Do  you  think 
you  will  recover  ?  "  —  "  No  :  I  cannot  get  well ;  I 
shall  live  but  a  few  hours."  —  "Don't  you  want 
to  send  some  word  to  your  poor  mother?"  — 
"  Oh,  no  !  It  would  break  her  heart,  it  would 
kill  her,  and  my  poor  sister  too  ?  "  —  "  How  came 
you  here  ?  "  —  "I  was  deceived,  betrayed  by  one 
who  said  he  was  rich  and  single.  He  was 
neither.  Finding  myself  lost,  I  floated  on  the 
surface  for  a  time,  then  made  a  desperate  plunge 
for  the  bottom.  Here  I  have  found  it."  —  "  What 
was  your  occupation  ?  "  —  "  I  was  a  teacher  in  a 
private  family,  South."  —  "  Did  you  ever  profess 
religion  ?  "  —  "  When  young,  I  professed  to  be 
converted,  but  was  not :  if  I  had  been,  I  never 
should  have  been  here."  •  —  "  How  long  since 
your  mother  has  heard  from  you?"  —  "Many 
months !  don't  speak  of  that !  my  mother  prays 
for  me  in  the  name  by  which  I  was  christened,  — 
a  name  which  she  loves  ;  and  my  sister  still  plays 
my  favorite  tunes  upon  my  piano  at  home,  vainly 
watching  for  my  return."  — "  But  you  will  send 
some  kind  word  to  them  before  you  die  ?"  —  "  No, 
never,  never  !  I  may  have  broken  their  hearts, 


268      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OB, 

by  my  neglect ;  but  I  will  never  disgrace  them 
by  a  recital  of  my  crimes." — ''  It  would  not  be 
a  disgrace,  but  a  comfort  to  them,  especially  to 
know  that  you  died  penitent  and  hopeful."  — • 
•'•  Ah !  that  is  the  trouble.  God  knows  I  am 
penitent  enough :  I  have  almost  wept  my  eyes 
out :  I  have  groaned  my  life  away  ;  but  I  have  no 
hope,  no  hope  !  "  (clasping  her  hands,  and  shriek 
ing  and  groaning  in  despair.)  "  Do  you  pray?" 
—  "No,  I  cannot  pray  :  I  dare  not  look  my  of 
fended  Maker  in  the  face."  Then,  as  if  to 
change  the  subject,  she  said,  "  They  tell  us 
that  persons  given  to  this  life  live,  on  an  average, 
four  years  ;  but  I  tell  you  most  of  them  live  but 
a  few  months.  It  would  astonish  you  to  see  how 
suddenly  and  unceremoniously  they  go  out  of 
the  world  :  they  go  out  of  sight  as  by  a  stroke. 
I  could  tell  you  of  girls  of  sixteen,  running 
away  from  a  friendly  home,  who  have  been  de 
coyed  here,  who  have  died  almost  immediately. 
And  these  people  have  such  a  knack  of  disguis 
ing  the  matter,  in  changing  the  names  and  ages 
of  the  victims,  and  removing  them  from  place 
to  place,  so  that  the  public  know  .nothing  of  the 
actual  murders  committed  here.  Oh  horror  of 
horrors !  How  did  I  ever  come  to  this  ?  Oh  ! 
the  blackness  of  my  soul !  Oh,  eternity,  etern 
ity  !  "  — "  But  Christ  is  able  to  save  to  the 


STEEET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  269 

uttermost,"  said  Mrs.  Nelson.  "  Ah !  he  may 
be  able,  but  he  cannot  be  willing  to  save 
me."  •  —  "  Are  you  willing  that  I  should  pray 
with  you?"  —"Oh,  yes!  pray  if  you  can 
pray  in  such  a  place  as  this,  where  prayers  are 
never  heard  except  in  impious  invocations  for 
curses,  for  death,  for  annihilation." — "  Will  you 
pray  for  yourself?"  —  "I  will  try  ;  I  will  do  any 
thing  if  I  may  have  but  one  gleam  of  hope." 
Then  Mrs.  Nelson  kneeled  by  her  side,  and 
prayed.  The  poor  girl  responded  in  sighs  and 
prayers  and  groans ;  then  clung  to  her  hand, 
and  kissed  it ;  then  thanked  her  again  and  again, 
and  said  she  appeared  so  much  like  a  mother! 
Then  she  settled  down  into  a  sort  of  drowse,  from- 
which  she  did  not  fu\ly  recover.  Mrs.  Nelson 
called  at  the  door  several  times  during  the  night, 
and  found  her  praying :  "  Lord,  have  mercy  ! 
Lord,  save  me  !  Oh,  pity  me  ! "  At  last,  when 
near  her  end,  she  clasped  her  hands  together, 
either  in  agony  or  in  triumph,  and  said,  "  Hoili- 
er !  SISTER  !  JESUS  !  "  and  she  died. 

Oh  that  there  were  more  missionary  converts 
like  Mrs.  Nelson  to  thread  the  lanes  and  alleys 
of  want  and  woe  !  Oh. that  Christian  men  would 
come  down  from  their  high  stilts  of  profession, 
and  enter  into  the  real  gospel  work !  Oh  my 
brethren  in  the  ministry  !  let  us  hear  the  cry  of 


270  NED   NEVINS   THE  NEWSBOY. 

the  despairing !  Let  us  come  down  from  the 
pulpit  where  we  have  been  perspiring  in  windy 
declamations  over  imaginary  evils  !  let  us  meet 
the  enemy  face  to  face  !  let  us  beard  the  lion  in 
his  den !  A  thousand  wretched  victims  in  this 
locality  cry  for  help.  From  beneath  the  curb 
stones,  the  very  earth  quakes  with  their  groans. 
The  spirits  of  our  forefathers  shudder  at  the 
sound.  Their  saintly  shades  quail  at  the  sight. 
They  rise  from  the  ashes  of  the  Old  North 
Church,  and  weep  tears  of  blood.  They  whis 
per  from  the  chimes  of  the  seven  bells,  and  up 
braid  us  with  keen  rebuke.  The  graves  on 
Copp's  Hill  quake  with  fright  at  the  increase  of 
iniquity.  The  bones  of  the  Mathers  stir  in  their 
tomb  like  those  of  Elisha.  Every  day's  hearse 
is  loaded  with  victims,  and  every  meridian  bell 
strikes  the  knell  of  many  a  lost  soul.  Oh, 
awake,  awake ! 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THREE  VEHICLES.  —  A  TRINITY  OF   WOE.  —  CLARISSA 
LELAND. 

now  speak  of  three  vehicles  which  are 
a  trinity  of  woe,  —  the  dead-wagon,  the 
"  Black  Maria/'  and  the  steamer  "Henry 
Morrison."  The  dead-wagon  is  a  plain, 
square,  covered  vehicle,  used  for  a 
hearse,  going  round  to  desolate  houses 
to  obtain  the  corpses  of  those  who  have  died  dur 
ing  the  night  by  contagious  diseases  or  otherwise, 
who  have  no  friends  to  pay  for  a  Christian  burial. 
It  is  driven  at  the  city's  expense,  and  carries  its 
victims  to  the  Potter's  Field.  Could  it  speak  of 
the  sufferings  of  its  passengers,  it  would  tell  of 
horrors  little  dreamed  of  by  the  outside  world. 

The  "  Black  Maria  "  is  a  carriage  with  locked 
and  bolted  door,  used  to  convey  prisoners  to  their 
destination.  Like  an  angel  of  doom,  it  passes  at 
midnight  around  to  the  various  station-houses  of 
the  city,  and  gathers  up  the  unfortunate  culprits 
who  have  transgressed  the  laws  of  the  Common- 

271 


272      NEU  NEVIXS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

wealth,  and  bears  them  to  the  tombs  for  trial  on 
the  following  morning. 

The  "  Henry  Morrison  "  is  a  steamer  employed 
by  the  city  government  to  transport  paupers, 
criminals,  and  victims  of  the  small-pox,  to  Deer 
Island.  These  three  vehicles  form  a  trinity  of 
woe  which  is  beyond  sectarian  dispute  or  cavil. 
Plato  called  the  three  Fates  the  daughters  of 
necessity.  Clotho  held  the  distaff,  and  spun  the 
thread  of  nativity  ;  Lacheses  marked  the  portion 
of  each  span  of  existence  ;  and  Atropas  cut  the 
thread  of  life,  without  regard  to  age,  sex,  or  con 
dition.  So  these  three  messengers  of  woe  are 
the  daughters  of  dire  and  terrible  necessity. 
The  sins  and  ills  of  life  demand  their  existence. 
Like  the  Parcas,  they  arc  the  progeny  of  Nox 
and  Erebus,  and  their  associations  are  with  deeds 
of  darkness. 

Sometimes,  however,  these  vehicles  are  or 
dered  before  their  time.  A  servant  girl,*  near 
Roxbury,  broke  out  with  the  scarlet  rash.  The 
mistress,  thinking  it  the  small-pox,  ordered  a  car 
riage  immediately,  and  sent  her  to  the  North 
End  to  get  a  pass  for  Deer  Island.  To  obtain 
that  pass,  she  waited  in  the  carriage  two  hours 
in  the  street,  in  the  dead  of  winter,  and  then  was 
placed  on  the  "  Henry  Morrison."  Had  the  dis 
ease  been  small-pox,  then  the  exposure  to  the 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.         273 

cold  would  have  killed  her ;  but  it  proved  to  be 
only  a  rash  caused  by  overwork  at  washing-. 
She  was  borne  to  the  island,  and  placed  among 
the  victims  of  that  terrible  scourge.  Next  morn 
ing,  the  physician  informed  her  that  she  had  not 
the  small-pox ;  she  had  only  a  rash  ;  but,  as  she 
had  been  exposed  to  the  small-pox,  she  would 
have  it  now.  So  she  did  have  it  in  the  old- 
fashioned  way. 

The  steamer  "  Morrison  "  is  the  Charon  of  the 
nineteenth  century :  it  is  more  than  the  Bridge 
of  Sighs,  because  it  seems  instinct  with  feeling, 
and  stirs  and  weeps  and  sighs  with  the  woes  of 
its  mortal  cargo. 

Clarissa  Leland  was  a  pale,  delicate,  yet  hand 
some  featured  girl  of  tender  years.  Her  dispo 
sition  was  amiable,  her  intellect  more  than  the 
average,  but  she  was  becoming  lax  in  her  morals. 
She  had  chosen  company  that  her  mother  knew 
must  prove  her  ruin.  The  mother  expostulated 
and  forbid,  but  in  vain.  At  last  the  girl  came 
home  sick  by  her  ill  conduct,  needing  a  mother's 
care.  The  mother,  though  poor,  and  obtaining 
her  bread  by  the  labor  of  her  hands  at  days' 
work,  left  all,  and  administered  to  the  child  as  a 
mother  only  can  do.  When  she  recovered,  the 
mother  expostulated  with  her  again,  and  entreat 
ed  her  to  choose  proper  society.  The  girl  was 

18 


274     NED  NEVJNS  THE  NEWSBOY  |  OR, 

still  wayward,  until  at  last  the  mother  said, 
lf  Now,  Clara,  I  have  left  my  work  to  nurse  you 
this  time ;  I  have  done  all  that  a  mother  could 
do  ;  but,  let  me  'tell  you,  just  as  sure  as  you  go 
with  that  company  again,  sick  or  well,  your  pres 
ence  shall  never  darken  my  door.  Mark  that,  and 
heed  it,  or  your  doom  is  sealed." 

The  girl  laughed  at  her  mother's  threat: 
that  mother  had  forgiven  her  a  hundred  times, 
and  would  do  it,  she  thought,  as  many  times 
more  ;  so  on  she  rushed,  headlong  into  crime. 

But  sickness  came  again,  and  the  child's  heart 
was  turned  towards  home.  A  carriage  drove  up 
to  that  mother's  door.  A  frail  figure,  covered 
with  a  veil,  scarcely  able  to  walk,  was  helped 
out  by  the  driver,  and  tottered  slowly  up  the 
steps.  The  bell  was  answered,  the  door  opened, 
and  the  distressed  child  once  more  stood  before 
her  mother.  Would  that  mother  receive  her? 
Clara  raised  her  veil.  Both  stood  silent  and 
speechless  for  a  moment,  as  they  gazed  into  each 
other's  eyes.  There  stood  the  erring  child,  and 
there  the  inflexible  mother.  The  child  watched 
the  eye  of  her  mother :  it  was  the  seal  of  fate 
upon  the  dial  of  destiny ;  for  in  it  rested  life  or 
death.  Then  in  plaintive,  subdued  tones  of  child 
like  eloquence,  she  said,  "  Mother,  may  I 
come  home  ?  Dear  mother,  will  you  take  mo 
back  again?  may  I  come  home  this  time?" 


STREET    LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  275 

The  mother,  not  knowing  how  sick  the  child 
was,  looked  coldly  on  her,  then  calmly  yet  .de 
cidedly  said,  "  No,  Clara :  I  shall  be  as  good 
as  my  word.  You  cannot  come  in."  And  she 
closed  the  door  in  her  face.  "  My  God  !  cried 
the  child,  wringing  her  hands,  and  weeping  bit 
terly,  —"  my  God  !  I'm  lost,  I'm  lost !  If  moth 
er  will  not  receive  me,  then  God  cannot  forgive 
me  !  0  my  soul,  my  soul !  I'm  lost,  I'm  lost !  " 

Then,  reeling  backward  towards  the  carriage, 
ready  to  fall  upon  the  steps,  the  driver  seized 
her,  and  helped  her  in,  and  bore  her  away  to 
some  unknown  place  at  the  North  End.  But 
who  cares  for  a  woman  that  has  lost  her  virtue  ? 
Who  wants  her  about  their  premises  ?  Who 
will  allow  their  children  to  speak  to  her? 
Who  will  shield  her  from  the  cold?  Who  will 
shelter  her  when  dying?  Ah  the  curse,  the 
bitter,  irrevocable  curse,  that  rests  upon  a  fallen 
woman !  Thieves  and  robbers  may  find  sympa 
thy  ;  but  there  is  no  sympathy  for  a  woman  of 
the  town.  No  one  would  house  Clarissa  Leland. 
She  was  now  of  no  service  to  her  vile  destroyers ; 
so  they  shunned  her  as  they  would  the  plague. 
As  she  had  no  friends  to  help  her,  it  was  decided 
to  send  her  on  board  the  "  Henry  Morrison/'  to 
the  Island.  Now  came  the  bitterest  pangs  of  her 
life.  The  thoughts  of  being  torn  away  from  all 


276     NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

her  acquaintances,  with  none  to  speak  a  comfort 
ing  word,  none  to  smooth  her  dying  pillow,  and 
none  to  bring  a  cordial  to  her  lips,  and  no  moth, 
er  to  pray  for  her,  broke  her  heart.  As  she 
was  borne  to  the  steamer,  she  declared  that  all 
hope  and  desire  to  live  were  gone  ;  she  was  tak 
ing  passage  to  a  bourne  from  whence  she  should 
never  return.  When  she  saw  the  boat,  smoking 
and  steaming,  and  weeping  with  the  sighs  of  its 
unfortunate  passengers,  she  said,  "  That  is  the 
ferryman  of  death."  But  when  the  small-pox 
wagon  and  "Black  Maria"  drove  up,  and  emptied 
themselves  of  their  victims  of  disease  and  crime 
into  the  boat,  the  poor  girl  groaned,  und  yelled 
with  an  unearthly  shriek,  and  cried,  "Holy 
God  !  Have  I  come  to  this  ?  Is  this  the  com 
pany  for  a  child  of  prayer?  0  my  mother, 
my  mother  !  "  And  she  fell  down  in  despair, 
and  never  spoke  again. 

Little  did  she  know  that  mother's  distress  and 
anxiety  for  her.  The  mother  had  relented  of  her 
severity,  and  repented  :  she  was  now  threading 
the  streets  of  Boston  in  vain  to  find  her.  As 
the  child  went  by  an  assumed  name,  the  mother 
knew  not  what  name  to  inquire  for ;  so  she 
searched  in  vain.  Oh,  how  gladly  would  she 
have  soothed  with  a  mother's  love  and  prayer 
the  dying  moments  of  her  child  !  For  this,  she 


STEEET   LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  277 

would  have  given  every  cent  she  had  in  the 
world  ;  but  she  was  denied  the  blessed  privilege 
of  giving  one  consoling  word,  or  offering  one 
parting  prayer.  When  she  learned  the  tragic 
fate  of  the  child,  she  repined  and  blamed  her- 
solf  so  much,  that,  for  a  time,  she  became  de 
ranged.  The  poor  wretches  on  board  of  the  boat, 
though  hardened  in  crime,  could  not  refrain  from 
weeping  at  Clarissa's  terrible  exclamations  of 
despair.  They  wept  and  sighed  and  groaned, 
and  fell  upon  her  neck,  and  tore  their  hair,  and 
prayed  to  God  aloud.  They  pitied  her  deplorable 
fate ;  for  her  lot  was  so  much  like  their  own. 
But  their  efforts  were  of  no  avail,  they  could 
bring  no  relief. 

The  bell  rings,  the  plank  is  taken  in,  the  moor 
ings  are  loosened,  the  compressed  steam  es 
capes —  now  a  puff! — the  wheels  turn,  and  the 
"  Henry  Morrison  "  slowly  leaves  the  wharf  with 
its  wretched  freight  of  human  woe.  Oh,  what 
a  load  of  agony  does  it  bear  !  Oh,  what  shrieks 
and  sobs  of  despair  !  Oh,  what  crushed  and 
bleeding  hearts  !  Oh,  how  many  knells  of  hope 
are  struck  by  that  sounding  bell !  Little  do  the 
city  officials  on  the  upper  deck,  smoking  their 
cigars,  and  having  a  good  time  on  a  visit  of 
pleasure  down  the  harbor,  —  little  do  they  know 
of  the  volcano  of-  woe  that  rages  in  the  hold. 


278  NED   NEVINS   THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

What  do  they  know  of  sighs  and  groans  and 
broken  hearts  ?  what  of  individual  merit  or 
demerit?  The  city  is  a  colossal  step-mother, 
with  stern  look  and  strong  arm,  locking  up  alike 
the  unfortunate  and  the  vicious.  She  herds 
them  in  one  indiscriminate  mass  ;  then  bids  them 
keep  silent,  and  be  thankful  for  their  lives. 

Nevertheless,  there  are  sympathies  that  fol 
low  these  poor,  sorrowful  creatures.  Friends 
that  knew  them  in  their  better  days  think  of 
them  ;  relatives  and  playmates  remember  them ; 
mothers'  prayers  follow  them ;  the  condensed 
steam  that  falls  upon  this  deck  seems  weeping 
with  many  a  mother's  tears ;  and  the  pressure 
from  these  safety-valves  heaves  with  many  a 
mother's  sigh.  But  there  is  no  comfort  for  Cla 
rissa  Leland  :  she  is  beyond  the  reach  of  earthly 
comfort.  This  pealing  bell  sounds  the  knell  of 
her  destiny;  this  whistle's  shriek  is  but  the  echo 
of  her  despair ;  and  these  paddle-wheels  are  but 
the  wings  of  the  death-angel  that  bear  her  from 
shores  of  time  to  the  judgment-seat  of  God. 
Oh  the  depths  of  the  agony  of  human  woe ! 
But  enough  of  this;  suffice  it  to  say  that  the 
child  died  on  board  of  the  boat  during  the  pas 
sage.  Thus  the  soul  of  that  child  of  hope  and 
prayer;  that  child  of  fairest  prospects,  suscept. 
ible  of  the  finest  feelings,  of  sweet  temper  and 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  279 

tender  heart,  fit  to  make  the  home  of  man  a 
paradise,  —  that  erring  soul,  from  this  ferry-boat 
of  death,  was  ushered  into  eternity,  to  stand"  be 
fore  its  God. 

WARNING.  —  Young  reader,  I  have  a  word 
with  thee.  Hast  thou  broken  the  first  sabbath, 
or  repeated  the  first  oath,  or  taken  the  first 
draught,  or  pilfered  the  first  dollar,  or  spent  thy 
first  hour  in  debauchery?  Stop  right  short; 
stop  just  here.  Sin  is  alluring,  deceitful :  its  end 
is  death. 

"  Stop,  before  thou  farther  go : 
Thou'rt  sporting  on  the  brink  of  everlasting  woe." 

High  standing  and  prosperous  as  thou  mayst 
have  been,  thy  position  may  be  gone  in  a  mo 
ment, —  thy  friends,  thy  wealth,  thy  character, 
thy  prospects,  all  gone  ;  and  the  "  Black  Maria  " 
may  be  on  thy  track,  and  the  dead-wagon  follow 
ing  its  rumbling  wheels.  Privately  between 
you  and  me;  as  we  sit  here  alone,  with  none  but 
God  to  see  us,  I  say,  Stop  1 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

PHOTOGRAPHIC   ALBUM     OF     NIGHT-SCHOOL      TEACH« 
ERS.  —  NICHOLAS   NOBODY. 


for  the  pedagogue  album.  Let  us 
photograph  some  of  the  would-be  night- 
schoolteachers.  Perfect  order  and  church- 
going  decorum  cannot  be  endured  by  the 
boys  of  the  street:  their  fidgety,  restless 
frames  demand  excitement  :  hence  it  re 
quires  a  peculiar  class  of  teachers  to  manage 
them.  There  is  Mr.  Precise,  a  sleek,  well-dressed 
looking  gentleman,  but  a  great  stickler  for 
order.  He  looks  into  the  room,  and  sees  several 
classes  reading  at  a  time  ;  and  some  of  the  boys 
are  cutting  up  pranks.  He  is  horrified  at  the 
sight,  and  cries,  "  Let  me  have  a  room  by  my 
self  :  I  will  keep  order,  be  assured,  sir." 

So  he  takes  his  room,  and  a  company  of  boys 
are  called  to  fill  it.  Little  do  they  know  what  a 
trap  they  are  falling  into.  "  Now,  boys,  "  says 
Mr.  Precise,  "  order  is  the  first  law  of  nature. 
The  world  on  its  axis,  and  the  planets  in  their 
orbits,  move  by  law.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  There  I 

280 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  281 

I  see  a  boy  looking  towards  the  door,  as  if  to  go 
out.  Attention,  sir  !  no  more  of  that.  I  am  an 
old  school-master ;  I  have  had  worse  boys  than 
you,  and  I  always  made  them  mind.  I  had  a 
big  salary  in  my  time,  and  now  I  am  going  to 
teach  you  for  nothing.  Do  you  hear  that  ?  Oh, 
what  gratitude  I  shall  win  from  your  hearts  !  " 
Yet  the  boys  didn't  see  it  in  that  light.  "  This 
flight,"  said  Mr.  Precise,  <;  shall  be  a  night  of 
discipline  and  order ;  the  next  night,  you  will 
commence  the  rudiments  of  study  ;  the  third 
night,  you  will  be  formed  into  classes ;  and  the 
fourth  night,  you  will  be  ready  to  acquire  knowl 
edge.  Now  let  the  school  recline  one  minute 
in  this  position,  —  that's  well ;  now  two  minutes  in 
that  position, — very  well;  now  hold  up  your 
faces,  and  look  me  right  in  the  eye  ;  let  me  see  if 
you  are  honest  boys."  But  this  was  too  much 
for  them  to  endure  :  one  boy  started  for  the  door, 
and  then  another.  "  Stop,  there,  you  rascals  ! 
come  back  here  !  "  But,  as  they  did  not  come 
back,  Mr.  Precise  said,  "  Well,  let  them  go ! " 
One  boy  says,  u  I  want  to  write  and  cipher ;  J 
came  to  learn  something :  I  don't  want  to  be 
fooliu'  here  in  this  way."  —  "  I'll  learn  you  some 
thing  that  you  have  not  acquired,  sir,  if  you  do 
not  obey  orders,"  said  Mr.  Precise,  sarcastically. 
Thus  Mr.  Precise  taught.  But  he  taught  only 


282  NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY;    OR, 

one  night :  the  next  night  he  had  no  scholars,  his 
room  was  empty,  while  the  other  rooms  were 
overflowing.  As  the  boys  came  voluntarily,  he 
could  not  coerce  them ;  so  his  regimen  would 
not  work  for  want  of  pupils. 

THE  BLUSTERER.  —  There  is  the  windy  blust 
erer,  full  of  senseless  words,  ostentatious  in 
showing  his  brief  authority.  "  Boys  !  "  said  he, 
in  tones  of  thunder  that  set  all  the  classes  staf- 
ing,  —  ''boys!  you  must  remember  that  I  am 
master  of  this  room,  and  I  shall  keep  order.  Do 
you  hear?  See  to  it!  less  noise  !  order,  order  !  " 
Now  stamping  his  foot  on  the  floor,  "  Order, 
boys  !  you  must  keep  still,  still  as  mice  ;  you  must 
not  speak  a  word :  be  still,  still !  "  Then  the 
boys  began  to  laugh.  "  Tut,  tut !  none  of  your 
laughing.  I  see  you  laughing;  stop  that!" 
Now  he  hits  one  a  knock ;  and  all  the  boys  ha, 
ha,  right  out,  laughing,  desiring  no  better  fun. 
Now  his  anger  rises.  He  takes  another  by  the 
ears  ;  and  the  whole  school  begin  to  yell  and 
hoot  and  laugh,  until  the  policeman  comes  in, 
and  restores  order.  Mr.  Blusterer  finds  himself 
unfit  to  teach,  and  leaves  the  school  in  disgust, 
ever  determined  after  this  to  vote  the  native- 
American  ticket. 

There,  is  Mrs.  JUayic,  a  pale,  delicate,  bright- 
eyed  woman:  she  stands  like  an  Elizabeth  Fry 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  283 

among  prisoners.  Short,  and  small  in  stature, 
with  no  physical  force,  mild  in  her  eye,  and  calm 
in  her  speech ;  yet  her  words  settle  on  their 
hearts  like  balls  of  lead,  and  her  calm,  confident 
look  tells  them  that  she  expects  to  be  obeyed. 
She  looks,  and  she  commands  attention ;  she 
speaks,  and  is  obeyed.  She  has  a  certain  mag 
netic  influence  that  wins,  charms,  and  awes  to 
submission,  when  more  pretentious  powers  fail. 

There  is  Mr.  Soft  and  Easy.  He  has  recently 
broken  off  his  sins,  and  is  desirous  of  teaching 
street-boys  in  order  to  atone  for  the  past.  He 
comes  several  miles  on  foot  for  that  purpose, 
and  with  the  best  of  motives  ;  but,  unfortunately, 
he  is  unfitted  for  the  work.  The  boys  at  once 
feel  the  loose  rein,  and  skip  about  like  unbri 
dled  colts.  While  the  old  man  is  making  figures 
on  the  black-board,  they  are  pinning  papers  to 
his  coat-tail.  No  who  requests  them  to  solve 
that  problem ;  some  of  them  commence,  whilst 
others  look  demurely  over  his  shoulder,  pretend 
ing  to  be  attentive,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  are 
chalking  grotesque  figures  on  his  back.  In  vain 
does  the  old  man  try  to  command  order:  he 
leaves  with  a  sad  heart,  mortified  at  their  ingrati 
tude. 

There  is  Miss  Bigotry.  She  is  a  cross  be 
tween  a  true-blue  and  a  hard-shell.  Nothing  is 


284  NED   NEV1NS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

right  but  her  particular  sect  and  creed.  To 
smile  is  a  sin,  and  to  laugh  is  a  crime ;  and  not  to 
bore  everybody  with  the  points  of  her  creed, 
and  button-hole  every  expressman  and  milkman 
and  paper-carrier,  and  pour  into  their  ears  a 
string  of  sectarian  quotations,  would  be  a  dere 
liction  of  duty.  "  Ah,  me  !  "  she  cries,  "  that 
school  is  not  properly  conducted.  Mercy  s'akes ! 
Why  don't  they  read  the  catechism  to  these 
boys,  and  talk  to  them  of  the  'Mystery  of  Baby 
lon,  the  mother  of  harlots,  and  of  that  man  of  sin, 
the  son  of  perdition  ?'  Those  teachers  are  not 
pious  enough.  Why  don't  they  get  these  boys  on 
their  knees,  saying  prayers  and  singing  psalms?" 
—  not  taking  into  account  the  kind  of  boys  she 
had  to  deal  with.  She  asked  one  of  them, 
"  What  church  do  you  attend  ?  "  —  "  I  attend  the 
Catholic  Church,  ma'am  !  Don't  you  think  that  be 
a  good  church?  "  —  "Yes,  J-  suppose  so,"  said 
Miss  Bigotry  in  contempt  and  derision ;  "  good 
as  any  devil's  church,  I  guess."  When  the  boys 
found  that  she  called  their  church  the  Devil's 
Church,  they  could  hardly  be  restrained  from  in 
sulting  her,  both  there  and  on  the  street.  Thus 
ended  her  career  as  teacher  of  street-boys. 

There  stands  Mr.  Hopeless.  He  is  now  only 
a  spectator.  He  was  an  all-confidence  man :  he 
said,  "  Treat  the  boys  well,  and  they  will  use 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.         285 

you  well ;  be  faithful  to  them,  and  they  will  be 
true  to  you."  So  he  commenced,  and  got  his 
pocket  picked  the  first  night.  Then  he  left 
the  school  in  disgust,  being  confirmed  in  the  be 
lief  of  total  depravity.  None  but  those  who 
have  taught  those  young  heathens  know  how 
low  they  have  fallen,  and  how  tightly  their  old 
habits  and  associations  cling  to  them. 

There  is  Mr.  Enthusiast.  He  is  sure  of 
success,  confident  that  he  can  change  the  nature 
of  the  boys  at  once.  He  tells  them  frankly  that 
he  expects  them  to  right  about  face,  and  march 
to  rectitude  forthwith.  He  crowds  on  all  steam, 
taxes  every  nerve ;  but  he  soon  explodes  the 
boiler  of  his  zeal  in  utter  despair. 

There  sits  Mr.  Perseverance,  calm,  collected, 
as  if  about  to  undertake  some  herculean  task. 

"  When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw, 
The  line  too  labors,  and  the  words  move  slow." 

He  has  calculated  the  work  to  be  done,  and 
counted  the  cost.  He  has  to  re-educate  these 
boys,  and  extract  the  roots  of  bitterness  one  by  one. 
They  are  morally  depraved,  intellectually  dissi 
pated;  they  cannot  brook  restraint,  or  concentrate 
their  minds  on  one  beneficent  idea.  Their  bones 
ache  for  action,  and  their  minds  for  excitement ; 
and  they  have  but  little  ambition  to  improve. 


286  NED    NEVINS   THE    NEWSBOY;    OR, 

But,  overcoming  all  these  obstacles,  Mr.  Perse 
verance  at  last  succeeds  by  dint  of  hard  labor, 
and  rescues  many  souls  from  crime. 

There  is  Mrs.  Nelson,  and  Nellie  Nelson,  just 
enough  recovered  from  sickness  to  pay  the 
school  a  visit.  Mrs.  Nelson  no  sooner  sees  a  class 
without  a  teacher  than  she  volunteers  her  ser 
vices,  and  enters  into  the  work  with  all  her 
heart.  At  once  she  attracts  their  attention,  she 
pleases  and  is  pleased;  the  work  is  delightful, — 
just  the  thing  to  occupy  her  strong  mind  and 
energetic  will. 

See  there  !  the  policeman  has  a  boy  by  the 
collar,  and  is  about  to  thrust  him  out  of  doors. 
"  Hold  !  "  said  little  Nellie  Nelson,  "  hold,  Mr. 
Policeman  !  Please  don't  turn  him  out ;  please, 
sir,  let  me  have  that  boy :  I  will  teach  him." 

"  You  toach  him  !  "  sneered  the  policeman :  "  I 
guess  you  will,  you  little  dove  !  Forty  little  bod 
ies  just  like  you  could  have  no  more  impression  on 
him  than  the  blowing  of  the  wind.  He  is  a  jail 
bird  ;  I  have  had  him  up  to  the  station-house  a  doz 
en  times;  nobody  cares  for  him, he's  got  no  friends: 
he  comes  here  only  to  get  out  of  the  cold :  ho 
don't  come  to  learn."-  — "  Never  mind  that," 
said  Nellie,  in  gentle,  persuasive  tones,  her  bright- 
blue  eye  sparkling  with  hope.  "  Give  me  a 
chance,  sir  ;  please  let  me  try  him."  —  "  Well,  I 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  287 

will ;  but  you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about,  Nellie.  There  !  "  —  giving  him  a  jerk 
upon  the  seat,  as  he  sat  him  down  by  her  side, 
—  "there!  teach  him  to  your  heart's  content. 
And  you,  Nick,  if  you  insult  that  girl,  I  will 
have  you  sent  down  to  the  Island  in  less  than 
twenty-four  hours.  Do  you  hear  that?"  —  hit 
ting-  him  a  knock.  "  Yes,  sir,"  Nick  said, 
rubbing  his  head ;  but  Nick  was  too  well 
pleased  to  stay  in  from  the  cold  a  little  while 
longer,  to  complain  of  bruises ;  then  the 
thought  of  .having  such  a  lovely  little  being  for 
a  teacher  awakened  his  curiosity.  Nellie  be 
gan  to  question  him  very  affectionately,  and 
then,  to  soothe  him,  she  placed  her  hand  upon  his 
head  ;  but  she  started  back  in  astonishment  at  his 
strange  replies.  The  boy  was  so  accustomed  to 
be  knocked  on  the  head,  that,  when  she  raised 
her  hand,  he  dodged  back,  and  drew  up  his  fists 
as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow.  "  Don't  be  afraid,  I  am 
not  going  to  strike  you,"  said  Nellie  :  "What  is 
your  name?"  —"1  'hain't  got  no  name,"  said 
Nick,  gruffly.  "  No  name !  well,  what  do  they 
call  you?"  —  "They  calls  me  Nick!  didn't  ye 
hear  him  call  me  so  ?  " — "  Well,  what  else  do 
they  call  you?"  —"Sometimes  they  calls  me 
Nick  Knockdown,  'cause  1  gits  banged  about 'so 
much ;  and  sometimes  Nick  of  the  tuoods,  'causo 
I  sleeps  in  the  woods  when  1  gits  broke." 


288      NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

t 

"  Have  you  no  other  name  ?  "  —  "  Yis  ;  some 
times  they  calls  mo  Old  Nick,  'cause  I  gits  into 
so  many  scrapes.  When  I  was  little,  they  called 
me  Nicholas  Nobody,  'cause  nobody  wouldn't 
own  me,  and  nobody  wouldn't  have  me,  and 
nobody  wouldn't  care  for  me."  —  '-Hadn't  you 
a  father  ?  "  —  "  No  :  not  as  I  knows  on."  — 
"Hadn't  you  a  mother?  "  — "I  'spose  so  ;  don't 
remember  none."-  — "Why  would  nobody  have 
you?" — "'Cause  us  fellers  bo's  of  no  'count. 
There  be  so  many  left  'round  on  the  door-steps 
uow-a-days,  that  nobody  wants  'em." — "Plow 
old  are  you?" — "  Dunno,  —  older  than  I 
oughter  be,  I  guess."  —  "  Have  you  no  friends  ?  " 

—  "Yes:  I  lias  got  one."-— "  Well,  what  did  he 
do  for  you  ?  "   -  "  He  put  me  in  the  lock-up."  — 
"  Put  you  in  the  lock-up  ?     What  was  that  for  ?  " 

—  "'Cause  I  stole  something" — "Ah!  why  did 
you  steal?"  —""Cause  I  couldn't  help  it:  I  was 
hungry,  I  was."    —  "  What  did  you  get?  "  —  "  I 
got  a  piece   of  pie,  and  two  pieces  of  cake."- 

"  Is  he  a  pious  man  ?  "  —  "  Yes  :  I  'spose  so :  he 
took  me  up  for  stealin'  pies."  -  — "  What  other 
reason  have  you  that  he  is  a  pious  man?" 
"  'Cause  he  licks  the  boys  so."  •  —  "  Do  pious  men 
whip  boys  ?  "  —  "  Yes,  they  does  :  they  licks  'em 
like  sixty."  •  —  "  What  do  they  whip  them  for?  " 

—  "Dunno;    guess   they    wants    to   beat   good 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.         289 

things  into  'em  through  the  skin."  —  "  Why  did 
your  friend  whip  the  boys  ?  "  —  "  He  whipped 
'em  'cause  they  come  round  his  door  to  play.  He 
keeps  a  great  big  horse-whip  on  purpose,  he 
does  \  and,  when  he  hears  'em  make  a  noise,  he 
licks  'em  awful." 

"  Do  you  think  that  is  the  way  to  be  a  Chris 
tum?" —  "Don't  know:  good  as  any  way,  I 
guess."  —  "  Can  you  read  ?  "—  "  No."  —  "  Do 
you  know  your  letters?  "  —  "I  knows  some  on 
'era  :  I  knows  the  round  0,  and  crooked  S,  and 
broken-backed  K ;  and  I  knows  T,  what  you  rich 
folks  has  for  to  drink ;  and  I  knows  I,  what  you  looks 
out  of ;  and  C,  what  you  do  when  you  looks.  I 
looked  at  C  on  a  show-bill.  It  said,  '  Go  C,'  and 
cost  a  quarter,  so  the  boys  said."  —  "  Will  you 
try  to  learn  if  I  will  help  you?  "  —  "  No,  tain't 
no  use,"  he  said,  scratching  his  head,  and  ap 
pearing  uneasy  of  restraint.  "  Why  won't  you 
try?  "  —  "  'Cause  I  can't  learn.  Everybody  says  I 
can't  know  notliin',  and  can't  be  nobody,  I  be  sich 
a  numskull."  -—"  Then  what  are  you  going  to  do 
for  a  living  ?  "  —  "I  ain't  going  to  live  :  I  bee's 
goin'  to  kill  myself;  there  ain't  no  use  in  livin'." 

—  "  Oh  !   don't  talk  so.     You  shall  have  friends  : 
there  is  one  that  cares  for  you ;  God  loves  you  !  " 

—  "  Xo,  he  don't.      God  don't  love  street-boys  ; 
nobody  don't  love  us :  we  be  banged  about,  and 

19 


290  NED    KEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  |    OR, 

'spised  by  everybody.  When  we  ask  for  work, 
then  the  man  puts  on  his  spectacles,  and  looks 
at  our  old  clothes ;  then  he*  pulls  off  our  caps, 
and  looks  into  our  heads  ;  then  he  'zaraines  us,— 
this  is  the  way  he  does  it "  (suiting  the  action 
to  the  word,  as  if  placing  a  pair  of  glasses  on 
his  nose,  and  standing  up,  and  bending  over  to 
wards  Her  in  a  comical  manner)  —  "  this  is  the 
way  he  looks  "  (turning  his  head  first  on  one  side 
of  her  cheek,  then  on  the  other) ;  "  then  the  man 
says,  '  No,  I  don't  want  no  sich  lousy  chaps  as 
you.  Begone,  ye  ragamuffins  !  get  out,  I  say,' 
and  he  drives  us  fellers  off  like  as  a  dog.  No, 
God  don't  love  street-boys  ;  nobody  don't  love  us  ; 
we  ain't  fit  for  not.hinV'-  — "But  I  love  you,  I 
do,  Nick,"  patting  him  on  the  shoulder. 
"  You  love  me.  Ha,  ha  !  I  guess  you  du  !  then 
let's  see  how  ye  du  it,  heh?  Let's  see  ye  give  me 
somethin'.  Come,  give  in  )  -i  cent,  then,  if  ye  love 
me,  will  ye?"  extending  his  hand,  and  draw 
ing  near  to  her.  "But  love  is  worth  more  than 
a  cent."  — "  Then  give  me  sornethin'  more  ;  give 
me  a  quarter ;  give  me  that  'ar  gold  ring  on 
your  finger." 

"  But  love  is  worth  more  than  silver  or  gold  : 
it  is  better  than  all  the  gold  in  the  world." 
• — "Well,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Nick,  scratch 
ing  his  head  in  a  thoughtful  mood ;  but  what 


STEEET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  291 

are  ye  goin'  to  give  me,  any  way?"  —  "I  am 
going  to  give  you' that  which  is  better  than 
money,  which  cannot  be  stolen  from  you,  and 
which  will  make  a  man  of  you." — "Oh,  pooh! 
don't  be  foolin'  a  feller  ;  I'm  tired,  I  want  to  go." 

But  Nellie  would  not  let  him  go  until  she  had 
got  control  of  his  will,  and  made  impressions 
upon  his  heart.  She  awakened  in  him  an  ambi 
tion  and  a  hope,  that  he  little  dreamed  of:  he 
felt  that  he  could  yet  learn  to  read,  and  become 
a  man.  The  concentration  of  his  thoughts  be 
came  a  wonder  both  to  himself  and  all  that  knew 
him.  He  would  often  go  to  Nellie's  house  to 
ask  questions,  and  report  progress,  so  long  as 
her  health  would  permit ;  and,  when  that  failed 
her,  nobody  was  more  sad,  and  none  felt  its  loss 
more,  than  Nicholas  Nobody. 

It  was  decided,  that,  upon  the  termination  of 
the  night-school,  Nicholas  should  be  received 
into  the  household  of  Mrs.  Nelson,  where,  with 
the  united  efforts  of  Nellie  and  herself,  the 
work  of  reformation  might  be  still  further  ad 
vanced. 


CHAPTER    XXYIIL 

HOW  NICHOLAS  NOBODY  WAS   RECLAIMED. 

HE  work  of  reforming  Nicholas  Nobody 
was  not  accomplished  in  a  moment.  His 
crabbed  nature  was  not  subdued  at 


once.  His  ideas  of  property,  right  and 
wrong,  truth  and  honesty,  were  not 
rectified  without  many  a  severe  and 
trying  struggle.  He  seemed  to  have  an  in 
telligence  entirely  his  own,  perfectly  origi 
nal,  and  was  possessed  of  no  little  shrewdness 
and  acuteness  in  many  things.  Mrs.  Nelson 
found  that  she  had  caught  a  tartar  when  she 
introduced  him  into  her  parlor.  Its  profuse 
ornaments  were  too  tempting  for  a  boy  of  his 
peculiar  ideas  respecting  the  property-rights  of 
meum  et  tuum.  He  gazed  about  the  room  with 
the  sharp  eye  of  a  revenue-collector,  scrutiniz 
ing  goods  contraband  for  confiscation. 

"  Where  is  my  porte-monnaie  that  lay  on  the 
mantle-piece  ? "  said  Mrs.  Nelson  to  Nicholas, 
becoming  alarmed.  "  Dunno,  mum :  I  hain't 
got  it."  Well,  sir,  how  did  you  buy  that  gold 

292 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  293 

breast-pin  ? "  - "  Bought  it  with  money,  in 
course.''  "  What  money? "  —  "  Money  what  I  seed 
layin'  'round."  —  "  It  was  my  money,  you  rogue 
you.  Now,  where  is  the  purse  ?  "  —  ''  Dunno." 
—  "  Don't  know,  Nicholas,  when  you  stole  it  ?  " 

—  "  Dunno  :  no,  I  don't."  —  "  What  have  you 
done  with  it?"  —  "  Threw  it  away,  mum.  There 
weren't  nuthin'  in  it."  — "Where  is  the  money, 
than  ?  "  —  «  Ain't  got  none."  —  "  What  have  you 
done  with  it  ?  "  —  "  Spent  it ;  took  the  fellers  to 
the  .theatre."  —  "Well,  Nicholas,  do  you  think 
that  is  right?  " — "  Guess  so.  Findin'  is  having 
you  know,  mum."  —  "  Yes  ;  but  I  didn't  lose  it." 

-"Can't  help  it:  it's  gone,  mum."  — "What 
else  have  you  taken,  Nicholas  ?  "  —  "  Ain't  taken 
nuthin'  much."  -  -  "  Nothing-  much  !  tell  me 
what  you  have  taken,"  she  said,  becoming- 
startled  with  fearful  apprehensions.  "  Dunno : 
nuthin'  as  is  worth  nuthin',  I  guess."  —  "  Let  me 
examine  your  pockets,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  com 
mand.  "  There  !  here  is  a  bronze  statuette  of 
Webster  ;  and,  I  do  declare,  a  medallion  of  Lin 
coln.  What  in  the  world  was  you  going  to  do 
with  them?  "  —  "  Dunno.  I  likes  to  have  some- 
thin'  in  my  pockets  to  throw  at  the  fellers."  — 
"  We!l,  if  this  isn't  the  height  of  impudence. 
You  d;>n't  understand  the  meum  et  tuum  in  re 
gard  to  the  rights  of  property,  do  you  ? "  — 


294      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  :  OR, 

"Mum  te  um?  Why,  who  is  she,  mum?"  — 
"  No  matter  !  I  will  search  your  other  pockets : 
I  believe  it  pays.  As  I  live,  here  is  Nellie's 
gold  watch !  and  you  call  this  nothing,  do  you  ? 
Oh,  you  impertinent  thief!  how  could  you  be  so 
wicked  and  ungrateful?  I  must  at  once  turn 
you  from  the  house."  —  "  What's  that  for?  "  said 
Nick,  with  a  look  of  surprise.  "  It  won't  do  me  no 
good  to  turn  me  off."  —  "  It  will  teach  you  to 
appreciate  a  good  home."-  — "I  allus  did  spre- 
ciate  um,  mum."  —  "I  should  think  you  did, 
with  a  vengeance  !  Now,  Nicholas,  are  you  not 
sorry  for  stealing  from  your  best  friend  ?  "  — 
"  S'pose  so;  I  didn't  mean  nuthin'."  —"You 
didn't  mean  to  be  caught,  I  suppose.  0  Nich 
olas  !  I  deeply  regret  ever  having  taken  an  inter 
est  in  you,  you  are  so  dishonest  and  ungrateful : 
you  don't  appreciate  any  kindness  that  is  shown 
.you.  I  fear  you  will  come  to  no  good  end." 
•''  I'll  try  to  be  gooder,"  said  Nick,  dropping  his 
head,  and  looking  at  the  figures  on  the  carpet, — 
"  I'll  try  to  bo  gooder  if  you  won't  turn  me  off, 
and  talk  so."  —  "  Ah,  it's  no  use,  Nicholas  !  you 
don't  care  for  anybody'or  anything:  you  will 
not  try."  —  "  Yis,  I  will  try  too  :  I  do  care  for  you 
mum,"  said  he,  the  tears  starting  in  his  eyes. 
"  You  has  been  so  good  to  mo,  an'  let  me  come 
here,  an'  gin  me  things  ;  but  somehow,  T  bees 
sich  a  hard  un,  I  allus  be  doin'  wrong." 


STEEET    LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  295 

Mrs.  Nelson  seeing  his  penitential  tears,  and 
finding  him  tractable,  discovered  some  signs  of 
hope,  and  began  to  impress  on  his  mind  the  duty 
of  obedience,  and  the  love  and  fear  of  God. 

.Nicholas  appeared  deeply  affected,  and  seemed 
to  realize  in  some  measure  his  accountability  to 
God,  and  his  duty  to  himself  and  fellow-men. 
So  she  dismissed  him,  trusting  that  the  lessou 
would  prove  beneficial. 

Nicholas,  on  his  way  out  through  the  kitchen, 
encountered  Dinah.  Now  Dinah  and  Nick,  from 
the  first,  had  agreed  to  disagree,  and  many  a  ruse 
de  guerre  they  resorted  to  ;  but  Nick,-  by  his 
shrewdness  and  adroitness,  generally  came  off 
conqueror.' 

"  La  sus !  hab  you  come  here  again,  you 
Nicklesum  Nobody  ?  La  sus  !  how  sheepish 
you  do  look  !  Guess  you  have  been  doin'  sumthin', 
and  missus  found  ye  out,  heh  ?  "  —  "Hush  up, 
you  chimbly-sweep  !  who  be  a-talkin'  to  you  ?  " 
said  Nick,  starting  up  in  anger. 

•'  La  sus  !  ye  l>e  getting  right  smart !  How 
awful  toppiu'  ye  is  !  Hope  missus  will  lick  ye 
awful  de  next  time." 

"  I'll  lick  you"  said  Nick,  "  if  you  don't  shot 
up,"  seizing  an  armful  of  clothes  which'  she  was 
ironing,  and  throwing  them  over  her  head. 

Dinah,  shaking  them  off,  said,  as  her  dark  face 


296  NED    NEV1NS   THE    NEWSBOY  |    OR, 

appeared  through  the  white  clothes,  like  a  black 
berry  in  a  pan  of  milk,  "  See  here,  you  limb  of 
Satin!  muxing  up  all  desefine  clothes;  you  must 
quit  dis  ar  work;  you  ain't  for  to  do  no  sich  mis- 
chief  in  my  part  ob  de  house  :  does  ye  hear  ?  I'll 
swash  you  all  ober  with  de  dish-cloff,  ve  Nickle- 

•/  j    •, 

sum  Nothin !  Uo  way  dar,  'bout  yer  bizzness, 
or,  I  do  declar',  I'll  throw  sumthin'."  — "  Yah, 
yah,  yah  !  "  sneered  Nick,  "_ye  can't  catch 
rue :  ye  can't  see  nothin'  nor  nobody.  Who's 
ai'eard  ?  "  Dinah,  getting  into  fever-heat,  replies, 
"  Ye  be  a  poor,  dirty  wagabone  !  You  cum  a-here, 
insultin'  a  quality  woman  like  me,  heh  ?  Guess 
ye  better  be  gwying  away,  an'  right  smart  too. 
You  nebber  hadn't  no  gemman  father,  you 
didn't,"  Nick,  resenting  the  intended  insult,  said, 
"  I  bees  as  good  as  you  bees,  and  a  pile  gooder. 
You  don't  know  who  your  father  bees  no  more 
nor  I,  'cause  you  run  wild-like.  You  be  dirty 
more  nor  I,  an'  sand-paper  won't  scratch  um' 
black  off  you  nohow."  Nick  dodged  his  head 
to  escape  the  dish-water,  which  Dinah  seemed 
always  to  have  at  hand  when  any  disrespectful 
allusion  was  made  to  her  color ;  and  crying, 
"  Yah,  yah,  yah!  quality  gal!  you  be  a  smart 
un',"  bea"t  a  hasty  retreat. 

In  his  exit,  he  stumbled  against  pussy,  who, 
from  his  first  appearance  in  the  house,  became 


STEEET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  297 

terrified  at  him,  and  who  at  once  put  herself  on 
the  defensive,  leaving  upon  him  striking  marks 
of  her  displeasure  ;  but,  generally,  the  cat  was 
the  more  humane  of  the  two. 

With  all  Nick's  peculiarities  of  temperament, 
his  love  of  fun  and  mischief,  his  disposition  to 
teaze  arid  quarrel,  his  thirst  for  revenge  for  real 
or  imaginary  wrongs,  it  was  singular  to  witness 
his  tenderness  and  watchfulness  over  Nellie. 
She  seemed  his  guiding-star,  leading  him  through 
many  difficulties  and  dangers,  and  pointing  him 
to  the  God  of  the  fatherless.  In  all  his  tribula 
tions,  doubts,  or  perplexities,  she  was  his  sole 
confidant :  and  he  received  her  decisions  as 
from  an  angel  of  heaven.  He  would  watch 
every  opportunity  to  do  her  some  little  favor, 
and  render  her  assistance  in  a  thousand  ways. 

"  Nicholas,  come  here  !  "  said  Nellie,  on  a 
beautiful  May  morning.  "  Do  }'ou  love  flowers? 
You  know  God  made  the  flowers  ;  and  now  I  have 
found  a  handsome  bouquet  in  my  own  little  vase. 
I  didn't  put  it  there  ;  and  I  know  there  are  no 
fairies  about,  to  do  such  things.  Do  you  know 
who  put  them  there  ?  "  Nicholas,  rejoicing  that 
she  was  pleased  at  his  offering,  forgot  the  weary 
tramp  he  took  early  that  morning  to  secure  them, 
and  replied,  "  Everybody  likes  Mayflowers,  an'  I 
thought  you  might ;  sol  put  them  there."  —  "You 


298      NED  NKVIXS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

are  very  kind,  Nicholas.  How  much  joy  and  pleas 
ure  it  gives  us,  if  we  can  but  look  away  from 
self,  and  endeavor  to  add  to  the  comfort  of 
au.oth.er !  Now  you  feel  happier  than  if  you 
had  taken  these  flowers  into  your  own  room, 
don't  you?  -I  know  you  do,  and  I  feel  very 
grateful  for  them  ;  for  you  know,  Nicholas,  I  can't 
go  out  into  the  beautiful  green  fields,  and  run 
round,  nor  roam  over  hill  and  dale,  now.  And, 
Nick,  the  good  book  says,  "  It's  more  blessed  to 
give  than  to  receive;"  so,  as  you  have  com 
menced  the  month  with  such  a  good  start,  I 
earnestly  hope  you  will  continue  through  to  the 
end.  And  now,  Nick,  I  have  something  serious  to 
say  to  you.  You  have  some  good  qualities;  you 
have  a  tender  heart  and  willing  disposition ;  but 
you  are  dishonest.  This  must  prove  your  ruin. 
I  fear  the  jail  and  the  gallows  stand  looming  up 
before  you.  There  is  only  one  hope  ;  that  is,  in 
turning  right  about,  aud  breaking  off  at  once. 
Now,  Nicholas,  you  knew  it  was  wicked  to  steal 
my  watch.  You  thought  nobody  saw  you  :  but 
there  was  one  eye  upon  you,  —  the  all-seeing  eye 
of  'God.  His  eye  is  ever  upon  you  ;  ho  sees  all 
your  sins  and  crimes;  and  he  will  surely  punish 
the  guilty."  Nick  was  abashed  at  her  reference 
to  the  watch,  and  said,  "  I  only  took  it  for  fun, 
to  wear  a  day  or  two  among  the  boys."  -  —  "  But," 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  299 

Nellie  replied,  "  you  couldn't  have  taken  the 
money  for  fun.  0  Nicholas  !  you  are  a  bad  boy. 
I  fear  you  arc  lost ;  what  can  I  do  to  save 
you?"' 

"  Oh,  don't  think  so  hard  of  me,  Nellie  !  don't 
you  give  me  over,  'cause  then  I'll  wish  I  were 
dead,  and  buried  in  the  buryin'-ground."  •  —  "  But 
I  can't  help  you,  when  you  are  dishonest." 

"  Then,  Nellie,  I'll  try  to  be  honest :  1  will  try. 
I  won't  touch  nulhin'  'cept  I  ask  leave  :  I  will 
be  gooder,  if  you  will  only  trust  me." 

"  Ah  !  you  have  said  that  before :  how  useless 
for  me  to  try.  What  hope  is  there  for  you?"  — 
"Oh,  don't  say  so,  Nellie  !  you'll 'scourage  me.  I 
feel  kinder  differenter,  somehow;  an'  I  wants  to 
do  right,  I  do,"  said  he,  bursting  into  tears  ; 
"  an'  I  will  do  right,  —  yes  I  will,  God  knows  I 
will,  Nellie, —  if  you  will  forgive  me,  this  time." 

—  "  But  you  can't  be  good  in  your  own  strength, 
Nicholas :  you  need  God  to  help  you." 

.  "  Yes,  I  do  needs  God  to  help. rne.  How  can  I 
git  God  to  help  me  ?  'cause  I  do  want  to  be  good, 
truly,  Nellie  !  an'  I  don't  want  you  to  think  bad 
of  me,  I  don't." 

"  Ah,  Nicholas  !  if  I  thought  you  were  really  in 
earnest,  how  cheerfully  I  would  labor  for  you  !  " 

—  "  But  I  be  in  earnest,  Nellie :  I  be  'tirmined  to 
do  better.     0  Nellie  !  try  me,  an'  see  if  I  ain't  in 


300  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

earnest.  Oh,  don't  let  Mrs.  Nelson  send  me  ofl'! 
'cause  then  I  would  be  wickeder,  an'  lost  for 
certain." 

"  Well,.  Nicholas,  if  you  are  resolved  to  do 
right,  I  will  give  you  some  encouragement  from 
the  Scriptures.  You  know  you  are  a  great  sin 
ner;  you  have  broken  God's  holy  law;  but  for 
you  there  is  hope,  there  is  a  Saviour.  If  you 
will  but  put  your  trust  in  him,  he  will  save  you 
from  your  sins.  i  Though  your  sins  be  as 
scarlet,  they  shall  be  as  white  as  snow.'  ' 

"  Oh  !  how  can  I  find  this  Saviour?  how  can  I 
be  forgiven?  how  can  I  be  gooder,  Nellie?" 

"  By  telling  Jesus  all  your  sins,  and  asking 
him  to  take  them  away."-  —  "  Where  will  I  go  to 
tell  him?" 

"  You  needn't  go  anywhere  :  Jesus  is  here. 
I  feel  him  in  my  heart.  You  have  only  to  stop 
doing  wrong,  say  that  you  are  sorry,  and  pray 
that  he  might  forgive  you." 

"  Oh  !  I  can't  pray,  Nellie.  I  be  such  a  hard 
'un;  tain't  no  use  :  Jesus  wouldn't  hear  me, 
nohow."  — "Yes  he  will,  Nicholas.  He  came 
into  the  world  to  save  just  such  sinners  as  you." 

"  But  /  can't  pray,  Nellie  :  I  don't  know  what 
to  say.  You  pray :  you  be  such  a  angel  like, 
God  will  hear  you."  —  "  I  will  pray  for  you,  Nicho 
las,  if  you  will  get  down  on  your  knees  with 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON*.  301 

me,  atid  try  to  pray  for  yourself."  The  boy 
gladly  consented  ;  and  Nellie,  taking  his  hand, 
knelt  down  by  his  sideband  poured  out  her  heart 
to  God  in  prayer.  In  her  prayer,  she  mentioned 
his  trials,  exposures,  and  temptations  in  the 
street.  A  poor,  fatherless,  friendless  boy, 
knocked  and  beaten  by  everybody,  without 
one  kind  word  to  cheer  him,  or  one  smiling  look 
of  encouragement,  having  no  adviser,  and  no 
Christian  heart  to  point  him  to  the  Saviour. 

"  0  God  !  "  she  cried.  "  Thou  hast  promised 
to  be  a  father  to  the  fatherless.  Oh  look  in 
pity  on  this  poor  orphan  boy  !  forgive  his  sins, 
teach  him  how  to  pray,  save  his  soul  from 
death."  At  this  prayer,  Nick's  heart  was  touched, 
and  he  cried  bitterly  to  think  what  a  great  sin 
ner  he  had  been,  and  how  good  God  was  to  send 
him  such  a  friend  as  Nellie  ;  and,  through  his 
sobs,  he  promised  her,  that,  from  that  time  forth, 
he  would  be  a  better  boy. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

CREATURES    OF    THE    COAL-DUMP.  —  NED  AND  DINAH 
IN    A    CONFAB. 

)AKE  up,  Eddie,  and  open  the  door !  I 
has  got  some  breakfast  for  ye,  poor  dar- 
lin'  crathur,"  said  the  old'  Irishwoman, 
with  pipe  in  her  mouth,  as  she  came  to 
Ned's  door,  fearing,  that,  from  the  effects 
of  his  sickness,  he  would  not  be  able  to 
rise.  Oh!  ye  has  got  up,  has  ye?  ye  be  much 
bater,  heh?  Lord  bless  yer  latle  heart,  yer  be  a 
lookin'  bater  intirely  !  Speak,  darling  !  I  thought 
ye  was  goin'  to  die,  an'  be  wid  yer  poor  sainted 
mother.  Cheer  up,  my  latle  !  here  be  some  mate, 
an'  some  brade,  an'  a  latle  tae ;  now  fall  to,  and 
ate  like  a  hungry  latle  pig." 

Ned  was  sick  and  sore,  but  would  not  give  up 
in  despair.  He  rose,  determined  to  shake  oil 
his  sorrow,  and  to  remember  this  benevolent 
woman's  kindness,  by  getting  her  coal  enough  to 
pay  her  for  all  her  trouble.  So  he  rallied  all  his 
energies,  took  his  basket  and  hoe,  and  started  for 
the  dump. 

302 


STREET   LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  303 

At  the  same  time,  Mr.  Nelson  had  sent  Dinah 
to  visit  Ned ;  but,  not  finding  him  at  home  in  Or 
ange  Laue,  she  followed  on,  and  found  him  at  last 
at  the  coal-dump.  Here  she  saw  him  in  strange 
company,  —  strange  indeed  for  a  boy  of  his  pre 
tensions.  She  instinctively  recoiled  from  the 
scene  before  her. 

Now,  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  society  on 
these  refuse-banks  is  not  the  most  virtuous,  se 
le.-i,  or  elite.  Neither  is  it,  properly  speaking, 
Boston  society  ;  for  it  is  essentially  foreign  in  its 
composition.  Its  brogue  sounds  of  court  life ; 
but,  unfortunately,  it  has  more  of  the  police  ver 
nacular  in  its  ring  than  of  kingly  patronage.  It 
is  what  may  be  termed  "  mixed  "  society.  Mixed 
indeed,  it  is ;  and  sometimes,  by  the  clouds  of 
dust  arising  from  the  ash-carts,  when  all  hands 
are  squabbling  over  the  emptied  contents,  for  the 
much-coveted  prizes,  the  society  is  inextricably 
mixed.  Every  society  has  its  moral  standard,  its 
ultimatum.  Among  this  people,  the  ne  plus  ultra 
of  their  ambition  is  the  democratic  idea  of  individ 
ual  sovereignty.  This  is  often  made  manifest  by 
the  free  use  of  nature's  defenders  in  assaults  and 
defences  for  the  protection  of  life  and  property. 
There  are  no  poets  or  artists  here ;  but,  what  is 
better,  there  are  subjects  for  both  the  poet  and 
artist,  as  well  as  the  philanthropist.  All  society 


304  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY;    OR, 

has  its  relief  picture:  even  beggars  may  boast  of 
heroes.  A  blind  Belisarius  with  his  medal,  on 
which  was  inscribed,  "  Gloria  Romanorum"  for 
restoring  to  Justinian  his  empire,  may  have  been 
a  beggar.  But  there  is  no  Beiisarius  here. 
Homer,  the  prince  of  poets,  may  have  been 
among  their  number,  of  whom  it  is  sung,  — 

"  Seven  cities  claimed  great  Homer  dead, 
Through  which  the  living  Homer  begged  his  bread." 

But  we  may  safely  affirm,  that  no  poet  par 
excellence  is  found  among  the  coal-pickers  and 
beggars  of  Boston.  Columbus  may  have  begged 
food  at  the  convent  of  La  Rabida  for  himself  and 
son  Diego;  but  we  may  assert,  without  fear  of 
contradiction,  that  there  is  no  discoverer  of  a 
new  world  among  the  dirt-pawers  on  the  now 
territory  of  the  Back  Bay. 

Morally,  tjiese  vagrants  are  among  the  lowest 
classes  of  mamifferous  species.  As  carrion,  in 
summer's  day,  teems  with  animated  nature,  so  do 
these  ash-heaps  arid  refuse-banks  teem  with  the 
lowest,  debased,  most  abject  specimens  of  de 
praved  humanity  that  ever  swept  on  the  tide- 
wave  of  foreign  emigration.  Why  boys  and  girls 
are  allowed  to  congregate  here,  and  become  a 
prey  to  these  hags  and  harpies,  is  a  mystery. 

As  we  said,  Dinah  recoiled  from  the  sight. 
Now,  Dinah  was  dressed  in  her  best  attire,  — 


VIEW  OP  THE  COAL  DUMP.    NED  AND  DINAH  IN  A  CONFAB. 
"  La,  SUB  !    Niggers  would  n't  do  dat  nr  work  no  how !     Dey  lets  de  white 
folks  do  dat !  ha !  ha !  ha !     La,  Sus  !  ye  has  to  be  right  smart,  ye  has,  to  be 
»  'spectable  ulgger."    Page  305. 


STREET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  300 

silks,  tassels,  ribbons,  flamingo,  et  cetera;  and, 
when  she  saw  the  extreme  degradation  of  these 
creatures,  she  felt  a  sense  of  her  own  importance. 
She  thought  "  right  smart "  of  herself;  and,  toss 
ing  up  her  head,  she  strutted  about  large  as  life. 
She  said,  "  0  Ned  !  I  has  found  ye.  La  sus  ! 
here  ye  is,  fur  sure  ;  right  down  in  de  dirt. 
Tush !  fudge  !  what  company  ye  hab  got  into, 
heh  ?  I  guess  dese  be  de  Yankee  mudsills,  or 
some  udder  sills,  heh  ?  I  do  declar  !  if  day  ain't 
de  lowest  folks  ob  de  human  animals  dat  I  ebber 
did  see.  Dese  be  de  Yankee  spectators,  I  guess, 
—  spec'latin'  in  de  coal  mines,  an'  de  cotton  cloff, 
heh?.  La  sus!  this  does  cap  de  climax.  Dey 
say  de  slabe  be  a  dirty  critter  ;  but,  whedder  he 
be  or  no,  he  wouldn't  do  dis  ere  work,  no  how. 
No  nigger  be  like  dese  folks  ;  he  wouldn't  creep 
like  a  worm  in  de  dirt  and  ashes ;  he  wouldn't 
be  a  scatchin'  arter  leetle  bits  ob  rags  and  coal : 
no,  riot  he  !  He  hab  more  'spect  for  hisself  than 
dat.  Niggers  won't  do  dirty  work,  nohow. 
Golly,  day  leal)  dat  to  de  white  folks.  Day  be 
too  toppin  :  day  lets  de  mudsills  do  de  scriibbin' 
and  de  scrapin',  and  de  pawin'  on  de  dump,  heh? 
Ya  !  ya  !  ya  !  Ned,  what  does  yer  mean,  bein' 
wid  such  critters,  a  right  smart  lad  like  you  V 
See  dat  old  woman  puttin'  a  basket  ob  coal  on 
her  head.  La  sus  !  she  ain't  got  clothes  'nough 
20 


30G      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OK, 

on  her  back  to  make  a  crow's  nest.  What,  Ned  ! 
am  dis  yer  Norfern  society  ?  Well,  I  guess  us 
niggers  better  come  up  Norf,  and  teach  yer  Yan 
kees  some  lessons  on  'priety  and  etchepet '•  (she 
meant  etiquette).  "  Dar,  Ned  !  you  needn't 
laugh  'cause  I  can't  pernounce  yer  big  words. 
See  that  udder  woman,  scratchin'  and  pawin'  iii 
de  dirt,  just  as  if  she  lubbed  it.  Show  me  a  slabe 
dat  would  do  dat,  heli?  See  dat  great  strong 
man,  dat  great  lazy  lubber !  what  he  do  here  ? 
Why  ain't  he  to  work  ?  He  could  earn  a  heap 
ob  money.  He  be  right  in  de  prime  ob  life  ;  an' 
dar  he  be  pickin'  lectio  bits  ob  coal.  La  sus  ! 
if  Massa  Lee  had  him,  I  guess  he'd  make  him 
stir  his  stumps  !  See  dem  lookin'  gals  dere  ! 
how  dey  look  !  and  how  dey  do  talk  !  What  stuff 
dat  be  for  gals  to  say  !  Ned,  does  ye  hear  it  ?  an' 
don't  ye  blush, and  drap  yer  head  for  shame?  See 
dem  fight,  and  steal  coal  an'  rags  from  one  'nodder. 
Now  de  cartman  hab  to  shake  de  horsewhip  at 
'em  to  stop  'em.  Now  dey  be  fightin'  for  an  old 
boot;  now  for  a  broomstick;  now  de  policeman 
comes,  and  say  he  lock  'em  up  if  day  don't  keep 
still.  La  sus  !  be  dis  your  company,  Ned  ?  See 
dem  ar  bad  boys :  day  be  here  all  day,  and  learn 
nuthin'  but  bad  dings,  and  wicked  dings.  Day 
ought  to  be  to  school :  dis  be  no  place  for  boys. 
Ye  tell  about  Yankees  bein'  smart,  able  to  take 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  807 

cure  ob  demselves,  an'  all  that.  La,  sus  !  if  a 
nigger  down  Souf  be  idle  an'  lazy  like  dese  folks, 
inassa  sell  him  to  de  fust  buyer.  Like  de  town 
paupers,  he  let  'em  out  to  de  lowest  bidder. 
La,  sus !  ye  has  to  be  right  smart  to  lib  in  Old 
Wirginny  !  Ye  has  to  be  some  pumpkins  to  be 
a  wallable  slabe :  ye  has  to  be  right  smart  to  be 
a  'spectable  nigger  !  Put  such  lazy  folks  as  dese 
down  Souf,  an'  day  wouldn't  fotch  nuthin';  day 
wouldn't  sell  for  'nough  to  keep  dem  ober  night. 
I  guess  when  day  paw  over  Mrs.  Nelson's  ashes 
day  don't  find  nuthin'  much.  Ya !  ya !  ya ! 
La  sus  !  what  a  world  dis  am  we  lib  in,  heh  ? 
Ned,  why  don't  you  speak,  and  say  sumthin'  ? 
Yo  be  lookin'  as  if  ye  be  'shamed ;  and  I  guess 
ye  be.  Ye  be  'shamed  of  bein'  found  amongst 
such  critters,  heh  ?  " 

Now,  the  truth  is,  Ned  could  have  no  chance 
to  speak  ;  he  could  not  put  in  a  word  edgewise  : 
besides,  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  quailed  not 
a  little  under  Dinah's  lecture,  and  was  not  in 
proper  mood  for  talking  on  that  subject. 

At  last  ho  said,  •'<  Dinah  !  0  Dinah  !  what  did 
you  come  here  for,  to  this  coal-dump  ?  It  is  no 
place  for  you."-  —  "  Nor  you  nudder,  I  guess," 
said  Dinah,  contemptuously  turning  up  her  nose, 
and  showing  the  white  of  her  eye.  "  Say,  what 
did  you  come  here  for  ?  "  said  Ned.  "  La  sus  ! 


308  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY;    OR, 

I  almost  forgot  what  I  did  cum  fur,  my  thoughts 
am  so  'fused  wid  dese  sights.  Well,  dis  be  it: 
Massa  Nelson  hab  sent  for  you,  Ned  ;  he  want  to 
see  you." — "What  does  he  want  of  me?7' 
"  Dunno  ;  s'pose  he  wants  you  to  go  to  work 
again."  — "  Well,  you  may  tell  him  that  I  am 
done  working  for  him ;  so  he  may  set  that  at 
rest."— "What's  dat  ye  say,  Ned  ?  Ye  speak 
as  if  ye  got  yer  back  up !  What  !  won't  work 
for  Massa  Nelson  ?  Why,  how  big  ye  hab  got, 
pickin'  on  de  dump,  heh  ?  Yc  be  quite  toppin ; 
ye  be  a  mighty  big  cock,  struttin'  about,  an' 
crowin'  ober  de  dirt-heap.  Guess  dese  ere  dirt- 
scrapers  make  ye  proud,  heh  ?  Won't  work  for 
Massa  Nelson  ?  Den  it  more  'spectable  to  work 
here  dan  to  work  for  a  merchant,  an'  a. gentle 
man,  heh  ?  " 

"  Gentleman  !  gentleman!  did  you  say?  don't 
call  that  man  a  gentleman :  he  is  a  villain,  a 
rascal! '? 

"  Tut,  tut,  Ned  !  look  out,  sir,  look  out  for 
yer  tongue  !  be  carfull  what  ye  say.  If  Massa 
Nelson  hear  dat,  he  hab  you  put  in  de  lock-up. 
He  has  got  money,  an'  he  can  send  you  off  to  de 
Island  right  quick,  he  can." 

"  Let  him  do  it :  I  dare  him  to  do  it.  I  will 
repeat  it  to  his  face :  lie  is  a  mean,  low  villain  !  " 

"  Oh  dear  !  Lordy  massy,  Ned  !  ye  be  a  spilt 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  309 

child ;  I  fieed  that  plain  'nough.  Ye  be  cock  ob 
de  walk  ober  dese  ar  dunghills  :  it  is  all  ober  wid 
ye  now.  Oh  dear  !  what  a  change  hab  cum  ober 
ye  !  Ye  used  to  be  meek  an'  tender  like,  an'  talk 
about  yer  sick  in  udder ;  but  now  —  whew  !  —  ye 
be  like  a  rattlesnake  !  Bang  what  a  gun  !  La  sus  ! 
tell  me  what  Massa  Nelson  hab  done  dat  you 
speak  so.  " 

"  Done  !  done  !  did  you  say  ?  Why,  didn't  you 
see  it  with  your  own  eyes  ?  Why  do  you  ask 
me  ?  " 

'•  La  sus  !  he  only  gib  you  a  lickin' :  dat's  nuthin'. 
I  used  to  git  a  lickin'  eber  day ;  I  got  so  used  to 
it,  dat  I  lubbed  it ;  I  couldn't  eat  rny  supper  wid- 
out  a  lickin';  it  started  up  my  appetite,  an'  made 
me  feel  sorter,  kinder  good  arter  it.  " 

"  Well,  it  may  do  for  a  slave  to  speak  lightly  of 
whipping,  but  not  for  a  free-born  American  boy. 
Besides.  I  have  just  learned  something  bad  about 
Mr.  Nelson :  he  was  the  means  of  my  mother's 
death  (his  eyes  filling  with  tears);  yes,  my 
sainted  mother,  — a  woman  as  much  better  than 
he  as  he  is  better  than  Satan  himself.  Do  you 
think  I  can  bear  that  ?  " 

"  La  sus !  Ned,  somebody  has  been  a-foolin' 
ye.  I  tell  ye,  young  lad,  ye  better  look  'out  how 
ye  'cuse  Massa  Nelson :  he  hab  got  money,  an'  he 
fetch  you  up  in  less  than  no  time,  boy  !  look  out, 


310  NED    NEV1NS    THE    NEWSBOY  |    OR, 

sar,  how  you  insult  him." —  "  And  how  is  it,"  said 
Ned,  "  that  you  have  all  at  once  fallen  in  love 
with  such  a  man  ?  What  does  it  mean  ?  "•  —  "  Well, 
Ned,  I  tell  ye.  Ye  know  ye  got  de  licken,  den 
I  got  a  licken  too.  It  didn't  hurt  me  much  ;  'but 
it  made  me  awful  mad  ;  and,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
Nellie,  I  would  have  left  Mrs.  Nelson  in  less  dan 
no  time.  But  Nellie  was  so  kind,  and  taught  me 
to  read,  and  prayed  for  me  so  sweet,  I  couldn't 
leab  Nellie,  no  how.  Den,  Nellie,  arter  dat,  went 
to  pray  in'  for  her  m  udder.  Jerusalem  !  how  she 
prayed ;  an',  don't  ye  think,  Mrs.  Nelson  turned 
right  squar  about.  She  say  her  prayers  now, 
an'  go  to  de  meetin',  an'  gib  to  de  poor ;  an'  she  go 
into  de  night-school,  an'  takes  a  class,  an'  let  Nel 
lie  teach  de  boys  too.  So  you  see  a  mighty 
change  hab  cum  ober  her.  She  used  to  hate  de 
boys  ob  de  street,  and  chase  dem  off  wid  de 
broomstick.  And  Massa  Nelson  seems  better 
dan  he  used  to  was  somehow  :  he  stay  in  de 
house  more,  and  lub  .to  talk  wid  Nellie  ;  an'  he 
lub  Mrs.  Nelson  now,  an'  we  all  gits  along  fuss 
rate.  So  you  see  what  a  good  home  you  lose 
if  you  leab  him.  If  ye  knows  which  side  of  do 
bread  de  butter  be  on,  ye  will  come." 

"I  can't  come  under  the  present  circum 
stances,"  said  Ned.  "  If  Mrs.  Nelson  has  become 
a  Christian,  she  will  see  that  justice  is  done  me ; 


STREET   LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  311 

and  ,1  wait  for  that."  —  "Justice,  did  ye  say? 
justice  to  ye,  dat  call  Massa  Nelson  sich  hard 
names  ?  La  sus !  if  ye  be  a-lookin  for  justice, 
I  guess  ye  gits  more  than  ye  bargined  for  :  dat 
ye  does,  heh?  Ya,  ya,  ya  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Ned,  "  I  am  content  to  live 
among  the  lowly,  and  be  poor,  if  I  can  keep 
honest,  and  have  a  good  heart ;  but  I  will  never 
be  disgraced  by  being  whipped  :  no,  never  !  so 
help  me  God  !  Mother  said,  if  I  do  no  wrong, 
something  good  will  come  to  me  ;  and,  God  being 
my  helper,  her  words  shall  be  my  motto  till  I 
die." 

"  Now,  Ned,  I  has  got  somethin'  to  tell  ye  ;  dar 
be  come  to  Mrs.  Nelson's,  since  you  left,  a  low, 
dirty  wagabon'  of  a  feller,  dat  don't  know  nothin' 
'cept  to  blackguard  'spectable  folks,  and  turn 
eber  ding  topsy-turvy  like." 

"  Ah  !  who  is  he  ?  what  is  his  name  ?  "  earnest 
ly  inquired  Ned.  "  Name !  did  ye  say  ?  He 
ain't  got  no  name  ;  he  neber  had  no  name  ;  day 
couldn't  find  no  name  for  sich  a  non-scrip'  in  de 
booktionary.  I  is  awful  feared  dat  Massa  Nelson 
take  a  fancy  to  him  though,  'cause  missus  fetched 
him  from  dat  ar  night-school;  and  she  make  a 
heap  ob  him.  Now,  Ned,  ye  bettor  come,  or  .ye 
lose  ye  chance."  Ned  promised  to  consider  the 
matter  :  so  they  parted. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

NED  SUSPECTED    OF   BOND    EOBBERY,   PERILOUS 

STATE. 

i  ERE'S  the  Heral',  Jirnil,  Trav'ler,  'Rans- 
crip'.  Paper,  sir?"  cried  Ned  Nevins, 
as  he  passed  the  office  of-  Solomon  Levi, 
the  Jew.  "  No,  I  vants  no  paper  ;  but  I 
•*  vants  to  see  you,  Ned,"  said  the  Jew. 
"  Come  in,  my  boy  :  let's  have  von  leetle 
talk.  Ye  has  left  Mr.  Nelson,  heh  ?  He  be  von  bad 
man,  heh  ?  "  —  "  No,  sir  !  "  said  Ned,  "  he  is  not  so 
very  bad;  but  he  beat  me,  and  struck  me:  I' 
shan't  go  back  till  he  makes  'pology."  —  "  Dat's 
right :  stick  to  yer  rights,  and  ye  make  von 
great  man.  Now,  Ned,  I  hash  got  a  plan  tat 
vill  make  ye  rich.  Ye  vill  not  be  compelled  to 
vork  on  te  dump,  nor  sell  papers,  nor  vork  for 
Mr.  Nelson  any  more  for  a  livin'  ;  ye  may  be 
rich  and  smart,  and  dress  fine,  and  have  a  car 
riage,  and  take  te  gals  out  ridin' "  (tickling 
Ned's  ribs  with  a  knowing  smile).  "  Yah,  yah  ! 
ye  can  ride  wid  de  gals  ;  and  ye  can  go  to  'muse- 
merits,  and  live  in  von  nice  house,  and  have 

312 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.         313 

goot  tings  to  eat,  and  be  von  fine  young  gentle 
man.  Does  ye  see?" — "  Yes,  sir  :  I  see  what 
you  mean,"  said  Ned;  but  I  can't  see  where, the 
money  comes  from?"  —  "Tut,  tut!  ye  don't 
look :  I  tell  ye  tar  ish  von  big  heap  of  money  in 
tis  grand  speculation.  Money  come  just  as  free 
as  water  !  Does  ye  hear,  my  boy  ! "  —  "  Yes  !  " 
said  Ned,  "  I  hear  ;  but  I  don't  see  it."  —  "  Veil, 
ten  I  make  ye  see  it  mighty  soon.  But  first  I 
must  Know  if  ye  can  keep  secret  ?  Keep  von 
big  secret,  heh?  Vori  tousand-dollar  secret? 
Can  ye  keep  him,  heh  ?  "  —  "  I  cannot  do  wrong," 
said  Ned.  "Bah,  bah!  I  didn't  say  any  $ting 
about  wrong :  I  asked,  Can  ye  keep  von  secret  ?  " 
—  "  I  can  keep  a  secret  if  it  ain't  wrong,"  said 
Ned:  "my  mother  said,  if  I  do  no  wrong,  some 
thing  good  will  come  to  me." 

"  Nonsense  !  Ned,  ye  be  foolin'.  Ish  it  wrong 
to  make  moneys  ?  Ye  bes  von  leetle  fool ! 
Everybody  loves  moneys.  Money  makes  te  fine 
clothes,  te  fine  carriages,  and  te  fine  houses  ; 
moneys  makes  peoples  rich  and  smart;  moneys 
bcs  ever  ting."  —  "No,  money  ain't  everything," 
said  Ned :  "  an  honest  heart  is  better  that  gold, 
and  '  a  good  name  is  rather  to  be  chosen  than  great 
riches.'  This  much  I  learned  in  Sabbath  school." 

"  Come,  come  !  Ned,  none  of  yer  preachin' ! 
A. way  vit  yer  Sabbath  schools  !  Tay  vont  make 


314       NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY}  OR, 

ye  rich  !  Tay  bring  ye  no  silver  dollar,  no  gold 
dollar,  no  round  ten-dollar  eagle,  no  tousand- 
dollar  greenback;  tay  make  ye  pour  and  de- 
.spised.  Come  !  take  a  leetle  vine  to  drink;  alid 
ye  tink  different.  Vine  vill  cheer  up  yer  young 
heart." 

"  No,  sir  !  I  have  pledged  myself  to  touch  not, 
taste  not,  and  handle  not."-  —  "  Veil,  vat  of  tat? 
Pledges  be  nothiir  ;  everybody  breaks  pledges. 

<w 

Ministers  break  'em  ;  husbands  break  'em  ;  -wives 
break  'em ;  rich  folks  break  'em ;  merchants 
break  'em  ven  day  can  make  a  leetle  more 
moneys  ;  everybody  breaks  em',  I  say,  ven  it  be 
for  tare  interest  to  do  it.  Now,  try  tis  vine  over 
a  pledge,  and  see  if  it  don't  taste  jist  as  goot 
and  sweet.  Yah,  yah!  it  be  sweeter,  I  guess,  for 
te  pledge.  Stolen  waters  be  sweet,  ye  know, 
hell  ?  It  make  yer  eyes  sparkle,  and  yer 
thoughts  bright;  it  make  ye  feel  goot  and  smart 
and  happy.  Come,  cheer  up,  and  take  a  leetle : 
take  von  glass  vid  me.  It  cost  you  nothin'." 

But  the  noble  boy  stood  firm  as  a  rock ;  there 
fore  the  Jew  was  perplexed.  Finding  him 
strong  in  his  determination  to  stand  by  his 
mother's  maxim,  he  said,  "  Here  is  von  goot 
•vatch,  my  lad ;  I  gives  him  to  you  for  von  pres 
ent.  Now  you  can  keep  de  secret,  heh  ?" 

But  Ned   refused  in  such  a  positive  manner 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  315 

that  the  Jew  bade  him  go  about  his  business  for 
"  von  poor,  good-for-nothin'  fool." 

That  night  Mr.  Nelson's  store  was  broken 
open,  and  robbed.  Suspicion  at  once  rested 
upon  Ned  Nevins  and  his  associates.  He  had 
taken  in  some  lodgers  who  were  bad  boys,  and 
they  and  Ned  had  been  scon  loitering  around 
the  premises  that  day.  It  was  known  that  Ned 
had  worked  in  the  store ;  he  knew  the  situation 
of  the-  safe,  the  shape  of  the  key,  the  condition 
of  affairs,  and  ho\v  to  open  the  back  shutters  ; 
he  was  angry,  had  a  spite  against  Mr.  Nelson, 
would  not  work  for  him :  all  this  tended  towards 
his  crimination.  The  truth  is,  the  Jew's  finan 
cial  embarrassments  had  make  him  desperate. 
He  had  met  with  astounding  losses  in  gold  specu 
lations,  and  many  goods  in  his  clothing  store  had 
mysteriously  disappeared ;  he  was  driven  to  a 
strait ;  must  have  relief  in  twenty-four  hours,  or 
go  under.  Now,  the  Jew  was  not  a  malicious 
and  brutal  man,  like  his  too!  and  accomplice, 
Bill  Bowlegs,  but  was  simply  acting  on  false 
premises.  Confidence  is  the  soul  of  trade: 
Levi  had  no  confidence  in  God,  man,  or  the 
principles  of  morality.  That  confidence  must 
be  based  on  the  eternal  principles  of  truth  and 
righteousness  as  revealed  in  the  gospel :  the 
.few 'had  no  gospel.  Truth  and  justice  are  a 


316      NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

man's  commercial  base  of  supplies:  cut  off  his 
base,  and  he  may  forage  for  a  time,  but  must 
eventually  surrender. 

Of  the  two  men,  the  Jew  was  the  more  Dan 
gerous,  because  rapst  jovial  and  attractive.  He 
would  cheat  you  with  smiles.  Bowlegs  was 
harsh  and  repulsive,  of  a  bull-dog  nature  ;  no  one 
would  fall  in  love  with  him :  he  was  fit  for  deeds 
of  -blood.  Levi  was  a  man  of  the  world,  a  fast- 
liver,  generous  in  his  way,  and  accommodating, 
but  destitute  of  moral  principles.*  His  natural 
parts  were  good,  but  he  was  educated  in  the 
wrong  school.  When  making  a  tool  of  Bow- 
legs  to  oppress  poor  needle-women,  he  little 
thought  that  the  man  who  had  starved  and 
cheated  them  might  one  day  try  his  hand  on  his 
old  master.  Bowlegs  had  purloined  goods  as 
adroitly  from  the  Jew  as  he  had  money  from 
the  poor  sewing-girl.  Now  the  Jew  was  driven 
to  extremities  :  money  must  be  had.  He  had  de 
posited  a  large  amount  of  Government  stocks 
with  Mr.  Nelson,  as  surety  for  debt.  He  wished 
to  obtain  them  without  an  equivalent.  He  had 
tampered  with  the  boy,  but  found  him  incor 
ruptible,  and  unfit  for  the  task.  Bowlegs  is 
brought  into  the  ring,  and  does  the  work.  He 
contrived  to  have  the  boys  appear  around  the 
premises  several  times  that  afternoon,  calling  for 


STREET    LIFE   IN    BOSTON.   *  317 

goods  Mr.  Nelson  was  known  not  to  have,  so  as 
to  draw  upon  them  public  suspicion :  yet  they 
were  ignorant  of  the  part  they  were  playing  in 
the  dreadful  drama.  The  Jew  immediately  dis 
posed  of  the  stolen  bonds  to  meet  his  liabilities, 
and  also  to  get  them  on  the  wing  before  the  rob 
bery  should  be  published.  But  fortunately  for 
Mr.  Nelson,  and  for  the  reputation  of  Ned,  the 
numbers  of  the  coupons  had  been  re-corded,  so 
they  were  at  once  advertised  as  protested.  This 
opened  the  eyes  of  the  Jew  to  the  danger  of  his 
situation.  What  could  he  do?  In  twenty-four 
hours  they  would  come  back  on  his  hands :  he 
had  no  other  securities  by  which  to  redeem 
them,  and  no  way  of  escape  from  impending- 
doom  !  To  be  poor  and  penniless  was  heart 
rending  for  a  Jew,  whose  God  was  money ;  but 
to  be  implicated  in  a  robbery,  to  be  tried  and 
condemmed,  and  b&  incarcerated  in  a  prison, 
was  more  than  the  terror-stricken  man  could  en 
dure.  So,  to  relieve  himself  and  his  family  and 
the  courts,  he  committed  suicide  by  poison. 

Poor  Bowlegs  did  not  get  out  of  the  difficulty 
in  so  quiet  a  manner.  He  was  too  brutal  to 
awaken  sympathy :  too  many  injured  ones  were 
ready  to  testify  against  him ;  and  the  general 
opinion  prevailed,  that  he  had  not  only  robbed 
his  master  of  goods,  but  had  stolen  the  bonds 


I*ED    KEVINS    THE   NEWSBOY  ;    Oil, 

from  Mr.  Nelson  unbeknown  to  his  master. 
Levi  was  commiserated  as  an  injured  man ;  but 
Bowlegs  was  tried  and  condemned  on  two  in 
dictments,  and  is  now  working  out  his  sentence 
in  the  Gharlestown  State-Prison. 

Thus  two  characters  disappear  from  the  scene 
of  action.  We  may  as  well  disclose  the  fate  of  two 
others  in  this  connection.  Patrick  Murphy  and 
his  mother,  old  Mag  Murphy,  are  quietly  en 
sconced  on  Deer  Island  ;  one  in  the  House  of  In 
dustry,  the  other  in  the  House  of  Reformation  for 
juvenile  offenders.  Whether  Pat  will  fulfil  the 
intent  of  the  institution  by  reforming  is  a  mooted 
question.  He  now  stands  at  the  wheelbarrow, 
and  his  mother  at  the  wash-tub  and  flat-irons. 
He  fills  up  the  void  of  his  young  life  by  empty 
ing  dirt  on  the  flats:  she  absolves  herself  from 
crime  by  soap  and  water  ;  and,  with  the  flat-iron, 
she  smooths  down  the  wrinkles  of  an  exceed 
ingly  crumpy  character.  Some  of  her  "  lady- 
boarders  ".are  enjoying  the  hospitalities  of  the 
same  institution.  They  are  dressed  in  blue 
frocks  with  short  .  sleeves,  and  white  aprons, 
and,  under  the  regimen  of  Capt.  Payson,  look 
plump  and  hearty.  Pat's  blue,  brass-buttoned, 
long-tailed  coat  is  carefully  rolled  up,  with  his 
roomy  and  airy  unmentionables,  in  a  fitting 
bundle,  labelled,  "No.  212,  Patrick  Murphy." 
They  will  show  a  better  fit  to  his  person  when 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  319 

he  shall  have  grown  to  their  size,  a  few  years 
hence.  On  the  Sabbath,  the  boy  Pat  from  the 
gallery  in  the  chapel  looks  down  on  his  mother 
Mag  on  the  main  floor ;  and  they  exchange  mu 
tual  glances  of  filial  and  maternal  affection.  As 
the  Sabbath  service,  however,  is  not  according  to 
their  creed,  they  do  not  relish  it.  A  bottle  of 
whiskey  would  be  more  inspiring. 

Ned  also  became  unfortunate  about  this  time : 
ho  lost  his  trunk,  which  indeed  was  a  misfor 
tune  :  but  his  taking  in  a  set  of  unruly  boys  for 
lodgers  awakened  suspicion  against  his  charac 
ter,  which  was  a  worse  evil.  One  of  the  boys 
was  a  candy-peddler  at  the  theatre,  one  a  bill- 
carrier,  and  one  a  bill-poster :  all  had  free  access 
to  the  theatre  ;  and,  returning  very  late  at  night, 
they  awakened  the  suspicion  of  the  police.  If 
Ned  were  honest,  why  should  he  fellowship  such 
company  ?  It  is  true  he  took  theni  out  of  pity, 
in  hopes  to  benefit  them :  but,  finding  his  mis 
take,  why  does  he  not  discharge  them  ?  Yet 
this  is  not  an  easy  thing  for  a  friendless,  helpless 
boy.  The  fact  is,  Ned  has  got- into  bad  company: 
his  temper  is  changing,  and  his  chances  for  life 
are  lessening  every  day.  Something  must  be 
done  for  him,  or  he  will  go  the  way  of  many 
others,  who  were  once  as  honest  and  strong- 
minded  and  persevering  as  himself. 

Ned's  trunk  was  stolen,  with  all  the  mementoes 


320  NED    NEVIXS    THE    NEWSBOY. 

of  his  mother,  and  could  not  be  found.  In  vain 
did  he  search  the  stores  of  pawn-brokers,  junk- 
dealers,  and  second-hand  clothing  stores:  lie 
could  get  no  clue  of  them.  Orange  Lane  itself 
was  not  increasing  in  morality  ;  thirteen  wretch- 
os.  of  various  ages  and  sexes,  were  arrested  at 
one  time:  some  for  drunkenness,  some  for  lewd- 
ness,  some  for  stealing  chairs  from  the  sidewalk 
while  people  were  moving,  some  for  stealing 
sheets  from  a  corpse,  and  some  for  burglary.* 
Such  were,  the  surroundings  of  Edward  Nevins, 
the  lamb  of  gentleness,  and  the  child  of  prayer! 
How  long  can  his  young  heart  stem  the  tide  of  in 
iquity  that  threatens  every  moment  to  overwhelm 
him?  Ah!  little  does  the  tinsympathisingcensurist 
know  of  the  bcsetments  and  temptations  that 
befal  an  unprotected  child  in  this  Babylon  of 
iniquity.  He  must  run  the  gauntlet  of  almost 
every  crime.  Hold,  dear  reader !  before  you 
condemn  a  boy  like  this,  pause  for  a  moment, 
and  think  of  his  disadvantages  and  surround 
ings.  Be  sparing  in  your  blame,  be  bountiful  in 
pity. 


*  Since  writing  this  book,  Orange  Lane  has  been  declared  a  nuis 
ance  by  the  city  authorities;  and  its  miserable  dwellings  have  been 
torn  down.  Some  of  the  unfortunate  inmates,  still  clinging  to  the 
cellars,  were  crushed  and  killed  by  the  falling  of  the  walls.  Boston, 
September,  1866. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

MR.  NELSON'S  SECRET  vow.  —  UNFOETUNATE 

OCCURRENCE. 

APA  !  where  do  the  angels  dwell?"  asked 
little  Nellie  Nelson,  as  she  lay  on  her  lit 
tle  bed  one  Sabbath  morning,  while  her 
mother  and  Dinah  had  gone  to  church, 
and  Mr.  Nelson  was  left  to  take  care  of 
the  house.  "Papa  !  where  do  the  angels 
dwell?  Be  they  all  in  heaven,  or  are  some  of 
them  here,  and  in  the  air,  and  on  the  leaves  of 
the  trees?"  —"One  of  them  is  here,  I  guess," 
said  Mr.  Nelson;  "one  as  bright  as  any  of  them  ; 
one  about  your  size,  my  daughter,  with  bright 
blue  eyes,  a  sweet  countenance,  and  tender  heart : 
here  she  is,  all  tucked  up  in  her  little  trundle- 
bed.  Oh,  let  me  kiss  you,  Nellie  !  there,  my  dear, 
a  thousand,  thousand  thanks  for  that !  Oh,  this  is 
angelic !  What  makes  you  ask  about  the  angels?" 
—  '•'  Because,  papa.  I  thought  I  saw  and  felt  them 
around  my  bed."  —  "  So  I  did  just  now  :  I  thought 
I  felt  one  too  (giving  her  another  kiss).  Yes  I 
did,  my  child ;  and  I  see  one  now,  I  guess  (look- 

21  321 


322     NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

ing  into  her  eyes).  Oh,  what  comfort  such  angela 
as  you  bring  to  a  parent's  heart !  You  make  a  little 
heaven  all  around  you :  the  air  is  full  of  music 
where  you  are,  and  the  light  of  your  eyes  speaks 
with  angel  voices,  and  the  breezes  echo  them 
back  to  God.  Cheer  up,  my  darling,  and' talk 
about  the  birds  and  the  flowers,  and  the  pretty 
school-children  :  these  are  angels  enough  for  you. 
Come,  cheer  up,  and  talk  about  something  else." 
—  "  But,  papa,  believe  me,  the  angels  are  here  !  I 
hear  their  voices  !  I  hear  them  call  me  !  Oh,  how 
sweet  they  sing !  " 

"  Pray  what  can  angels  be  here  for,  my  child  ? 
You  are  not  going  off  with  them,  are  you?  You 
are  not  going  to  leave  your  father  and  mother, 
and  all  your  pretty  things,  are  you?"  —  "I 
don't  know,  papa ;  but  I  like  the  angels  best,  be 
cause  they  obey  God,  and  keep  his  command 
ments." 

"  Then  you  don't  love  me  ;  you  don't  love  your 
father."  —  "  Yes,  papa,  I  love  you,  and  pray  for 
you ;  but  then  you  are  not  good  as  the  angels  are." 

"  Not  good !  how  do  you  know  that  I  am  not 
good?"  — "  Because  you  use  strong  drink,  and 
sometimes  you  swear ;  and  you  whipped  Ned, 
and  you  have  been  unkind  to  mamma !  "  —  "  But 
your  mother  has  been  unkind  to  me."  —  "Yes, 
she  was  once  unkind ;  but  God  gave  her  a  new 


STREET    LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  323 

heart,  and  made  her  a  Christian ;  and  now  she  is 
good, and  going  to  heaven."-  —  "  Am  I  not  going 
to  heaven  too  ?  " — "  Oh, no,  papa  !  —  'no  drunkard 
shall  inherit  the  kingdom  of  God.'" — "  You  don't 
call  me  a  drunkard." — "  Yes,  papa !  if  you  get  in 
toxicated,  you  are  a  drunkard."-  — "  Oh,  Nellie! 
you  do  wrong  to  call  me  such  hard  names.  If 
you  were  not  sick,  I  should  be  severe  with  you. 
You  spoil  my  visit  with  you  this  morning.  I 
thought  when  the  house  was  quiet,  and  all  were 
gone,  and  you  and  I  were  here  alone,  we  should 
have  a  nice  little  time ;  and  I  could  talk  with 
Nellie  about  the  good  things  that  we  eat,  and 
the  fine  things  we  wear,  and  about  riches, 
and  pleasure,  and  all  the  nice  things  you  are  to 
have  when  you  get  well." — "  But  riches  don't 
make  us  happy,  papa !  money  won't  save  the 
soul."  -  — ''  I  was  not  talking  about  the  soul :  why 
do  you  get  on  that  subject  ?  "  —  "  Because,  papa, 
the  soul  is  of  the  most  importance ;  the  soul  is 
every  thing :  don't  you  believe  it  ?  "  —  "  I  believe 
we  had  better  talk  about  something  else,"  he 
said  gruffly.  "  No,  papa  !  Nellie  is  going  to  die." 
—  "Don't  say  so,  my  child." — "Yes,  papa  !  I  am 
going  to  die,  and  you  will  have  no  little  girl  on 
earth.  I  shall  be  in  heaven  with  Jesus  and  the  an 
gels.  I  know  papa  will  be  lonely  and  sad  without 
Nellie  :  he  will  have  nobody  to  bring  home  sweet 


324      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  |  OR, 

things  for ;  and  papa  will  want  to  como  and  see 
Nellie  in  heaven.  So  I  want  to  tell  you  how  to 
come,  papa:  may  I  tell  you?''  —  " Oh,  my  child! 
I  can't  be  a  Christian  now,  I  am  too  wicked  ; 
ask  of  me  any  thing  el.se,  and  I  will  do  it."  • 
"  Then,  papa,  I  want  something  to  remember 
you  by  when  I  get  home  to  heaven.  Will  you 
give  it  me?"  —"If  I  can  I  will,  with  all  my 
heart ;  pray  tell  me  what  is  it?  "  —  "I  want  you 
to  sign  a  writing,  papa." — "Ah!  I  see  :  you  want 
me  to  take  Ned  home ;  but  I  cannot  do  that,  for 
he  is  a  bad  boy."  — "  No,  papa,  not  that:  I  want 
you  to  sign  a  pledge  that  I  may  remember  in 
heaven."  —  "  Oh,  pugh !  my  child,  yon  are  joking: 
what  pledge  do  you  want?"  —  "I  want  you  to 
sign  the  temperance  pledge."  —  "Temperance 
pledge  !  what  good  will  that  do  you  ?  "  —  "  It  will 
do  me  much  good,  papa  !  for  after  that  you  will 
be  a  Christian,  I  think,  and  meet  me  in  heaven." 
"  But  I  can  bo  a  Christian  without  signing  the 
pledge."  —  "  No,  papa  !  I  fear  you  will  not.  You 
must  break  off  your  besetting  sin  first."  Now 
Mr.  Nelson  became  thoughtful :  the  stings  of  a 
guilty  conscience  pierced  his  soul.  He  had  more 
than  once  come  to  the  brink  of  financial  ruin, 
through  strong  drink  and  the  machinations  of 
the  Jew.  Strong  drink  had  debased  his  soul, 
alienated  his  friends,  grieved  his  wife,  who  was 


STREET    LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  325 

trying  to  be  a  Christian  ;  strong  drink  was  barring 
his  soul  from  heaven.  This  he  had  felt  for  some 
time,  but  never  more  forcibly  than  now.  The 
child  seemed  inspired  of  Heaven  to  speak  the 
fitting  word :  he  could  not  resist  what  appeared 
to  be  the  voice  of  God.  So  he  said,  "  I  will 
pledge  you,  my  child,  to  be  more  careful  in 
the  future."  — "  Ah,  papa  !  that  will  not  do  :  you 
mast  pledge  me  that  you  will  not  drink  at  all."  — 
"  Well,  wait,  and  let  me  consider :  I  will  think  of 
it,"  he  said,  thoughtfully.  "  No,  papa,  I  cannot 
wait:  I  want  you  to  sign  now,  while  your  heart 
is  tender,  and  while  Nellie  is  with  you."  Then 
she  climbed  up  into  his  lap,  as  she  left  her  bed, 
and  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  kissed 
his  cheek,  and  looked  up  into  his  eyes  with  the 
loving  confidence  of  innocence,  and  cried,  "Pap;;, 
you  will  sign  the  pledge  now,  won't  you,  papa  ? 
Oh,  how  glad  I  shall  be  !  and  how  happy  mamma 
will  feel !  You  will  sign  now,  won't  you  ?  Do  sign, 
papa,  just  now!  oh,  sign  it  now  !  I  know  you  will, 
won't  you?"  — i;  Yes,  my  child,  I  will,"  said  the 
weeping  father.  Then,  after  much  feeling  and 
prayer,  and  many  solicitations  not  recorded  here, 
he  wrote  a  pledge  on  the  fly-leaf  of  the  family 
record  of  the  Bible,  and  signed  it,  asking  God 
and  Nellie  to  bear  witness.  Nellie,  having  suc 
ceeded  in  this,  was  now  bent  on  another  object. 


326  NED    KEVINS   THE    NEWSBOY  J    OR, 

After  some  time  had  elapsed,  she  broke  the  si 
lence,  by  saying,  "  Papa,  who  do  you  suppose 
was  Ned's  father?'' — "How  do  I  know?"  said 
Mr.  Nelson,  rising  upon  his  feet,  and  pacing  the 
room  much  excited.  "  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  " — 
"Because  I  thought  a  father  that  would  forsake  a 
child  so  young  must  be  very  cruel."  —  "  He  might 
have  died,  and  been  buried,  for  ought  you  know," 
said  Mr.  Nelson,  wishing  to  change  the  subject. 
"  But,  if  he  were  dead,  why  would  not  his  mother 
have  said  so  ?  "  —  "I  don't  know ;  I  suppose  she 
had  her  reasons:  come,  let  us  talk  of  something 
else." — "Did  you  ever  see  his  mother?" — "  Did 
not  I  tell  you  to  drop  the  subject  ?  What  do 
you  mean?"-  — "I  mean  to  speak  a  word  for  poor 
Ned,"  she  said,  much  agitated,  with  tears  roll 
ing  down  her  cheeks.  "You  whipped  him,  and 
drove  him  off,  and  broke  his  little  heart :  I  must 
speak,  papa !  I  can't  hefp  speaking.  I  wish  you 
had  whipped  me  instead  of  th&t  poor  boy !  Oh, 
how  cruel  you  was,  papa !  you  know  you  was." 
This  little  burst  of  feminine  eloquence  completely 
subdued  the  father,  and  he  was  again  willing  to 
listen  for  a  time,  until  another  accidental  sugges 
tion  came  pop  into  his  face.  "  Papa  !  "  she  said, 
"  hold  down  your  head  ;  let  me  look  into  your 
eyes.  There  !  if  they  don't  look  like  Ned's  eyes." 
—  "  Don't  talk  so  much  about  Nod.  my  child  ;  you 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.         327 

will  drive  mo  mad."  —  "Well,  I  guess  you  was 
mad,  papa,  when  you  gave  him  such  a  whipping. 
Oh !  how  could  you  be  so  cruel  ?  How  could 
you  whip  him?  See  !  I  have  got  a  lock  of  his 
hair !  It  looks  just  like  yours,  papa!  how  could 
you  whip  a  boy  that  looked  so  much  like  you?" 

At  this  moment  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  shut 
ter,  and  the  handkerchief  stirred  that  Nellie  had 
placed  there  in  token  of  friendship  to  Ned.  Ned 
had  touched  it,  and  changed  its  position;  but  ho 
was  now  gone,  for  he  was  ashamed  and  afraid  to 
enter.  "  What  do  you  go  so  often  to  the  window 
for,  my  child."  —  "  Ah,  papa,  I  must  tell  you.  I 
had  a  trap  there,  papa !  a  bait  to  catch  a  lover 
with,"  said  Nellie,  laughingly.  "  There  !  that's 
right, my  child  ;  I  love  to  see  you  laugh  a  little: 
now  cheer  up,  and  be  happy.  To  catch  a  lover, 
did  you  say  ?  pray  what  sort  of  a  lover  could 
such  a  little  minnow  as  you  catch?"  —  "  Oh,  it's 
a  shiner  papa  !  a  regular  gold-fish."  — "  A  shiner, 
bah  !  it  is  a  boot-shiner,  I  guess.  Who  is  it  that 
you  are  making  signs  to  at  the  window,  my 
love  ?  "  —  "  Oh,  papa  !  it  is  the  boy  you  so  much 
despise  and  hate,  poor  Ned  Nevins."  —  "  There  it 
is  again !  Ned  Nevins  must  always  bo  on  your 
tongue :  oh,  how  I  hate  the  sound  of  that  boy's 
oame  ! " 

Now  another  tap  was  heard  at  the  shutter ; 


328      NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR. 

and  the  handkerchief  was  again  moved  from  ita 
place.  This  time,  Ned  had  mustered  all  his  cour 
age,  and  was  determined  to  await  his  doom ;  for 
despair  had  made  him  desperate.  Now  it  was 
that  Mr.  Nelson  went  to  the  door,  and  saw  a  sight 
that  would  draw  tears  from  any  other  eyes  but 
his. 

There  stood  Ned,  all  covered  with  dirt  and 
blood  and  bruises,  received  from  boys  whom  he 
Ind  accused  of  stealing  his  trunk.  He  feared  to 
apply  for  protection  to  the  police ;  for  he  know 
that  the  police  were  suspicious  and  jealous  of 
him,  and  opposed  to  him,  as  he  was  still  held  at 
court  on  probation  for  good  behavior.  One  other 
complaint  in  court  would  seal  his  fate  forever. 
What  could  he  do  at  this  critical  hour  of  trial  ? 
How  could  he  break  from  those  boys  ?  how  re 
cover  his  trunk?  and  how  be  protected  from  the 
insults  of  their  fiendish  sports  and  malice  afore 
thought?  0  ye  who  have  never  come  in  contact 
with  this  substratum  of  diabolism  !  —  have  never 
been  the  mark  of  a  mob,  —  ye  know  nothing  of 
vengeance  and  perdition.  Thousands  are  their 
arts:  let  them  but  spot  their  victim,  and,  in 
some  way  or  other,  that  victim  is  most  sure  to 
fall.  They  will  falsely  accuse  him  ;  set  the  police 
against  him  ;  get  up  a  fight,  a  hoct,  and  a  yell ; 
change  their  hats  and  coats  in  a  jiffy,  so  as  to 
blind  the  police  ;  then  leave  him  to  suffer  the 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  329 

penalty  of  the  law ;  while  they,  withal,  escape. 
Oh  the  hell  of  their  malignity  !  Oh  the  infa 
my  of  their  hearts !  My  blood  runs  cold,  my 
hair  rises,  and  my  veins  shrink  with  horror, 
when  I  think  of  what  I  have  witnessed  in  Bos 
ton,  while  striving  to  protect  the  innocent.  The 
tears  were  in  Ned's  eyes  as  he  stood  at  Mr.  Nel 
son's  window,  and  the  blood  was  running  from 
his  wounds.  When  he  saw  Mr.  Nelson  coining  in 
stead  of  Nellie,  he  thought  at  first  to  run;  but, 
recovering  himself,  he  resolved  boldly  to  stand 
his  ground,  and  state  his  case.  Perhaps,  if  Mr. 
Nelson  cared  nothing  for  him,  Nellie  might  inter 
cede  in  his  behalf.  "  Ah,  Ned  !  is  this  you  ? ''  said 
Mr.  Nelson.  "  So  you  haven't  gained  much  by 
refusing  to  work  for  me,  heh?  What's  the  mat 
ter,  Ned?  so  you've  been  fighting,  heh?"  — 
"  No,  sir,  I  haven't  been  fighting ;  but  I  am  awfully 
hurt,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said  he, 
bursting  into  tears.  "Ah!  who  has  hurt  you, 
Xed?"  — "The  bad  boys,  sir."— "Bad  boys? 
why  did  you  go  with  bad  boys?"  —  "I  didn't 
go  with  tiiem  :  some  of  them  came  to  lodge  with 
me,  and  I  found  they  were  bad  ;  but  I  couldn't 
get  rid  of  them." — "  So  you  have  learned  that 
I  was  your  best  friend,  after  all?  "  —  "  No,  sir  ! 
if  you  had  been  a  friend,  you  would  not  have 
whipped  me:  neither  would  you  have  suffered 
my  poor  mother  to  starve  I  "  —  "  Your  mother  ! 


330  NED    KEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY. 

what  do  I  know  about  your  mother?  I  tell 
you,  young  lad,  I  have  heard  enough  of  your 
cant !  I  have  heard  of  nothing  but  Ned  Nevins, 
and  his  mother,  in  my  family  for  months.  I  am 
heartily  sick  of  it.  Now,  my  boy,  I  will  have 
you  a  little  further  off:  your  probation  was  to 
end  with  your  first  quarrel ;  now  I  will  have  you 
sent  to  the  Island/'  — "  Oh,  don't,  papa  !  don't  ! 
you  will  kill  me  !  "  said  Nellie,  as  she  climbed  up 
into  the  chair,  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  and 
saw  Ned  all  covered  with  blood !  The  sight  of 
the  blood,  and  the  shock  of  her  father's  angry 
words,  threw  her  into  a  fit;  and  she  fainted, and 
fell  upon  the  floor,  crying,  "  Oh,  don't,  papa  ! 
don't !  you  will  kill  rne  !  "  Poor  girl !  The  car 
was  near,  as  a  precursor  of  death  ;  she  heard  the 
sound  of  the  engine  as  she  once  heard  it  in  Or 
ange  Lane.  The  cars  were  fall  of  passengers, 
rolling  towards  the  river ;  and  the  sound  made 
her  nerves  twitch  and  tremble  as  she  was  called 
to  mount  the  train..  On,  on,  rolled  the  locomo 
tive,  with  all  its  ponderous  load.  On,  on,  went 
the  vast  multitude ;  and  the  city  of  their  desti 
nation  stood  just  before  them  over  the  river. 
On,  on,  she  seemed  whirling  on!  Her  young 
spirit  was  hastening  towards  the  undiscovered 
bourne  whence  no  traveller  returns. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

NELLIE    ALLOWS    STRANGE    VISITORS    TO    HER    SICK 
ROOM. 

ING,  ring,  ring  !  It  be  nuthin'  but  ring 
and  run,  ring  and  run,  run  to  de  door,  all 
day  long.  Oh,  dear !  dar  be  nuthin'  but 
peddlers  and  beggars  cotnin'  all  de  time.  I 
wonder  who  comes  dar  now  ?  "  said  Dinah 
Lee,  running  to  the  door,  and  finding  a  little 
ragged  girl  on  the  steps,  with  a  face  wan  and 
pitiful,  who  said,  "  My  mother  wants  to  borrow 
your  baby  agin." 

"  Borrow  my  baby  ?  Borrow  my  baby,  did  ye 
say  ?  La  sus  !  I  hain't  got  no  baby  !  I  neber 
had  no  baby!  I  neber  was  married ;  and  I  ain't 
goin'  to  be,  nohow.  I  shan't  neber  hab  no  baby  ; 
I  shan't  hab  nuthin'  to  do  wid  any  baby.  Pray, 
who  be  you  ?  and  what  does  yer  mudder  want 
ob  a  baby  ?  " 

"  She  wants  it  to  go  a  beggin'  with."  —  "  To 
go  a  beggin'  wid  ?  La  sus  !  I  guess  she  don't 
want  Dinah's  baby  to  go  a  beggin'  wid :  what 
does  ye  mean  ?  "  —  "I  mean  the  white  woman's 

331 


332      NED  NEVIXS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

baby."' —  "La  sus!  cle  white  woman  hain't  got 
no  baby  but  Nellie ;  and  I  guess  she  don't  let 
her  go  on  dat  ar  business :  I  guess  ye  has  got  de 
wrong  street,  and  de  wrong  house,  heh?  "  The 
poor  girl  looked  crest-fallen  and  bewildered.  At 
this  moment  a  furious  old  hag  came  up  behind 
her,  >as  if  watching  the  child's  mistake  ;  and, 
with  a  terrible  blow  upon  the  head,  knocked  her 
prostrate,  felled  her  to  the  pavement.  "  There  ! 
lie  there,  and  die,  yo  latle  loggerhead  !  Didn't 
ye  remember  what  I  sid  ?  Is  this  Albany  Street  ? 
is  this  the  'ouse  I  told  ye?"  —  "  Oh,  dear  !  Oh, 
dear !  you  have  killed  me  !  I  shall  die  !  "  said 
the  girl,  kicking  and  sprawling,  and  tumbling  on 
the  pavement :  "  I  thought  it  was  Albany  Street ; 
they  told  me  so.  I  can't  read  :  oh,  dear !  oh, 
dear  !  "  Then  the  old  woman  picked  her  up,  and 
they  started  off.  "Ring,  ring,  ring!  Dar  'tis 
agin  :  I  wonder  who  comes  now  !  La  sus  !  is  it 
you,  boys  ?  Well,  ye  can't  see  Nellie  any  more. 
Nellie  be  so  sick,  we  fear  she  be  goin'  to  die." 
Then  Dinah  burst  into  tears  ;  and  some  of  the 
boys  began  to  cry  also,  as  they  reluctantly  turned 
away  from  the  door.  "  Call  them  back  a  min 
ute,"  cried  Mrs.  Nelson,  from  the  room  where 
she  was  watching  her  sick  daughter:  "  Nellie 
will  grieve  and  worry,  if  she  be  not  allowed  to 
see  them.  Call  them  in  :  it  will  stop  her  worry- 


STREET    LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  338 

ing."  So  the  boys  took  off  their  hats,  and  slipped 
in  carefully,  one  by  one,  until  they  all  stood  in 
the  room  where  Nellie  lay.  What  a  sight  was 
before  them !  such  as  they  had  never  seen  be 
fore  !  There  were  the  beautiful  curtains,  the 
gilded  picture-frames  and  looking-glasses,  and 
chandelier ;  the  splendid  furniture,  soft  carpet, 
rosewood  sideboard,  marble  table,  cushioned 
chairs  and  sofas  and  ottomans,  while  the  boys 
stood  abashed,  and  ashamed  of  their  seedy  ap 
pearance.  Some  of  them  had  seedy  heads  and 
uncombed  locks,  and  were  out  at  the  knees  and 
toes  and  elbows.  They  smiled,  and  ogled  each 
other,  and  tittered  in  their  sleeves,  at  their  awk 
ward  position,  then  gazed  upon  the  couch  before 
them,  where  lay  their  little  benefactress,  never 
to  visit  the  school-room  again.  Nellie  gazed 
upon  them  for  a  moment  with  a  benignant  look, 
as  if  she  comprehended,  little  as  she  was,  trie 
perils  of  their  forlorn  condition. 

There  was  the  orphan,  helpless,  and  almost 
friendless,  standing  on  crutches,  tottering,  and 
hobbling  on  the  brink  of  want  and  despair.  There 
was  another  orphan,  boarding  with  his  uncle. 
No  father's  care  protects  him,  no  mother's  prayers 
soothe  him  to  sleep,  or  echo  in  his  dreams.  He 
sees  his  little  cousins  receive  the  warm  kiss  from 
their  mother,  then  wonders  why  he  could  not 


384      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

have  a  mother  to  kiss  and  love  him.  Wondera 
why  he  was  born ;  why  he  is  always  in  the 
way;  why  his  fortune  is  made  so  hard.  Poor 
boy !  who  would  not  pity  him  ?  There  is  the 
son  of  the  scrub  woman.  His  mother  is  out  early 
and  late,  almost  constantly,  and  things  are  much 
neglected  at  home :  children  run  riot,  but  a 
mother's  care  and  prayers  and  love  repair  much 
of  the  disorder  when  she  returns.  The  boy  runs 
of  errands,  and  carries  market-baskets,  so  as  to 
help  pay  the  rent.  Ob,  how  acceptable  would 
be  a  donation  of  a  little  tea  and  sugar  to  him,  as 
a  token  of  good  behavior  in  the  night-school,  that 
he  might  carry  it  home,  and  cheer  his  poor  mo 
ther's  heart !  How  she  would  prize  it !  not  for  its 
value  alone,  but  for  the  token  it  brings  that  her 
boy  has  won  favor.  There  is  a  boy  whose  mother 
is  bedridden,  and  he  is  almost  her  only  support. 
See  how  ragged  he  is  !  Nearly  all  his  earnings 
go  to  his  mother  How  acceptable  to  him  would 
be  a  suit  of  clothes  !  What  a  lift  it  would  give 
him  from  despair !  What  encouragement  to 
press  on !  There  is  the  gentle,  lamb-like  child, 
whose  father  is  a  drunkard.  When  the  father 
works,  he  earns  fifteen  dollars  a  week :  and  then 
all  have  enough  to  eat.  When  he  drinks,  he 
spends  what  he  has  earned,  and  wife  and  children 
starve.  Oh  the  anguish  of  that  wife  when  she 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  335 

sees  the  whole  week's  wages  swept  away  by  one 
spree,  and  Saturday  night  come  without  a  dollar 
for  rent,  or  a  loaf  for  the  Sabbath  !  The  child 
seems  to  say,  — 

"  My  father's  a  drunkard,  but  I'm  not  to  blame ; 
• oh  pity  me  with  your  tears !  " 

There  is  the  boy  who  has  taken  his  first  step  in 
crime.  Oh  how  he  repents  of  it,  as  he  gazes 
upon  the  bed  of  the  dying  !  Oh  for  a  friend  to 
encourage  him  in  his  firm  resolve  never  to  trans 
gress  again  !  Alas,  for  him  !  friends  for  such  boys 
are  exceedingly  scarce :  he  must  battle  with 
'temptation  alone,  and  fall,  we  fear,  at  last.  There 
are  some  already  steeped  in  crime,  but  who  have 
escaped  detection.  Nellie  rose  up  in  her  bed, 
like  a  little  angel  of  mercy,  and  thus  addressed 
them.  "  Dear  boys,  I  must  tell  you  I  am  going 
to  die.  Nellie  is  not  afraid  to  die  ;  she  is  going 
to  heaven,  going  to  be  with  Jesus  and  the  an 
gels.  You  will  not  see  me  any  more  :  you  may 
inquire  for  Nellie,  but  she  will  not  answer.  I  am 
little,  I  cannot  say  much ;  and  I  am  weak  and 
sick  ;  but  I  want  to  say  something  which  you  will 
remember.  Some  of  you  have  been  bad  boys : 
you  have  said  bad  words,  and  done  bad  things. 
Some  of  you  have  stoned  your  teachers  in  the 
streets.  You  thought  it  cunning  then,  for  you 


o3G      NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

knew  no  better  ;  but  now  you  have  learned  bet 
ter.  Some  of  you  have  injured  me  and  my  mo 
ther  :  you  pulled  my  hair  in  the  school-room,  and 
called  me  names,  and  insulted  me.  Now  I  want 
to  show  you  how  I  can  overlook  it ;.  11,  and  forgive 
you,  even  as  Christ  forgave  me  my  sins.  "  At 
this,  several  of  the  boys  wept  to  think  how  cruel 
and  thoughtless  they  had  been,  and  wept  at 
Nellie's  forgiving  words.  Some  of  them  tittered 
and  wept  at  the  same  time.  Nellie  fell  back 
upon  her  pillow  somewhat  exhausted  ;  then  called 
Dinah  for  some  water,  and  then  continued.  "  I 
am  little,  I  said,  and  weak  and  sick  :  I  cannot  do 
much  for  you  ;  but  I  can  pray  for  you,  and  love 
you.  All  the  day  long  do  I  pray 'for  you,  and 
pray  for  all  the  poor  boys  of  the  streets.  I  ask 
God  to  be  a  father  to  you,  and  raise  up  friends 
for  you,  who  will  pity  you,  and  love  and  forgive 
you  when  you  do  wrong,  and  help  you  to  do 
right,  and  give  you  work  and  wages,  and  food 
and  fire,  and  homes  and  instruction.  I  wish  I 
had  a  home  and  a  book  to  give  to  you  all.  I 
wish  I  were  rich,  and  had  money.  Oh,  how  I 
should  love  to  go  about,  and  give  it  to  the  poor, 
and  make  them  so  happy  !  Oh  how  I  wish  I 
could  make  you  happy  !  I  love  you,  and  I  pray  for 
you,  and  I  dream  about  you.  I  dreamed  that  I 
Raw  Nicholas  sick  in  his  room :  he  had  no  father 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  337 

nor  mother  to  help  him.  Then  I  and  Dinah  went 
to  his  room,  as  we  did  to  Ned's  ;  and  I  got  some 
good  thiifgs  for  him,  and  helped  him  :  and  oh,  how 
thankful  Nick  was  !  He  got  down  on  his  knees, 
and  said  his  prayers,  and  thanked  me,  and  thanked 
God  who  had  sent  me.  Then  how  happy  I  was 
that  I  had  made  him  happy  !  I  dreamed  that  I 
saw,  you  boys  turned  away  from  the  doors  of  the 
rich,  because  you  were  ragged,  and  had  no  father. 
Then  my  Saviour  said,  '  Suffer  them  to  come 
unto  me,  for  I  am  meek  and  lowly.'  Oh,  how  I 
loved  that  Saviour  when  I  found  he  would  re 
ceive  the  poor  and  needy,  and  them  that  had  no 
helper  !  Now,  boys,  I  am  going  to  that  Saviour: 
will  you  meet  me  there  ?  "  The  poor  boys  were 
BO  overcome  they  knew  not  what  to  say ;  and 
Nellie  became  too  much  fatigued  to  proceed  fur 
ther.  "  There,"  said  the  mother,  "  that  will  do 
for  this  time :  I  fear  this  is  too  much  for  you, 
Nellie.  "  "  Oh,  no,  mamma !  I  should  like  to 
talk  all  day,  I  should ;  but  then  my  head  turna 
round,  and  my  bed  turns  round,  and  I  feel  strange 
and  dizzy."  -  —  "  There  !  I  thought  so.  You  must 
stop  now  :  so  bid  them  good-by,  and  we  will  let 
them  go.  "  —  "  Now,  boys,"  said  Nellie,  "  I  would 
like  to  talk  with  you  longer,  and  like  to  take  you 
by  the  hand,  and  bid  you  good-by ;  but  I  am  too 
Bick  :  you  must  excuse  me.  Mr.  Benedict  and 

22  • 


338  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

others  have  left  some  articles  here,  and  directed 
my  mother  to  distribute  them  among  the  worthy 
and  needy.  Here  is  a  suit  made  for  Ned  Nevins : 
he  says  he  cannot  receive  it  now,  as  he  can 
get  his  own  living,  and  buy  his  own  clothes.  I 
give  it  to  the  boy  who  has  improved  so  well,  and 
learned  so  fast,  'Nicholas,'  or  'Nick  of  the  Woods,' 
he  says  he  is  called.  Now,  Nick,  take  it,  and  re- 
member  Nellie."  The  tears  started  in  Nick's 
eyes,  as  he  shyly  and  simperingly  came  forward, 
and  received  it  from  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Nelson, 
for  Nellie  was  too  weak  to  handle  the  articles. 

"  Here  is  one  for  Tim  the  Tumbler.  Now,  Tim, 
you  have  frolicked  long  enough:  it  is  time  for 
you  to  be  a  man,  and  throw  off  your  boyish 
sports."  Tim  appeared  a  little  ashamed,  as  he 
came  forward,  and  remembered  what  a  fool  he 
had  made  of  himself  in  tumbling  about  like  a 
foot-ball,  instead  of  improving  his  mind. 

"Here  is  one  for  Tom  the  Trickster.  You 
are  the  boy  that  thought  it  cunning  to  pull  my 
hair,  and  insult  me  and  my  mother :  may  God 
forgive  you  as  I  forgive  you !  "  Tom  trembled, 
and  turned  pale,  at  hearing  his  name  called  ;  for 
he  was  ashamed  of  his  own  name.  "  Here  are 
some  shoes,  and  some  tea  and  sugar,  for 
Johnny  McCurdy  the  newsboy.  Now  let  the 
other  boys  come,"  she  said,  "  whose  name*  my 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  339 

mother  shall  call :  I  am  too  weak  to  say  more." 
So  the  boys  came  up,  and  received  their  portion 
of  garments  and  groceries,  as  best  suited  their 
condition ;  and,  passing  by  the  bed  of  Nellie,  they 
took  a  farewell  look  of  the  holy  apparition  that 
had  lighted  up  their  dark  pathway,  and  cheered 
them  with  the  light  of  comfort  and  hope.  Nellie 
waved  her  hand  as  they  passed,  and  smiled  at 
every  face,  until,  weary  and  exhausted,  she  sunk 
heavily  upon  her  pillow,  her  cheeks  flushed  with 
fever,  her  eye  vacant,  her  breath  short :  she  be 
came  lost  to  outward  objects,  as  the  ever-rum 
bling  car  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  station, 
and  the  morning  whistle  of  the  engine  seemed 
ringing  in  her  ears.  Now  she  rallies  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  opens  her  eyes  with  a  wild  stare,  and 
cries,  "  Mamma  !  ain't  we  almost  there  ?  "  then, 
sinking  into  oblivion  again,  as  her  nerves  twitch 
and  tingle,  she  seems  rumbling  away  on  the  un 
even  way,  borne  by  the  merciless  engine  whose 
tender  is  laden  with  diseases  and  blasted  hopes. 
On,  on,  over  the  valleys  and  round  the  curves, 
the  fiery  messenger  wheels  along,  receiving  new 
accessions  continually,  and  new  impetus  from 
the  close-connected  fever-tender  which  is  always 
feeding  the  flames,  yet  always  full :  on,  on,  she 
is  borne  towards  the  spirit  world. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

NED'S   LAST   INTERVIEW   WITH   NELLIE. 

ING,  ring,  ring  !  who  conies  dar,  so  early 
dis  morning  as  dis,  I  wonder  ?  said  Di 
nah  Lee,  going  to  the  door.  "La  sus! 
it  be  you  boys,  heh?  Well,  ye  can  neb- 
ber  see  Nellie  any  more :  she  be  too  sick 
to  see  anybody."  —  "  We  didn't  'spect  to  see  her," 
said  Nick,  holding  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  his  hand, 
and  dropping  a  tear  as  he  spoke,  — "  we  didn't 
'spect  to  see  her :  we  only  wanted  to  send  her 
these  flowers.  We  boys  went  without  our  suppers 
last  night  so  as  to  buy  them  for  her."  "  La  sus  ! 
ye  needn't  do  dat !  Nellie  hab  flowers  'nough  ob 
her  own :  ye  better  sabe  yer  money  for  yer 
selbes." 

11  Then  what  could  we  give  her  ?  "  asked  Nick. 
"  Ton  gib  her !  La  sus  !  ye  needn't  gib  her 
nothin'.  She  don't  want  nothin'  from  you !  she 
hab  eber  ding  she  want  herselb.  Nellie  be  rich, 
she  be."  — "  Oh,  dear  !  "  said  Nick,  "  I  be  feared 
she  won't  take  'em  :  then  all  us  boys  will  cry  so, 
and  feel  so  bad !  Oh,  dear  !  Nellie  has  made  a 

340 


STEEET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  341 

• 

man  of  ine  :  I  didn't  know  as  I  could  be  anybody 
till  I  seed  her.  Oh,  how  good  she  spoke  to  me ! 
and  told  me  to  be  a  good  boy  ;  and  I  has  tried  to 
be  a  good  boy  :  yes  I  has  !  "  Then  he  burst  into 
tears,  and  all  the  boys  cried  with  him. 

"  Well,"  said  Dinah,  "  I  will  see  ib  Nellie  take 
'em  ;  perhaps  she  may."  Then  when  Dinah  came 
back,  and  told  them  that  Nellie  would  receive' 
the  flowers,  the  boys  smiled,  and  clapped  their 
hands,  and  scampered  away  with  every  demon 
stration  of  joy.  Considering  that  they  were  the 
offering  of  poor  street-boys,  who  had  given  their 
all,  even  all  their  living,  no  earthly  gift  could 
be  more  acceptable  to  Nellie :  they  were 
wreaths  of  victory,  flowers  brought  to  the  con 
queror.  Alas  for  the  world  !  the  sweetest  flow 
ers,  the  most  delicate  and  short-lived,  the  sweet 
est  and  fairest  of  the  children  of  men,  die  early. 
Their  marks  are  seen  in  short  graves  in  church 
yards,  in  small  figures  on  tomb-stones,  in  the 
vacant  chair  and  cradle,  and  in  stricken  *  and 
bereaved  hearts.  Nellie  fell  back,  and  gazed 
upon  the  fading  flowers  in  which  she  saw  her 
own  decline  and  doom.  She  gazed  in  dreamy 
reveries,  till  at  length  a  voice  of  conversation 
from  the  room  below  broke  the  spell  of  her 
meditations.  It  was  the  voice  of  Ned  talking  to 
Susie  Pinkham  and  Nellie  Stedman,  daughters  of 


342      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  J  OR, 

the  seamstress  and  washwoman,  who  had  come 
to  inquire  after  Nellie's  health.  Ned  was  afraid 
to  appear  at  Mr.  Nelson's  when  Mr.  Nelson  was 
at  home :  yet,  through  the  favor  of  Nellie  and 
Mrs.  Nelson,  he  ventured  at  times  to  approach 
the  house.  When  Nellie  heard  his  voice,  she  said, 
"  Oh  !  Eddie  !  can't  I  see  Eddie  ?  Please,  mamma, 
•call  Eddie."  Then  she  said,  "  0  Eddie,  have 
you  come?  Nellie  is  dying  :  Nellie  has  got  most 
home,  Eddie.  Why  did  you  stay  away  so  long  ? 
I  have  been  very  sick,  Eddie  !  Oh,  how  sick  Nel 
lie  has  been  !  You  didn't  come  to  see  me  when 
I  was  so  sick.  I  know  you  had  to  work  hard  ; 
but  you  might  have  come  to  see  me  :  I  thought 
you  would  ;  I  didn't  think  you  would  stay  away 
so  long.  0  Eddie  !  you  don't  know  how  much 
I  think  about  you,  and  love  you,  and  pray  for 
you,  and  dream  about  you.  Last  night,  I  dreamed 
that  I  saw  your  mother  in  heaven.  She  smiled 
as  she  saw  me,  and  asked  me  how  Eddie  was 
getting  along.  I  told  her  Eddie  was  a  good  boy ; 
but  he  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  poor  boy !  bad 
boys  troubled  him  very  much,  and  I  was  sorry 
to  say  my  father  had  been  unkind  to  him.  She 
asked, '  Does  he  keep  from  doing  wrong  ? '  I  said, 
Yes,  he  wouldn't  do  wrong  for  the  world.  Then 
she  kissed  me,  and  thanked  me  for  bringing  such 
good  news.  Then  she  showed  me  the  beauties 


STREET    LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  343 

of  the  place ;  and  when  I  saw  the  banks  of  the 
river  all  covered  with  flowers,  and  the  tree  of 
life,  and  the  golden  streets,  and  the  saints  and 
the  angels,  I  wanted  Eddie  to  come,  and  share 
the  kingdom  with  me :  then  we  would  strike 
hands  together,  and  roam  over  the  fields  of  life. 
Eddie,  won't  you  meet  me  there  ?  Speak,  Ed 
die  !  I  want  to  hear  some  sweet  words  from  your 
lips." 

Ned  took  Nellie  by  the  hand,  and  kissed  her 
forehead,  and  parted  her  locks,  and  said,  "  Ah, 
Nellie  !  I  would  have  come  to  see  you  often,  you 
know  I  would,  but  for  your  father."  —  "0  Ed 
die  !  you  shouldn't  mind  that :  he  don't  mean  to 
harm  you  ;  there  is  simply  a  misunderstanding 
between  you."  — "  More  than  that !  "  cried  Ned  : 
"  he  seems  determined  to  banish  me  from  the 
city.'1  -  —  "  Oh,  no  ! "  rejoined  Nellie,  "  my  father  is 
not  the  man  to  do  such  a  thing  :  you  don't  know 
him,  Eddie."  —  "  Yes,  1  do,  Nellie  !  Ah  !  this  is  a 
hard  world  ;  I  almost  want  to  leave  it,  and  go 
with  you,  Nellie,  and  be  with  my  mother.  I 
never  should  have  borne  up  under  my  trials  but 
for  you.  You  came  to  my  bedside  in  Orange  Lane, 
when  I  had  been  whipped,  and  was  sick  :  I  could 
not  have  recovered  but  for  the  comforting  words 
you  gave  me.  I  should  not  have  been  the  good 
and  honest  boy  I've  tried  to  be,  but  that  I  knew 


344      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

I  must  respect  myself,  for  there  was  one 
that  loved  me.  0  Nellie !  you  can't  tell  how 
your  words  have  cheered  my  poor  heart.  In 
every  trouble  I  seemed  to  see  you  looking  out 
of  the  window,<,,and  waving  that  little  white 
handkerchief,  and  saying  to  me,  '  Don't  give  up, 
Eddie.  Try  again  ;  better  luck  will  come  by  and 
by  :  if  you  do  no  wrong,  something  good  will  come 
to  you ; '  and  so  I  took  courage.  If  the  world  had 
many  such  angels  as  you,  Nellie,  then  we  poor 
street-boys  would  not  be  so  bad,  and  the  wicked 
would  be  scarce." — "Don't talk  so,  Eddie,!  have 
done  nothing ;  I  wish  I  could  do  something  for 
you  :  I  would  give  every  boy  a  book  and  a  home 
if  I  could.  And  you,  Eddie,  I  would  give  a  mint 
of  gold,  —  yes  I  would.  I  wanted  to  give  you 
some  presents,  but  you  would  not  receive  them  : 
why  wouldn't  you  take  them,  Eddie  ?  " 

"  Because,  Nellie,  I  wanted  to  be  self-reliant 
and  independent,  and  take  care  of  myself,  as  my 
mother  told  me  to  do.  No  present  could  cheer 
me  like  a  kind  word  and  a  loving  heart."  — 
"  But  I  am  going,  and  you  will  have  nothing  to 
remember  me  by."-  — "Yes,  I  shall,  Nellie.  I 
shall  have  this  rescued  soul  and  body  of  mine  : 
they  shall  stand  a  living  monument  to  your 
memory."  •  -  "  0  Eddie  !  you  praise  me  too 
much:  you  try  to  flatter  me." — "No,  Nellie, 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  345 

this  is  no  flattery :  my  mother  would  thank  you 
a  thousand  times  if  she  were  here." — "Well, 
Eddie,  what  shall  I  tell  your  mother  if  I  see 
her  in  heaven?"  —  "Tell  her  that  you  have 
been  the  angel  which  God  has  sent,  through  her 
prayers,  to  rescue  her  darling  boy."  —  "  Don't 
say  so,  Eddie :  I  am  but  a  child,  —  a  poor,  sick 
child :  I  have  done  nothing.  Oh,  I  fear  you  think 
too  well  of  me.  Eddie."  —  "  No,  Nellie,  I  don't 
think  too  well  of  you,  but  I  think  too  much  of 
you.  Alas,  for  me  !  I  can  think  of  nothing  but 
you.  I  think  of  you  all  the  time.  You  hide  my 
Saviour  from  my  sight ;  but  I  cannot  help  it,  Nel 
lie  !  When  I  pray,  you  are  in  my  prayer ;  when  I 
dream,  you  are  in  my  dreams  ;  when  I  look  at 
pictures,  I  see  Nellie's  image  ;  when  I  open  my 
prayer-book,  I  find  Nellie's  name  ;  when  I  look 
at  the  the  stars,  I  see  Nellie's  eyes ;  when  I 
listen  to  any  loving  child,  I  hear  Nellie's  voice. 
And  when  I  think  that  this  may  be  our  last 
meeting,  that  I  may  never  see  your  face  again'' 
—  here  his  words  choked,  the  tears  started,  he 
turned  away  to  wipe  his  face,  so  as  not  to  hurt 
Nellie's  feelings ;  but  his  compressed  emotions 
would  not  be  restrained  :  he  was  obliged  .  to 
change  the  subject,  or  leave  the  room.  "  0 
Nellie  !  "  he  said,  "  it  is  hard  parting;  but  1  must 
not  grieve  :  my  loss  is  your  gain.  This  visit  is 


346       NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OH, 

worth  a  lifetime  to  me.     Oh,  how  I  thank  your 
mother  for  allowing  me  to  come  !  " 

"  But  I  want  to  give  you  something  to  remem 
ber  me  by,"  said  Nellie:  "can't  I,  Eddie?  "- 
"  I  don't  know,  Nellie  !  if  you  choose  to  give 
me  a  lock  of  your  hair,  I  should  like  it,"  -  —  "  Yes, 
Eddie :  you  shall  have  the  prettiest  silken  lock 
I  have  upon  my  head.  You  shall  have  the  lit 
tle  curl  which  hangs  over  my  forehead.  Go, 
Dinah,  and  bring  me  the  shears  :  I  will  cut  it  off." 
—  "Oh,  don't !  "  said  the  mother,  "  don't,  Nellie  ! 
your  hair  will  be  ruined  :  you  won't  look  pretty 
at  all  with  one  curl  gone."  —  "But,  mamma,  you 
may  have  the  other  curl ;  then  they  will  both  be 
gone."  —  "Ah,  Nellie,  that  would  not  do;  you 
would  be  shorn  of  your  prettiest  ornaments. 
Can't  you  give  Ned  something  else  ?  "  —  "  No, 
mamma  :  there  is  nothing  which  he  would  like  as 
well." 

"  But,  Nellie  !  you  may  yet  live  ;  then  how  you 
would  look  without  your  curls ! " —  "  Oh,  mamma  ! 
if  I  live,  they  will  grow  out  again  ;  but  I  cannot 
live,  mamma :  I  must  die."  •  —  "  Then,  Nellie,  give 
him  a  lock  on  the  back-side  of  the  head."  — 
"  Bat,  mamma,  he  would  not  love  that  so  well  as 
this.  This  grew  over  my  two  eyes  that  have 
wept  for  him,  and  bathed  it  with  their  tears." 
— "  Then,  Nellie,  if  you  must  give  it  to  him, 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  347 

wait  till  after  you  are  gone,  and  I  will  present  it 
to  him."  —  "  Oh,  no,  mamma :  I  want  to  give  it  to 
him  myself,  with  my  own  hands,  so  that  he  will 
know  how  much  I  love  him.  I  wish  I  had  atet> 
ter  lock  to  give  him:  I  wish  it  were  all  solid 
gold,  and  such  gold  as  heaven  is  paved  with.  I 
wish  my  tears  had  been  crystals  of  silver,  and 
each  had  been  the  weight  of  a  talent ;  then  he 
should  have  them  all." — "No  gold  or  silver 
could  be  so  precious  to  me  as  the  lock  itself," 
said  Ned.  "  But,"  said  the  mother,  "  I  wanted 
to  see  you  look  pretty  in  the  coffin,  —  that  is,  if 
you  must  die,  —  to  see  you  with  all  your  little 
curls  and  ribbons  arid  laces  and  flowers  when 
your  little  friends  come  to  the  funeral."  — "  But 
I  shall  look  pretty,  mamma,  if  I  am  good  :  Jesus 
makes  all  good  children  pretty  when  they  die. 
So,  mamma,  you  take  this  curl  for  yourself ;  then 
cut  off  this  one  for  me,  and  give  it  to  Ned,  won't 
you,  rnamma  ?  "  — "  Yes,  my  child,  if  you  must 
have  it  done  ;  but  it  is  hard  for  a  mother  to  do  it, 
Nellie." 

Then  with  reluctant  fingers  the  mother  cut 
off  the  two  locks,  and  combed  back  the  remain 
ing  hair  from  the  alabaster  forehead,  which  now 
stood  out  so  prominent,  that  it  seemed  even 
more  beautiful  than  before.  "  Now,  mamma," 
Baid  Nellie,  "  I  want  to  give  Susie  Pinkham  and 


348      NED  NEVTNS  THE  NEWSBOY  ;  OR, 

Nellie  Stedman  something  before  I  die:  may  I, 
mamma?  "  —  "  Oh.  yes,  my  child  !  what  shall  it 
be  ?  "  said  the  mother.  "  I  want  to  give  them  my 
two  new  dresses."  —  ''  Perhaps  you  may  get 
well,  and  want  them  yourself,  Nellie  ?  "  —  "  Oh, 
no,  mamma  !  I  shall  not  get  well :  but,  if  I  should, 
then  you  could  buy  me  more.  Plere,  Susie,  is 
a  white  dress,  emblem  of  purity,  —  one  which 
your  poor  mother  washed  and  starched  for  me. 
Take  it,  and  remember  me ;  and  be  kind  to  your 
poor,  hard-working  mother  who  has  done  so 
much  for  me."  The  teare  started  as  Susie  came 
forward  to  receive  it  from  Mrs.  Nelson's  hand. 
"  Now,  Nellie,  here  is  a  silk  dress  for  you,  —  one 
which  your  mother  cut  and  made.  I  never  wore 
it:  take  it,  and  remember  me;  and,  when  you 
wear  it,  think  of  that  Nellie  who  will  lie  in  the 
cold  grave." 

"Boo,  hoo,  hoo ! "  cried  Dinah,  as  she  fell 
down  back  of  the  bed  upon  the  floor.  "  Boo, 
hoo,  hoo  !  La  sus !  Nellie  be  goin'  to  die ;  Nellie 
be  put  in  de  cold  ground,  and  all  cobered  ober, 
and  Dinah  hab  no  more  Nellie  to  pray  for  her. 
Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear  !  Nellie  gib  away  all  her 
nice  dings;  she  don't  clink  ob  Dinah.  Nellie  no 
remember  Dinah  ;  no  she  don't !  Boo,  hoo,  hoo  ! 
Oh,  dear  !  o-o-o  d-e-a-r  !  "  : —  "  Get  up  there  : 
don't  be  so  silly,  Dinah ! "  said  Mrs.  Nelson- 


STREET    LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  349 

"  Nellie  will  have  something  to  give  you.  Get 
up,  and  behave  yourself."  —  "  Yes,"  said  Nel 
lie,  with  her  voice  now  failing,  yet  struggling  to 
say  more,  —  "  yes,  yes,  mamma,  Nellie  will  re 
member  Dinah.  Here,  give  Dinah  this  ac 
cordion,  and  ask  her  to  play,  — 

"  Glory,  glory,  hallelujah  ! 
Jesus  leads  us  on." 

Then  she  sank  back,  and  became  almost  in 
sensible. 

Pleased  with  the  gift,  Dinah  took  the  instru 
ment,  half  in  smiles  and  half  in  tears,  with  a  low 
coui  tesy,  and  a  "  thank  a  mam."  With  the  musi 
cal  talent  peculiar  to  her  race,  she  commenced  to 
play;  but  she  could  not  catch  the  tune  until  she 
had  hummed  over  in  her  mind  the  original,  — 

"John  Brown's  body  lies  a  mouldering  in  the  grave, 
But  his  soul  is  marching  on  ; " 

then  she  played  a  little :  but  her  heart  was  too 
full  to  proceed,  and  she  gave  it  up. 

Nellie's  mind  wandered  at  the  first  sound  of  the 
music,  and  she  seemed  conversing  with  invisible 
spirits.  When  the  music  stopped  all  was  silent,  a 
breathless  stillness  prevailed  :  it  was  as  the  silence 
of  the  grave.  Each  breath  was  suppressed,  the 
clock  went  "click,  click:"  the  death-tick  was 


350  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY. 

heard  in  the  wall ;  the  flowers  seemed  to  droop  and 
fade  ;  and  each  heart  beat  with  suppressed  sound. 
At  last  Nellie,  as  she  lay  upon  her  mother's  arm, 
opened  her  eyes,  and  said,  "  What  is  that  I 
see  there,  mamma  ?  "  —  "  Where,  my  child  ?  " 
"  There,  mamma,  —  there,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
see  !  There,  it  moves  now :  it  stirs/  mamma !  " 
—  "0  my  child  !  "  said  the  mother,  weeping  in 
pity.  "  Why,  Nellie  !  don't  you  know  ?  That 
is  Ned !  Don't  you  know  Ned,  your  own  dear 
Eddie  ?  "  —  "  Oh  !  it  is,  heh  ?  "  gasped  the  child  in 
convulsive  effort.  "  I  wish,  I  wish  "  —  But  her 
voice  failed  her,  the  dry  husky  lips  would  not 
allow  utterance  ;  and,  as  tlie  rattle  and  gurglings 
were  heard  in  the  throat,  the  rumbling  car 
seemed  nearer  than  before.  She  was  hurrying 
away,  over  head-land  and  stream  and  bridge  and 
shore,  to  the  last  station,  where  the  baggage  is 
examined,  and  the  passport  presented  with  the 
"white  stone;  and  in  the  stone  a  new  name 
written,  which  no  man  knoweth,  saving  he  that 
receiveth  it  "  preparatory  to  crossing  the  river. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

MR.  BENEDICT'S  ADDRESS.  —  SCHOOL-BOYS'  VIEW 
OP  BOSTON. 

lERE'S  the  'Heral,  Jirnil,  Traveler,  'Rans- 
crip'.  Paper,  sir?"  cried  a  dozen  boy  a 
at  the  corner  of  Park  and  Tremont 
Streets,  waiting  for  Mr.  Benedict  to  ar 
rive.  Now,  Mr.  Benedict  was  a  modest 
and  retiring  man,  scarcely  ever  seen  on 
public  occasions,  and  almost  unknown  to  the 
boys :  for  his  charities  had  been  distributed  to 
them  by  other  hands  than  his  own.  He,  how 
ever,  had  promised  for  once  to  take  a  view  of 
Boston,  with  some  of  them,  from  the  State 
Capitol. 

"Boys,"  said  he,  "do  you  want  to  be  rich?" 
—  "  Yes,  sir  !  yes,  sir  !  yes,  sirree  !  we  does  !  " 
they  said,  as  they  came  scampering  around  him. 
a  Then,  if  you  want  to  be  rich,  you  must  be 
truthful  and  honest,"  said  he.  "  Now,  let  me 
give  you  the  history  of  a  few  Boston  boys  for 
your  encouragement.  There  is  a  man  walking 
on  the  Common,  who,  when  a  boy,  collected 

351 


35'2  NED    XEVTNS    THE    NEWSBOY;    OK, 

grease  and  nshes  in  carts  on  the  street.  He 
now  has  command  of  a  line  of  steamers.  His  in 
come  last  year  was  thirty  thousand  dollars.  He 
was  converted  in  a  sabbath  school,  and  became 
a  teacher,  then  superintendent ;  and  now  is 
among  the  foremost  in  all  benevolent  enter 
prises. 

"  There  is  the  house  of  one,  who,  in  early 
years,  drew  a  hand-cart  in  the  street ;  he  now 
has  become  president  of  a  railroad :  there  is 
one  who  sold  papers  ;  he  is  now  partner  of  a  firm 
on  Franklin  Street :  there  is  one  who  peddled 
small  wares  from  a  hand-cart ;  he  is  now  presi 
dent  of  a  bank :  there  is  a  man  living  on  Bea 
con  Street,  who  once  peddled  fish  in  the  street; 
his  income  last  year  was  fifty  thousand  dollars 
(he  gives  thousands  of  dollars  every  year  for  re 
ligious  and  educational  purposes)  :  there  is  a 
man  in  Tremont  Street  who  once  drove  a  bread- 
cart;  his  income  last  year  was  ten  or  twenty 
thousand ;  he,  also,  gives  largely  for  spreading 
the  gospel.  These  were  all  street-boys,  or  boys 
that  got  their  living,  and  had  their  first  start 
in  business,  on  the  street.  True,  they  did  not  re 
main  long  on  the  street;  neither  will  you  if  you 
are  faithful  and  aspiring.  Is  there  not  hope,  then, 
for  you?  There  is  a  man  in  South  Boston  who 
owns  a  factory :  he  was  a  poor  penniless  boy 


STREET    LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  353 

when  he  joined  the  church ;  he  is  now  able  to 
build  a  church.  There  are  on  Beacon  Street  the 
houses  of  two  of  the  richest  men  in  Boston: 
their  several  incomes  last  year  were  more  than 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  They  were  at  first 
errand-boys  in  dry-goods  stores  ;  finally  they  be 
came  clerks,  then  partners,  then  owners,  and  now 
are  millionaires.  All  these  men,  I  believe,  pro 
fess  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ.  I  might  speak 
also  of  the  Appletons,  the  Brookses,  and  the 
Lawrences.  The}"  were  once  poor  boys,  who  be 
gan  at  the  lowest  round  of  the  ladder,  and  who 
finally  became  the  merchant  princes  of  Boston. 
Their  munificent  charities  are  as  widely  known 
as  Boston  itself.  Is  there  not  hope  for  you? 
Do  you  want  to  hear  any  thing  more  about 
Boston  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  !  yes,  sir  !  yes,  sirree  !  "  —  "  Well,  I 
will  tell  you  more.  Boston  was  named  in  honor 
of  Rev.  John  Cotton,  one  of  its  earliest  preach 
ers,  who  came  from  the  town  of  Boston,  Lin 
colnshire,  England.  Its  Indian  name  was  Shaw- 
mat,  which  means  living  fountains.  It  was 
formerly  called  Tri-Mountain,  or  the  three-hilled 
city:  it  is  now  called  the  City  of  Notions.  "Why 
so  called,  I  know  not,  except  on  account  of  its 
peculiar  notions  with  regard  to  inventions, 
thrift,  learning,  wealth,  criticism,  religion,  poll- 

23 


354      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

tics,  and  pride.  Its  pride  is  peculiar :  one 
writer  has  said,  '  There  is  such  a  thing  as  pride  of 
wealth,  pride  of  rank,  pride  of  talent ;  and,  distinct 
from  all  these,  there  is  Boston  pride.'1  Meet  one  of 
her  citizens  anywhere  the  world  over,  by  land  or 
sea,  consul  or  minister,  tourist  or  journalist ;  and 
he  straightens  up  in  liis  pride  to  tell  you,  '  I 
am  from  Boston,  sir,  —  Boston,  Massachusetts, 
North  America.'  Boston  has  the  reputation  of  lie- 
ing  always  on  the  qui  vive  :  her  people,  like  those 
of  Athens  of  old,  are  looking  after  some  new 
thing.  It  is  a  city  much  admired,  loved,  and 
hated.  Those  who  love  it  make  it  the  model 
city,  —  almost  the  New  Jerusalem.  Those  who 
hate  it  hate  it  with  a  perfect  hatred.  By  one 
party,  it  is  abhorred  as  a  great  meddler  and 
mischief-maker  in  national  affairs ;  turning  the 
world  upside  down-  by  its  pseudo  philanthropy 
and  fanaticism  :  by  the  other,  it  is  considered  on 
account  of  its  puritanic  principles,  its  vigor  of 
thought,  its  keen  perception  of  events,  its  free 
schools,  free  press,  free  speech,  free  libraries,  mu 
nificent  charities,  and  benevolent  institutions,— 
by  them  it  is  reckoned  the  beau-ideal  of  Christian 
civilization.  It  has  a  book  and  a  home  for  every 
body  in  need,  —  a  home  for  the  aged,  a  home  for 
the  orphan,  a  home  for  boys  of  the  street,  a  home 
for  the  inebriate,  a  home  for  the  fallen,  a  home  for 
the  soldier;  besides  its  public  institutions 


STREET   LIFE   IN  BOSTON.  355 

for  the  poor,  •  the  blind,  the  insane,  and  the 
vicious.  Any  person  may  have  a  book  from  the 
public  librar}T,  without  question  or  doubt  as  to 
its  return,  except  his  word  of  honor.  Thieves,  — 
there  are  but  few  of  them  that  would  steal  a 
book  from  the  public  library,  or  pluck  a  flower 
from  the  public  garden  ;  such  is  the  honor  and 
self-respect  that  free  institutions  inspire.  In  the 
faco  of  such  public  trusts  and  confidence,  and 
munificent  endowments,  a  man  is  ashamed  to  be 
dishonest  or  mean. 

"  In  learning,  Boston  is  called  the  '  Athens  of 
America.'  In "  commerce,  it  is  the  second 
city  of  the  Union.  In  inventions,  it  is  called 
'Bosstownf  or  the  town  of  boss-workmen.  In 
politics,  it  is  said  to  be  the  '  Hub  of  the  Uni 
verse.'  Boston  is  said  to  govern  New  England, 
and  New-England  ideas  to  rule  America.  Per. 
haps  it  is  called  the  'Hub '  on  account  of  its  golden 
dome  on  Capitol  Hill,  looking  like  a  hub.  Here 
the  assembled  wisdom  of  the  State  centres  once 
a  year  as  spokes  centre  in  a  hub.  When  these 
men  move,  that  is,  when  the  spokes  turn  round, 
they  bear  on  their  shoulders  the  periphery  of  the 
outside  world. 

ASCENT.  —  "  Let  us  ascend  this  dome,  which  is 
three  hundred  feet  above  tide-water,  and  take  a 
view  of  Boston  and  its  suburbs.  In  front  is  a 
statue  of  Webster,  by  Hiram  Powers;  and  one  also 


356  NED    A'EVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

of  Horace  Mann,  by  Miss  Emma  Stebbins  ;  and 
within  is  one  of  Washington,  by  Chantrey.  Now 
we  enter  the  vestibule,  a  large  circular  hall  with 
pillars  and  cornices,  hung  with  relics  from  the 
revolution  and  rebellion.  Pendent  from  these 
pillars  are  flags  stained  with  the  blood  of  almost 
every  battle-field  of  the  war.  Here  are  the  col 
ors  of  the  Massachusetts  Sixth,  that  first  passed 
through  Baltimore,  April.  19,  1861.  There  are 
shreds  and  tatters  of  flags,  with  the  golden 
names  of  Port  Hudson,  Fort  Wagner,  New- 
bern,  Petersburg,  and  Gettysburg.  Now  we 
ascend  the  spiral  stairs,  and  get  into  the  hub. 

"Northward.  —  Look  to  the  north  :  there  is 
Charlestown,  with  its  Navy  Yard,  State  Prison, 
and  the  tall  granite  monument  on  Bunker  Hill. 
Just  beyond  lie  Lexington  and  Concord,  of  Revo 
lutionary  fame ;  and  there,  as  Webster  says, 
'  They  will  remain  forever.'" 

"Eastward.  —  Looking  towards  the  east,  we  see 
the  beautifully  dotted  harbor  of  Boston,  inter 
spersed  with  many  islands.  There  is  George's 
Island,  on  which  stands  Fort  Warren,  the  key  to 
the  harbor.  It  commands  the  open  sea,  and  stands 
defiant  with  deep-mouthed  columbiads,  ready  to 
repel  all  intruders.  This  fort  has  been  the  recep 
tacle  of  many  traitors  during  the  Avar,  among 
whom  were  Mason  and  Slidel,  ministers  plenipo 
tentiary  from  the  would-be  Confederacy.  There  is 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.          357 

Castle  Island,  now  bearing  Fort  Independence. 
One  mile  north  of  Castle  Island  is  Governor's 
Island,  on  which  stands  Fort  Winthrop.  This 
island  was  demised  to  Gov.  Winthrop  in  1632, 
twelve  years  after  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims. 
There  is  Long  Island,  with  its  lighthouse  ;  and  in 
the  rear  are  Rainsford's  Island,  and  the  quaran 
tine-grounds.  Near  by  is  Thompson's  Island,  on 
which  is  situated  the  Farm  School  for  boys  res 
cued  from  poverty  and  temptation,  and  educated 
to  habits  of  industry.  There  is  Deer  Island,  on 
which  stand  the  Almshouse,  and  House  of  In 
dustry  and  Reformation.  (This  is  where  Pat 
Murphy,  and  his  mother,  old  Mag  Murphy,  were 
imprisoned  :  the  name  of  it  awakened  some  sensa 
tion  among  the  boys.) 

Mr.  Benedict  continued:  "  Further  up  the  har 
bor,  lying  at  anchor,  is  the  Massachusetts  Nautical 
School  Ship,  for  boys  who  have  been  sentenced 
for  juvenile  offences.  Many  of  them,  by  the 
science  acquired  here,  become  expert  navigators. 
To  the  left  is  Noddle's  Island,  now  called  East 
Boston  ;  to  the  right  are  Dorchester  Heights,  or 
South  Boston,  where  Washington  placed  his 
guns  to  expel  the  British  fleet  from  the  har 
bor.  Beyond  these  many  islands  is  the  penin 
sula  of  Nahant,  one  of  the  most  delightful  water 
ing  places  in  the  world.  Nothing  is  more  terrific 
than  an  ocean-storm  as  witnessed  from  these 


358      NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

heights.  The  mad  waves,  rising  against  these 
immutable  rocks,  rave  and  foam,  and  dash,  like 
the  tide,  of  rebellion  against  the  pillars  of  lib 
erty. 

"Prophecy.  —  The  time  is  coming  when  this 
city  will  include  in  its  ample  range  the  cities  of 
Roxbury,  Charlestown,  and  Chelsea,  and  all  the 
islands  and  headlands  of  this  spacious  harbor, 
each  of  them  adorned  with  trees,  gardens,  flow 
ers  and  statuary,  where  taste  may  display  her 
genius,  and  art  revel  in  affluence ;  when  Boston, 
becoming  the  Western  Venice,  with  her  hundred 
islands  united  by  bridges  and  ferries,  sitting  in 
gorgeous  splendor  amidst  the  waters,  unrivalled 
in  beauty,  unequalled  in  influence,  with  every 
citizen  feeling  the  dignity  of  his  manhood  :  then, 
as  now,  to  the  very  ends  of  the  earth,  shall  Bos 
ton  be  heard  from  her  triple  hills,  speaking,  as  she 
ever  has  'spoken,  for  republicanism  and  Chris 
tianity,  humanity  and  God. 

u British  Steamer.  —  Look  down  the  harbor  : 
there  is  one  of  the  Cunard  line  of  steamers,  —  a 
gigantic  palace  on  the  waters.  Now  she  stops, 
or  slackens  her  speed.  See  that  smoke  :  hark,  a 
gun  \  A  pilot  goes  on  board  ;  she  dips  her  flag 
to  Fort  Warren;  they  exchange  compliments,  and 
she  passes  on,  bridging  the  old  world  to  the 
new  by  ties  of  fraternal  and  commercial  inter 
ests.  Oh,  long  may  the  united  flags  of  Albion 


STEEET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  359 

and  Columbia  wave  over  the  hearts  of  the  free 
and  the  homes  of  the  brave !  May  the  lion  and 
the  eagle  cultivate  fraternal  feeling,  and  con 
tract  ties  of  indissoluble  alliance,  until  they  shall 
dictate  constitutional  liberty  to  the  belligerent 
civilizations  of  the  whole  earth. 

"  No,  niver  !  "  said  Michael  O'Brien  :  "  that  kin 
uiver  ba.  The  British  lion  will  tremble  when  us 
Fenians  gits  hold  on  him :  we  will  scratch  his 
eyes  out,  that  we  will.  Hurrah  for  the  auld 
Emerald  Isle  !  Say,  Mister,"  continued  Mike, 
"  When  do  you  think  us  Catholics  shall  rule 
America  ?  " 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,"  said  Mr.  Benedict,  as  he 
continued,  and  said,  — 

"  Westward.  —  Turning  to  the  west,  we  see  the 
city  of  Cambridge,  the  seat  of  Harvard  College, 
the  oldest  and  best  endowed  institution  in 
America.  There  Rev.  John  Harvard  immor 
talized  his  name  by  planting  the  seeds  of  New 
England's  learning  and  prosperity.  Harvard 
thinks  for  Boston,  and  Boston  thinks  for  the 
world," 

"  Just  beyond  is  Mount  Auburn,  City  of  the 
Dead  ;  beautiful  necropolis  !  laid  out  in  exquisite 
taste,  and  adorned  with  mementoes  for  the  loved, 
the  lost,  the  gifted,  the  great,  and  the  untimely 
dead,  whose  bud  was  blasted  before  the  leaf  of 
promise  could  develop  the  seeds  of  hope,  and 


SCO      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

scatter  fragrance  of  thought  on  the  desert  of  life. 
Beyond  Mount  Auburn  is  Watertown,  seat  of  the 
United-States  arsenal,  —  a  place  of  lively  inter 
est  during  the  war.  The  grounds  contain  forty 
acres. 

"Southward.  —  Turn  we  to  the  south  :  there  is 
Roxbury,  the  home  of  Elliot,  the  apostle  to  the 
Indians,  and  translator  of  the  Scriptures.  A  lit 
tle  beyond  is  Forest-Hills  Cemetery,  with  its 
shady  walks  and  avenues  and  sylvan  retreats, 
its  purling  streams  and  glassy  lake,  on  which  the 
graceful  swan  slowly  glides  as  a  messenger  of 
sorrow,  but  whose  fabled  notes  are  now  hushed 
in  presence  of  the  silent  dead.  Still  further  on 
is  Mount-Hope  Cemetery,  and  the  Potter's  Field." 
(At  the  mention  of  the  Potter's  Field,  Ned  Nev- 
ins  trembled  and  sighed,  for  there  his  mother 
was  buried.)  Now  Mr.  Benedict  changed  the 
subject,  and  talked  of — 

"Inventions.  —  Look  at  Boston's  inventions.  A 
Franklin  starts  a  printing-press,  the  first  in 
America ;  and  he,  by  the  wires  upon  his  kite, 
converses  with  the  lightning  of  heaven.  Morse 
the  elder  travels  States,  and  makes  geogra 
phies.  Morse  the  younger,  with  his  speaking 
wires,  spans  continents,  telegraphs  across  oceans, 
and  communicates  with  the  speed  of  thought 
around  the  world. 

"  Dr.  Charles  T.  Jackson  and  Dr.  Morton  dia- 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  361 

cover  the  application  of  chloroform  in  surgical 
operations,  annihilating  pain,  and  inspiring  the 
patient  with  pleasant  dreams.  Dr.- Charming, 
Jan.,  discovers  or  invents  the  fire-alarm  tele 
graph. 

"  Erastus  Bi'gelow  eclipses  Europe  by  his 
power-looms.  The  first  railroad-track  was  laid 
from  Boston  by  Boston  men.  Ruggles's  printing- 
press  and  Dickinson's  rotary  press  are  Boston 
inventions.  Whipple  and  Black  are  noted  pho 
tographers.  Blanchard  invented  a  machine  for 
duplicating  busts  and  lasts. 

"  Copley  and  Stewart,  Alexander  and  Hard 
ing,  were  great  portrait  painters.  Thomas  Ball 
has  in  mould  an  equestrian  statue  of  Washing 
ton,  said  to  be  the  best  extant.  King  and  Bil 
lings  are  artists  of  merit. 

"  Prescott  and  Bancroft  wrote  their  world- 
renowned  histories  in  Boston.  The  poets  Long 
fellow,  Holmes,  J.  Russell  Lowell,  though  living 
in  the  suburbs,  are  claimed  by  Boston.  Also 
Judge  Story  the  commentator,  and  his  son  the 
sculptor,  distinguished  even  in  Italy,  the  home 
of  art ;  and  Judge  Parsons,  Judge  Shaw,  Daniel 
Webster,  Edward  Everett,  R.  C.  Winthrop,  Ru- 
fus  Choate,  old  Samuel  Adams,  John  Adams, 
John  Quincy  Adams,  John  Hancock,  Dr.  Joseph 
Warren  of  Bunker-Hill  fame,  and  the  Otises  and 
Quincys. 


362  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

"  Miss  Dorothy  Dix,  the  world-renowned  phi 
lanthropist,  a  ministering  angel  among  prisons, 
hospitals,  and  insane  retreats,  is  a  Boston  lady. 
Boston,  in  private  and  public  charities,  is  unsur 
passed  by  any  city  in  the  world.  It  expended 
seventy-five  thousand  dollars  last  year  in  a  free 
hospital  to  relieve  the  sick  and  maimed  of  every 
class  and  nation. 

"  Boston  also  boasts  of  the  greatest  organ  and 
the  finest  musical  talent  in  America.  One  thing 
Boston  does  not  boast  of:  she  has  no  titled  lords; 
every  man  is  his  own  duke  and  sovereign. 
Titled  aristocracy  and  hereditary  nobility  can 
not  live  on  Puritan  soil.  She  enjoys  the  enviable 
position  of  being  hated  by  all  European  oppres 
sors. 

"  New  England  is  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  of 
oligarchy,  an  eye-sore  to  tyranny ;  and  Boston  is 
the  head  and  front  of  New  England.  Boston  has 
been  much  abused  by  the  lovers  of  caste  and  of 
treason ;  but  she  deserves  it  all,  and  can  live  on 
the  pages  of  history  when  her  assailants  are  for 
gotten. 

"  Enterprise.  —  Look  at  Boston's  enterprise, 
both  at  home  and  abroad.  Look  at  the  schools 
and  colleges  and  railroads,  which  she  has  estab 
lished  in  the  Far  West,  and  look  at  her  mechani 
cal  and  benevolent  enterprises  at  home.  Boston 
says  to  yonder  mountain,  '  Be  thou  removed ; ' 


Sl'llEET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  363 

and  it  is  removed  into  the  depths  of  the  sea. 
By  steam  the  mountain  is  removed,  with  all  its 
'  shaggy  locks ; '  and  by  steam  it  is  borne  into  the 
Back  Bay. 

"  Three-fourths  of  Boston  have  been  reclaimed 
from  the  grasp  of  ocean.  Where  once  the  sea 
roared,  now  stands  the  '  sycamine/  plucked  from 
its  roots,  and  planted  in  the  depths  of  the  sea. 
Where  fishermen  threw  out  their  lines,  now 
stand  dwellings,  churches,  and  galleries  of  art. 
Where  the  mammoth  hulk  of  the  Indiaman  once 
ploughed  the  foaming  main,  and  dropped  in 
swelling  tides  her  ponderous  anchor,  are  now 
located  spacious  streets  and  warehouses. 

"As  Boston  has  enlarged  her  borders  by 
aggressions  on  the  sea ;  so  have  her  peculiar 
ideas  forced  themselves  on  every  State  and 
nation  on  the  globe.  Her  ideas  seem  charged  ' 
by  fate,  and  they  conquer  by  the  divinity  which 
inspires  them. 

"  Her  Agassiz,  seeking  to  fill  the  fountains  of 
knowledge,  is  now  feeling  for  the  sources  of  the 
Amazon  ;  and,  to  add  to  the  wealth  of  the  world, 
lie  is  penetrating  the  hidden  stores  of  the 
Andes. 

"  For  the  galleries  of  science  and  natural  his 
tory,  he  is  gathering  sinews  and  vertebra  from  the 
'  back-bone  of  the  world.'  By  a  Boston  citizen 
is  he  supported,  and  for  Boston  pride  does  he 


364        NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY. 

toil.  Boston  ships  carry  Boston  principles  over 
every  sea  to  every  shore. 

"  What  boy  does  not  feel  proud  to  walk  her 
streets  ?  What  pride  and  manliness  and  holy 
ambition  does  she  not  inspire  ?  Her  area  covers 
but  a  few  square  miles ;  but  her  wisdom  and  her 
fame  fill  the  spacious  earth.  What  heart  does  not 
throb  with  hope,  at  sight  of  her  free  schools,  free 
presses,  free  lecture-rooms,  free  library,  and  her 
ever  open  and  free  ballot-box,  to  black  and  white, 
where  the  poor  man's  vote  is  just  as  potent  as 
that  of  the  merchant-prince  ?  What  boy  does  not 
raise  himself  in  his  shoes,  and  stand  erect  in  self- 
gratulations,  when  he  can  say,  '  These  are 
mine!  I  am  a  Boston  boy ! '  With  such  privileges 
as  Boston  presents,  who  can  afford  to  be  mean 
or  ignorant  or  vile  ? 

"•  Oh,  my  boys,  may  every  one  of  you  prosper 
in  life,  and  may  you  all  be  an  honor  to  Boston  ! 
I  am  now  old  and  infirm:  I  shall  probably  never 
see  your  faces  again.  Let  the  counsel  of  one  who 
came  a  poor  boy  to  this  city  sink  deep  in  your 
hearts.  Be  truthful,  be  honest,  be  virtuous. 
Do  good  to  your  fellow-men,  and  God  will  do 
well  by  you.  Fear  God,  and  keep  his  command 
ments,  and  you  shall  prosper  and  bo  happy. 
Farewell !  May  we  meet  in  another,  and  a  better 
world !  " 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

SEALED    VISION. — THE  PHILANTHROPIST'S  EEWAED. 

•JSION  of  Sophia,  daughter  of  Hezekiah. 
It  came  to  pass  on  the  seventh  month, 
and  the  seventh  day  of  the  month,  as  I, 
Sophia  the  afflicted,  lay  upon  my  bed  of 
shavings,  in  Orange  Lane,  falling  into  a 
trance,  I  saw  the  vision  of  the  Almighty, 
having  mine  eyes  open.  The  veil  frpm  the  in 
visible  was  rent,  hidden  mysteries  were  re 
vealed  ;  I  saw  things  that  are  to  be  hereafter ;  I 
learned  knowledge  from  the  Most  High.  Hear, 
0  heavens !  give  ear,  0  earth  !  to  the  cries  of 
the  needle-woman,  and  the  prayers  of  the 
widow  and  the  fatherless.  Their  prayers  reach 
the  ears  of  the  God  of  Sabaoth  ;  lo  !  the  day  of 
their  redemption  draweth  nigh.  Peace  be  to  the 
ashes  of  the  philanthropist !  Let  me  die  the  death 
of  the  righteous,  and  let  my  last  end  be  like  his! 
Witness,  ye  saints  !  behold,  ye  philanthropists  ! 
and  see  how  a  good  man  dies. 

It  came  to  pass  as  the  venerable  Mr.  Benedict 
was  called  to  his  reward,  I,  Sophia,  the  distressed 


366      NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  |  OK, 

but  not  forsaken,  saw  in  a  vision  the  glory 
of  his  departure.  He  died  crowned  with  hon 
ors,  in  good  old  age,  as  a  sheaf  of 'corn  fully 
ripe,  and  ready  for  harvest. 

I  saw  the  curtain  drawn  from  the  spirit  world, 
and  the  glories  of  the  heavens  revealed.  The 
chariots  of  God  descended,  and  the  angels  came 
to  the  chamber  where  the  good  man  met  his 
fate.  Scores  and  hundreds  of  little  children, 
like  cherubs  having  wings,  gathered  round  him, 
and  settled  over  his  dying  bed.  They  were  once 
children  of  his  care,  children  of  the  street;  but 
now  they  were  among  the  glorified,  rescued,  and 
redeemed,  Their  faces  were  radiant  with  smiles, 
and  their  eyes  bright  as  burnished  diamonds.  The 
texture  of  their  garments  was  too  fine  for  mortal 
sight,  and  none  but  they  to  whom  it  was  revealed 
could  behold  them.  They  had  floral  crowns  upon 
their  headg,  and  golden  harps  in  their  hands  ;  and 
they  sang,  "  Blessed  are  the  dead  that  die  in  the 
Lord,  from  henceforth  and  forever ;  and  their 
works  do  follow  them."  And  the  chamber  was 
radiant  with  light,  and  the  glory  of  God  made  it 
brighter  than  the  palace  of  a  king.  And  the 
walls  echoed  with  celestial  minstrelsy,  the  tapes 
try  was  hung  with  pearls,  and  the  furniture 
seemed  of  solid  gold. 

A  form  appeared  unto  Mr.  Benedict,  —  a  form 
like  unto  the  Son  of  man.  He  had  scars  upon 


DEATH  OF  ME.  BENEDICT. 
The  Philanthropist's  reward.    Page  366. 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  367 

his  bands,  upon  his  feet,  arid  upon  his  side  • 
his  temples  were  starred,  and  a  crown  of  thorns 
was  upon  his  brow.  He  said,  "  Come,  ye  blessed 
of  my  Father,  inherit  the  kingdom  prepared  for 
you  from  the  foundation  of  the  world.  For  1 
wan  an  hungered,  and  ye  gave  me  meat ;  I  was 
naked,  and  ye  clothed  me ;  I  was  a  stranger,  and 
ye  took  me  in."  Now,  Mr.  Benedict  was  a  modest 
man,  —  one  of  those  who  do  good  by  stealth,  and 
blush  to  find  it  known.  T-hough  he  scattered 
his  goods  of  charity  like  water  among  the  needy, 
yet  he  felt  that  he  had  done  nothing,  and  merited 
nothing,  and  could  not  endure  one  word  of  praise. 
Therefore  he  blushed  at  the  words  of  the  Son  of 
man,  and  said,  "  When  saw  I  thee  an  hungered, 
and  fed  thee  ?  or  naked,  and  clothed  thee  ?  or 
a  stranger,  and  took  thee  in  ? "  Then  He  an 
swered,  and  said,  "  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  inas 
much  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  my 
brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me."  Then  the  an 
gelic  choir  sang,  u  Worthy  art  thou  to  receive 
honor  and  power  and  glory  and  immortality  ! 
Come  up  hither  !  Come  up  hither  !  " 

Now  the  scene  changes.  I  saw  the  heavens 
open,  and  a  great  white  throne,  before  which  all 
men,  both  small  and  great,  must  appear  in  judg 
ment.  And  I  heard  a  loud  voice,  saying,  ••'  Awake ! 
ye  sons  of  men,  and  come  to  judgment,  and  ye 
shall  be  judged  according  to  the  deeds  done  in 


308     NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  j  OR, 

the  body."  Then  appeared  a  vast  multitude,  that 
no  man  could  number,  from  all  nations,  kindreds, 
and  tongues.  And  I  heard  a  voice,  saying, 
''  Whose  name  shall  be  first  in  the  Lamb's  Book 
of  Life  ?  " 

Then  appeared  one  of  earth's  greatest  mon- 
archs,  having  jiist  vacated  his  throne.  He  said, 
"  I  have  changed  the  face  of  the  earth,  estab 
lished  thrones,  created  monarchies,  given  securi 
ty  to  government,  brought  order  out  of  chaos, 
become  famous.  I  have  won  a  name  that  stands 
highest  among  mortals."-  —  "  Yes  !"  said  the  re 
cording  angel,  "  thou  hast  conquered  empires, 
but  thou  couldst  not  govern  thyself;  thou  hast 
ruled  kingdoms,  but  not  thine  own  spirit ;  thou 
hast  governed  men,  but  not  thine  own  lust ;  thou 
hast  lived  in  extravagance,  wasted  the  goods  of 
thy  subjects,  oppressed  the  poor,  been  a  glutton 
and  a  wine-bibber ;  away  with  thee !  thou  art 
not  first  on  the  roll  of  immortality." 

Then  came  the  mighty  warrior,  fresh  from  the 
fields  of  victory,  with  the  echo  of  a  nation's  ap 
plause  still  ringing  in  his  ears.  He  said,  "  I 
have  drawn  my  sword  in  a  righteous  cause ;  [ 
have  put  down  rebellion,  relieved  the  oppressed, 
broken  every  yoke,  bid  the  captive  go  free ;  1 
have  wrested  victory  out  of  revolt,  established 
order,  government,  and  law."-  —  "  But  thou  hast 
not  broken  the  yoke  from  thine  own  neck,"  said 


STREET   LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  869 

the  angel :  "  thou  art  thyself  a  slave  to  sin,  a  pro 
fane  rebel,  a  traitor  against  God.  Thy  name  is 
not  first," 

Then  came  the  orator.  u  What  hast  thou 
done  ?  "  —  "  I  have  electrified  and  swayed  vast 
audiences ;  I  have  conquered  and  subdued  the 
hearts  of  men  ;  I  have  guided  the  acts  of  the 
multitude,  and  turned  their  thoughts  as  rivers  of 
water  are  turned ;  I  have  played  upon  the  pas 
sions  of  communities,  as  one  plays  upon  an  in 
strument  ;  I  have  run  through  every  octave  of 
feeling,  and  aroused  the  listening  auditory  to  the 
rapture  of  ecstasy ;  I  have  changed  the  thoughts 
of  a  nation  from  vice  to  virtue,  and  led  them  up 
to  God ;  I  have  won  the  applause  of  the  good 
and  the  great,  and  have  coined  words  and  sen 
tences  that  bear  the  ring  of  immorality."  — 
"  But  thou  hast  courted  the  applause  of  men, 
rather  than  the  favor  of  God ;  thy  name  is  not 
first."  Then  came  the  poet.  "  What  hast  thou 
done  ?  "  —  "  I  have  given  melody  to  rhyme  ;  my 
numbers  have  echoed  in  a  nation's  song ;  I 
have  touched  my  harp,  and  a  world  has  stood  si 
lent  and  entranced  to  catch  its  sound  ;  I  have 
sung  of  love,  and  the  world  has  melted  into 
tears ;  I  have  sung  of  war,  and  nations  have 
rushed  to  arms  ;  I  have  sung  of  liberty,  and 
shackles  have  fallen  from  the  slave  ;  my  mission 

24 


370      NED  NEVIXS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

has  been  to  awaken  noble  sentiment,  inspire 
courage,  defend  the  truth,  and  stir  the  kindlings 
of  pity  for  the  distressed  and  down-trodden." 

The  artist :  "  What  hast  thou  done  ? "  —  "  I  have 
transferred  the  living  feature  to  canvas,  made  it 
live  and  look  and  breathe  for  ages  after  the 
breath  had  left  the  body  ;  I  have  revived  memo 
ries,  suggested  associations,  elevated  the  pur 
poses,  ennobled  the  hearts,  transformed  the  real 
into  the  ideal ;  I  have  made  the  bronze  to  speak, 
the  stone  to  weep,  and  the  bust  to  breathe  ;  I 
have  formed  the  architrave,  erected  the  pillar, 
carved  the  cornice,  moulded  the  frieze,  and 
shaped  the  entablature  ;  I  have  placed  the  mon 
umental  shaft  to  the  memory  of  heroic  deeds, 
and  have  perpetuated  the  honors  of  the  heroic 
dead."' 

The  inventor :  "  What  hast  thou  done  ?  "  —  "  I 
have  yoked  art  to  science,  and  drawn  the  car  of 
enterprise  round  the  world ;  I  have  harnessed 
the  iron  horse,  and  sent  it  screeching  into  the 
wilderness ;  I  have  started  the  printing-press, 
and  poiired  forth  its  sheets  of  literature  as  the 
leaves  of  the  forest ;  I  have  chained  the  light 
nings,  invented  the  telegraph,  and  spanned  con 
tinents  with  the  net-work  of  communication  ;  I 
have  invented  the  telescope,  and  weighed  the 
planets  in  their  orbits,  and  measured  the  stars 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  371 

in  their  courses  ;  I  have  counted  the  ages  of  si 
dereal  rays,  and  reckoned  milleunials  of  light." 

Then  came  the  moral  worthies, —  first  the  agita 
tor  and  reformer:  "  What  hast  thou done."  —  "I 
have  stood  up  almost  alone  against  sin  and  op 
pression  ;  I  have  pleaded  for  the  down-trodden 
and  afflicted ,  I  have  spoken  what  others  would 
not  dare  to  say  ;  I  have  battled  against  princi 
palities  and  powers,  and  wickedness  in  high 
places."  —  "  Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant! 
thou  shalt  have  thy  reward  ;  but  even  thine  eye 
is  not  single :  thou  hast  an  eye  to  be  seen  of 
man." 

Then  came  the  minister  of  the  gospel :  "  What 
hast  thou  done  ?  "  —  "I  have  spent  the  strength 
of  my  years  in  preaching  the  word ;  I  have 
ministered  to  the  sick  and  dying;  I  have' bound 
up  the  broken-hearted,  proclaimed  liberty  to  the 
captive,  and  the  opening  of  prisons  to  them  that 
are  bound."  —  "  Well  done !  but  thou  hast  had  thy 
earthly  reward ;  thou  hast  lived  by  the  altar,  and 
popular  applause  has  followed  thy  preaching." 

Then  came  the  marti/r :  il  What  hast  thou 
done ?  "  —  "I  have  not  only  preached  the  truth  as 
it  is  in  Jesus,  but  I  have  sealed  it  with  my  blood. 
Before  a  vast  multitude,  I  stood  up  for  the 
cause,  and  let  the  flames  consume  me."  —  "  Well 
done  !  but  thou  irrigates t  have  done  this  to  win 


372      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY  |  OR, 

a  name :  fame  is  alluring ;  thy  motives  might  not 
have  been  the  purest ;  therefore  thy  case  must 
be  examined." 

Then  came  the  man  of  benefiwnce,  the  donator 
of  public  charities  :  "  What  hast  thou  done  ?  " 
"I  have  supported  institutions  for  learning, organ 
ized  schools,  endowed  colleges,  erected  orphan- 
houses,  built  asylums,  given  to  public  charities, 
and  supplied  the  wants  of  the  missionary."  • 
"  Ah  !  "  said  the  angel,  "  thou  givest  only  thy 
surplus  ;  thou  endowest  institutions  for  a  name  ; 
and,  when  thy  gold  can  be  of  no  more  use  to  thee 
on  a  dying  bed,  thou  buildest  a  monument  to  thy 
self  in  shape  of  charitable  institutions  :  thy  char 
ities  are  not  the  most  disinterested." 

Then  came  the  venerable  Mr.  Benedict.  When 
on  earth  he  was  dressed  in  black,  but  now  he 
wore  a  white  robe.  He  had  builded  no  mon 
uments  to  himself  in  the  shape  of  charitable 
institutions,  but  he  had  scattered  his  goods  on 
the  streets;  like  water  spilled  upon  the  ground, 
they  had  fallen  not  to  be  gathered  up  again. 
Some  had  fallen  on  unworthy  objects,  and  some 
had  even  been  discarded.  But  this  was  not  the 
giver's  fault.  Poor  boys  and  girls  of  the  street 
looked  up  to  heaven,  and  thanked  God  for  Mr. 
Benedict's  favors,  seeing  no  other  agent  but 
Ood. 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  373 

"  What  hast  thou  done  ?  "  said  the  angel.  "I 
done  ?  "  said  Mr.  Benedict,  modestly  blushing-. 
"  What  have  I  done  ?  Why,  I  have  done  noth 
ing,  nothing  at  all.  I  had  a  little  money,  which 
the  Lord  lent  me.  I  knew»that  it  belonged  to 
Him,  so  I  thought  I  would  give  it  to  his  chil 
dren.  The  Lord's  children,  I  trust,  are  the  hon 
est,  industrious  poor ;  so  I  gave  it  to  them.  I 
have  no  merit  in  this ;  I  gave  because  I  loved  to 
do  it.  It  was  no  sacrifice,  but  a  pleasure. 
Please  say  nothing  about  it ;  please  let  my 
name  be  a  secret."  —  "Well  done!"  said  the 
angel ;  "  thy  name  stands  first !  for  thou  dost  not 
let  thy  left  hand  know  what  thy  right  hand 
doeth;  thou  hast  scattered  thy  bread  upon  the 
waters,  not  expecting  to  find  it  again.  Thy  mo 
tives  are  the  most  pure  and  disinterested ;  thy 
charities  are  the  most  heartfelt ;  thou  shalt  have 
the  highest  seat  on  the  throne  of  love."  Then 
Mr.  Benedict  blushed,  and  gazed  in  astonish 
ment,  and  looked  aside,  and  sought  where  to 
hide  himself. 

Then  came  the  great  army  of  children  which 
he  had  fed  and  clothed  ;  and,  laying  their  floral 
crowns  at  his  feet,  they  sang,  "  Worthy  to  receive 
gratitude  and  honor  from  those  whom  thou  hast 
redeemed  from  suffering  and  want.  Joy  be  to 
thy  heart !  and  crowns  of  honor  be  upon  thy 


374          NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY. 

head  !  Come  up  hither  !  Welcome !  thrice  wel 
come  to  the  seats  of  the  blessed  !  " 

Then  came  the  decrepit  and  the  infirm,  which 
he  had  helped  on  the  earth.  •  Their  crutches 
were  now  thrown  away.  They  sang,  "  Hail ! 
thou  noblest  of  almoners !  Thou  hast  given 
when  no  eye  could  see  thee,  and  no  earthly 
power  could  reward  thee  !  Thou  hast  visited 
the  widow  and  the  fatherless  in  their  affliction, 
and  thou  hast  kept  thyself  unspotted  from  the 
selfishness  of  the  world  !  Welcome  home  !  The 
benedictions  of  the  hosts  of  heaven  be  upon 
thee  ! " 

Then  came  a  long  procession  of  widows,  those 
who  had  come  out  of  great  tribulations,  but  who 
now  wore  white  robes,  made  white  in  the  blood 
of  the  Lamb.  They  sang,  "  Because  thou  deliv- 
erest  the  poor  that  cried,  and  the  fatherless,  and 
him  that  had  no  helper,  let  the  blessings  of  them 
that  were  ready  to  perish  be  upon  thee  !  for 
thou  wast  eyes  to  the  blind,  and  feet  to  the 
lame ;  thou  causedst  the  widow's  heart  to  sing 
for  joy  !  " 

And  the  multitude  of  orphans  greeted  him  as 
they  passed:  they  had  floral  crowns  of  amaranth 
upon  their  heads,  and  harps  of  gold  in  their 
hands ;  and  on  cherubic  wing  they  gathered 
round  their  ancient  benefactor,  and  sang. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

DEATH    OF    NELLIE.  —  ITS     EFFECT     ON    THE    NEWS 
BOYS. 

\ON'T  talk  so  loud,  boys  !  hush  yer  noise  !  " 
said  Johnny  McCurdy  to  Nick  of  the 
Woods  and  the  other  boys,  as  they  clung 
to  the  high  wall  around  Mr.  Nelson's 
back-yard.  "  Don't,  don't  speak  so  loud  ! 
you  must  whisper !  if  we  speak  loud, 
Mrs.  Nelson- will  scold  us,  and  drive  us  off."  — 
"Then  keep  still  yerself !"  said  Nick,  "  yer  alus 
preachin',  but  ye  don't  mind  what  ye  preach 
yerself."-  —  "  Hush,  there  !"  whispered  Tom  the 
Trickster,  "  Look  !  see  there !  I  seed  a  priest  goin' 
in ;  I  guess  Nellie  be  a  dyin'." — "  'Tain't  a  priest, 
ye  fool  you !  "  said  Tim  the  Tumbler.  "  Don't  ye 
know  a  priest  ?  That  ar  man  be  a  minister."  — 
"  Well,  I  thought  it  was  some  kind  of  a  church 
man,"  said  Tom;  "there  comes  out  the  doctor,  see! 
how  he  shakes  his  head,  and  looks  sad  !  Now  he 
gits  into  the  carriage,  and  drives  away.  I  bet  ye 
he  has  lost  his  case  this  time.  I  guess  Nellie  be  a 
goner  !  "  —  Oh,  don't !  "  said  Nick,  "  don't  say 

375 


376  NED    NEV1N3   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

goner;  that  be  low;  'don't  speak  so  circurn- 
spectful  of  Nellie  (he  meant  disrespectful);  don't 
|  be  foolin' !  'cause  poor  Nellie  be  a  dyin' ;  yis  she 
be,  and  we  shan't  see  the  like  of  Nellie  agin." 

Thus  the  conversation  continued,  each  rebuk 
ing  the  other  for  breach  of  etiquette,  and  each 
holding  on  to  the  wall,  and  peeping  through  the 
iron  paling,  to  get  a  glimpse  of  any  thing  that  re 
minded  them  of  Nellie.  When  Nellie  discovered 
fiat  they  were  there,  she  ordered  Dinah  to  wave 
a  white  pocket-handkerchief  at  the  window,  in 
token  of  recognition ;  whereat  all  the  boys,  with 
joyful  exclamations,  cried,  "  Good  !  good !  bless 
poor  Nellie  !  she  be  still  a  livin'."  —  "  What  are 
these  boys  here  for  ?  "  said  Mr.  Nelson,  as  he 
came  home,  distressed  about  his  daughter. 
"Ah,  sir!  we  be  waitin'  to  hear  'bout  poor 
Nellie ;  we  be  feared  she  be  dead,  and  we 
wouldn't  know  nuthin'  'bout  it,  sir!"  —"Well,  I 
can't  have  you  here,  boys  !  "  said  Mr.  Nelson  : 
"I  can't  have  your  noise  about  the  premises; 
you  will  disturb  my  dying  child."  Then  they 
hastened  down,  and  scampered  away  ;  but  every 
few  minutes,  some  of  them  returned,  climbing 
up  the  wall,  and  peeping  over,  and,  when  they 
caught  any  sign  of  news,  they  bore  it  back 
to  their  companions.  Such  is  the  respect 
and  gratitude  that  even  untutored  minds  ex- 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  877 

press  towards  one  that  pitied  and  loved 
them.  Oh,  how  many  souls  might  be  saved, 
crimes  prevented,  characters  reformed,  and 
hopes  recovered  in  the  world, If  there  were  a 
few  more  Nellie  Nelsons  ! 

Silence  reigns  in  David  Nelson's  chamber, 
—  almost  breathless  silence.  Nothing  animate 
moves;  no  sound  is  heard  save  the  "click,  click" 
of  the  clock  on  the  marble  mantle-piece,  and  in 
still  lower  sounds  the  "  tick,  tick  "  of  the  lever- 
watch  in  Mr.  Nelson's  pocket.  The  fire  in 
the  grate  whispers  in  subdued  murmurs ;  each 
breath  is  hushed ;  even  the  canary  bird  refuses 
to  sing,  for  Nellie  is  dying.  The  reverend 
minister  has  performed  his  last  rite  of  consola 
tion,  the  physicians  have  just  felt  the  pulse  for 
the  last  time,  and  with  ominous  looks  have  de 
parted.  Nellie  is  bolstered  up  in  bed,  leaning 
upon  her  mother's  arm.  The  newsboys'  bouquet 
of  flowers  stands  in  the  vase,  fading  and  wither 
ing  like  Nellie  herself.  She  gazes  on  them  in 
dreamy  revery,  then  closes  her  eyes,  lost  in 
thought.  Dinah  stands  by  the  bedside,  weeping 
and  sobbing  wofully.  Mr.  Nelson  stands  back  of 
his  wife's  chair,  looking  on  in  anxious  suspense. 
Could  not  a  child  of  such  prospects  be  spared  to 
enjoy  the  fortune  of  an  heiress  ?  Could  not 
death  be  bribed  by  the  vast  treasures  which  Mr. 


378          NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

Nelson  had  acquired?  Was  money  of  no  ac 
count  ?  What  more  was  needed  to  make  a  child 
happy?  The  richest  of  foreign  and  domestic 
luxuries,  every  article  that  palate  could  suggest, 
or  fancy  conceive,  were  at  her  command.  What 
brilliant  equipage  !  Furniture  of  sandal-wood, 
rosewood,  and  ebony ;  porcelains  filled  with  rare 
perfumes ;  floors  covered  with  costliest  carpets  ; 
halls  frescoed,  and  drawing-rooms  adorned  with 
the  most  exquisite  chefs-d'oeuvre  of  art ;  paint 
ings  of  the  old  masters,  coins,  gems,  precious 
stones,  shells,  alabaster  statuettes,  curtains  of 
silk  and  brocade,  struggling  blushingly  to  veil 
the  golden  features  of  the  sun,  whose  ambitious 
beams  seemed  impertinent  in  striving  to  pene 
trate  the  room,  to  get  a  peep  at  the  dying  girl. 
But  all  the  gold  of  California,  all  the  diamonds 
of  Brazil,  and  all  the  gems  of  ocean,  could  not 
loose  the  grasp,  or  bribe  the  fell  purpose,  of  the 
unrelenting  destroyer.  The  father  bends  over 
his  child ;  he  kisses  her  pale  cheek,  and  weeps ; 
he  bends  down  to  Nellie's  ear,  and  cries,  "  0 
Nellie,  my  dear  child,  I  cannot  see  you  die!" 
But  Nellie  shrinks  back  alarmed,  as  if  the  touch 
of  a  viper  had  met  her.  Perhaps  she  recoiled 
on  account  of  pain.  Perhaps  she  did  not 
know  what  she  was  doing.  At  any  rate,  Mr. 
Nelson  took  it  to  himself,  and  thought  she  shud- 


STREET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  379 

dered  and  shunned  him  on  account  of  his  treat 
ment  of  Ned.  •  Ah  !  how  that  repulse  touched 
his  conscience,  and  pierced  him  to  the  quick.  It 
was  as  the  lightning's  stroke  to  the  heart. 

"  Don't  shrink  back,  and  shun  me,"  said  the 
father :  "  I  will  treat  Ned  well ;  yes,  I  will,  my 
child.  Forgive  me  this  time,  Nellie  ;  I  will  do  just 
us  you  tell  me  to.  Speak,  Nellie,  and  say  you 
will  forgive  me  ! "  But  the  sick,  dying  child 
made  no  reply,  llow  embarrassing  was  David 
Nelson's  position !  One  false  step  may  make  a 
man  limp  awkwardly,  and  hobble  for  a  lifetime. 
That  step  he  had  taken  ;  no  subterfuge  could  con 
ceal  it :  yet  he  could  not  explain  it  to  Nellie. 
Some  acts  on  the  character  are  like  the  stroke  of 
the  hammer  upon  a  glass  vase  :  they  are  irremedi 
able.  Some  follies  are  worse  than  sin,  because 
they  are  irreparable.  Some  sins  are  worse  than 
a  crime,  because  they  are  unatonable.  If  a  man 
in  anger  destroys  an  eye,  that  eye  can  never  be 
restored.  If  a  child  playing  with  a  hatchet  ampu 
tates  a  limb,  that  limb  can  never  grow  again. 
There  are  some  follies  and  sins  that  can  never  be 
effaced.  Though  apparently  forgiven,  the  ghosts 
of  their  committal  ever  rise  upon  our  path  way,  and 
haunt  us  through  life.  David  Nelson,  with  all 
his  wealth,  was  a  very  unhappy  man.  The  sins 
of  his  youth  followed  him,  and  the  ghostly  shad- 


380  NED    NEVINS    THE.  NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

ows  of  the  heart  which  he  had  wronged  tor 
mented  him.  Poor  man  !  his  soul-stood  in  abject 
desolation,  even  in  the  midst  of  luxury  and 
wealth.  What  was  all  this  pomp  and  show  of 
wealth  compared  with  one  hour's  peace  of  mind 
and  holy  communion  with  God?  The  heaviest 
blow  that  he  had  ever  received  was  now  coming 
in  the  loss  of  his  child :  we  fear  he  had  not 
grace  for  the  occasion.  "  Are  we  almost  there, 
mamma  ?"  said  the  child,  her  eyes  brightening 
up  as  from  a  dream.  "  Where,  Nellie  ?  almost 
where  ?  Tell  mother,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 
"  The  cars,  mamma  !  Oh,  the  cars  !  how  they 
rumble  !  I  be  so  tired  !  I,  I  "  —  then  her  voice 
choked,  her  eyes  became  vacant,  her  thoughts 
wandered ;  she  fell  into  stupor  again.  Ah, 
gentle  traveller  !  thou  art  indeed  almost  there  : 
the  invisible  wheels  are  bearing  thee  onward  • 
thou  wilt  soon  arrive  at  the  depot  of  immortality 
in  the  invisible  world.  Again,  at  another  lucid 
interval,  she  cried,  "  Oh,  beautiful,  beautiful ! 
how  beautiful  it  looks  !  "  —  "  What,  my  child  ? 
what  is  it?"  —  "Oh,  this  car,  mamma!  how 
beautiful !  It  looks  all  covered  with  gold !  'tis 
borne  on  angels'  wings.  I  be  riding  in  the  cha 
riot  of  God,  mamma !  Oh,  I  wish  all  the  world 
might  come  !  Papa,  won't  you  come  ?  Say, 
papa,  won't  you  go  to  heaven  with  me  ?  "  Then 


STREET    LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  6*51 

she  said,  "  I  wish  all  the  poor  boys  could  come  ; " 
and  then  she  strove  to  raise  her  dying  hand,  and 
wave  her  handkerchief,  as  if  beckoning  to  the 
newsboys ;  and  smiled,  and  clapped  her  little 
hands;  then  fell  back,  and  became  for  a  time  in 
sensible.  Like  an  expiring  taper,  her  mind  at 
intervals  darted  up  with  preter-natural  bril 
liancy,  then  settled  down  almost  to  expiration 
itself. 

Silence  reigns  once  more  in  David  Nelson's 
chamber,  —  almost  breathless  silence  :  the  clock 
sighs,  "  click,  click,"  counting  the  moments  to 
eternity ;  the  fire  in  the  grate  murmurs  softly  ; 
and  the  watchful  canary-bird  looks  on  in  silence. 
The  loved  and  petted  bird  forgets  its  song,  and 
neglects  its  food,  to  see  its  young  mistress  die. 
Its  bright  eye  is  turned  towards  that  bed  as  in 
tently  as  if  it  were  the  guardian  angel  that  holds 
vigils  over  the  struggling  spirit.  Its  song  is 
hushed,  its  head  droops  in  sadness  at  the  sight. 
Nellie's  soul,  like  a  bird  encaged,  beats  against 
the  ribs  that  bind  it  to  mortality,  and  labors  to 
be  disinthralled.  That  golden  bird,  like  the 
angel  that  sees  the  travail  of  the  soul  in  the 
last  beating  of  the  pulse,  in  the  last  heaving 
sigh,  in  the  last  throbbing  of  the  heart,  when 
the  mortal  bars  break,  and  the  spirit  is  borne  on 
angels  wings  to  God,  is  her  constant  watcher. 


882  NED   NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OB, 

The  soul  of  that  child  is  like  the  tiny  insect 
floating  in  its  tide-driven  bark  upon  the  watery- 
deep,  striving  to  burst  away  from  its  casket- 
hulk,  and  spread  its  wings  in  upper  air,  Strug- 
ling  to  be  free.  Now  Nellie  is  picking  at  the 
bed-clothes  with  her  fingers,  as  if  striving  to 
remove  a  weight  from  her  breast ;  now  a  sigh 
heaves  from  her  bosom ;  now  an  unintelligible 
murmur ;  now  she  cries,  "  Tm  so,  tired !  mamma  ! 
Nellie  be  so  sick.  Oh,  this  rumbling  !  ain't  we 
almost  there  ? "  Poor  child !  the  struggle  is 
almost  over :  its  moments  are  numbered.  Now 
she  starts  up  with  the  hallucination  and  fever  of 
excitement  that  appear  alarming.  But  the  ex 
citement  is  that  of  rapture  :  the  angel  indeed 
has  .come,  and  given  her  victory.  "  0  mamma  ! 
I  see  the  angels,  I  do,"  she  said,  suddenly  rising 
from  the  pillow  and  pointing  upward  ;  her  cheek 
glowing,  and  with  eyes  flashing  unwonted 
brightness.  "  I  see  Willie  and  Jennie  and 
Jesus  !  I  see  the  saints  on  the  other  shore  : 
they  are  coming  down  the  flowery  banks  to  meet 
me.  All  the  saints  have  crowns  upon  their  heads, 
and  harps  in  their  hands,  and  they  sing  songs  of 
joy :  they  do,  mamma,  —  songs  of  the  redeemed. 
They  say  to  me,  '  Nellie,  come  up  hither:  come 
up  hither.'  Oh,  how  I  want  to  go,  mamma !  I  long 
to  go :  yes,  I  must  go,  and  be  with  Jesus  and  the 


STREET    LIFE    TN    BOSTON.  383 

angels.  I  see  the  angels  all  about  me  :  the  room 
is  full  of  angels.  Ah,  Fm  going  to  be  an  angel 
too  ;  yes,  I  be,  mamma  !  Oh,  how  the  angels  sing  ! 
I  want  to  sing  with  them,  mamma :  I  do."  —  "  Oh, 
no,  my  child,  you  are  to  sick  to  sing,  it  will  hurt 
you,"  said  the  mother,  weeping  aloud,  with 
emotions  of  fear  and  hope,  at  the  wonderful 
phenomenon. 

•'  Then  you  must  sing,  mamma  !  and  Dinah 
sing,  and  papa  sing.  Sing,  — 

"  '  There  are  angels  hovering  round 
To  carry  the  tidings  home,'  — 

mamma  !  won't  you  ?     And  that  one, 

"  '  Come  sing  to  me  of  heaven  when  I'm  about  to  die; 

There'll  be  no  more  sorrow  there.' 

Do  sing,  mamma  !  won't  you  ?  " 

But  all  hearts  were  too  full  to  sing :  no  music 
could  be  heard  save  sobs  and  sighs.  But  the 
dying  girl  heeded  them  not :  her  heart  was  too 
enraptured  with  joy  to  think  of  tears.  She- 
commenced  herself  to  sing, — 

"  I  want  to  be  an  angel ; " 

but  her  strength  failed  her,  she  settled  back 
upon  her  pillow.  Then,  placing  her  little  hands 


384  NKD    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY. 

together  in  prayer,  as  if  praying  for  more  unction 
from  on  high,  just  a  little  more  strength,  —  then, 
sweeter  than  the  dying  swan's  fabled  notes  by 
classic  fountains  flowing,  sweeter  than  Orpheus' 
harp  or  JEolian  lyre,  sweeter  than  the  lute  of 
Jerusalem's  fair  maids  on  Chebar's  banks,  moan 
ing  in  captive  bowers  their  lovers'  fate,  sweet  as 
as  angel's  song,  that  gentle  voice  arose,  bearing 
in  its  strain  the  last  hope  of  a  mother's  love, 
and  all  on  earth  that  a  father  and  a  mother  held 
dear.  She  sang  in  soft  gentle  accents,  from  lips 
that  ne'er  might  speak  again,  — 

"  I  want  to  be  an  augel,  and  with  the  angels  stand, 
A  crown  upon  my  forehead,  a  harp  within  my  hand ; 
And  right  before  my  Sav  —  my  —  my  " 

but  the  voice  ceased,  the  car  had  stopped,  the 
passenger  was  called,  and  the  strain  was  finished 
in  the  spirit-world.  On,  on,  rolls  the  never-ceas 
ing  train,  by  many  a  father's  door.  On,  on  !  bear 
ing  thousands  upon  thousands  of  weary  passen 
gers,  young  and  old,  the  beautiful,  the  loved,  the 
gifted,  the  favored  of  earth:  but  Nellie,  the 
meek,  the  gentle,  the  amiable  Nellie,  is  not  on 
board ;  she  has  stopped  at  the  last  station,  and 
taken  passage  over  the  river. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

NED   IN   A   FRACAS   WITH   THE   PAWNBROKER. 

hain't  done  it,  I  hain't  done  it,  Mrs.  Nelson ; 
I've  done  no  such  a  thing,"  said  Ned  Nev- 
ins,  as  he  rushed  in,  and  fell  upon  the  par 
lor  floor,  at  Mrs.  Nelson's  feet.  He  was 
followed  by  Patrick  Kelly,  the  policeman, 
and  Jeremy  Jacobs,  the  pawnbroker.  Ned 
was  a  pitiable  sight  to  behold :  he  looked  like  a 
fright,  with  hair  erect,  eyes  wild  and  crazed, 
nostrils  bleeding,  clothes  torn  and  covered  with 
dirt  by  falling  and  scuffling :  for  he  had  been 
drugged  and  crazed  by  that  hunchback  of  a 
pawnbroker,  who  was  now  seeking  to  arrest 
him. 

Poor,  unfortunate  boy  !  If  the  innocent  ever 
deserved  protection  and  pity,  that  boy  demands 
our  commiseration  and  aid.  Ah,  the  cruelty  of 
poisoning  a  defenceless  boy  !  of  destroying  his 
reason ;  of  blasting  his  hopes :  angels  weep  at 
the  sight !  But  enough  of  this  :  perhaps  we  are 
becoming  too  sentimental. 

25  385 


386  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

I  said  Jerry  was  a  pawnbroker.  Well,  ha 
was,  though  lie  did  not  exhibit  the  sign  of  the 
three  golden  balls.  But  he  was  more:  he  wa» 
a  jack  at  all  trades.  He  kept  a  beer-shop,  and  a 
second-hand  store,  and  a  repair-shop,  all  in  a  very 
small  way ;  therefore,  his  beer  must  have  been 
small-beer,  or  Ned  would  never  have  drank  it. 
Jerry's  sign  was  the  red  Indian,  with  his  arm 
extended  holding  cigars,  or  was  holding  them 
before  the  hand  was  broken  off.  The  sign  was 
a  cast-off,  second-hand  one,  placed  there  more  for 
a  guide  to  boys  in  the  night  than  for  a  cigar 
sign.  What  Jerry  sold  was  of  small  account  : 
this  was  only  a  blind  for  more  extensive  opera 
tions.  If  the  poor  Indian,  with  his  piercing  eye, 
could  tell  us  what  he  saw,  he  could  make  us 
blush  at  some  of  the  deeds  of  modern  civilization. 
But  signs  don't  speak ;  and,  if  they  do,  they 
don't  always  tell  the  truth. 

Jerry's  low,  wooden,  dingy  dwelling  had  two 
entrances  —  one  in  front  at  the  beer-shop,  and  one 
at  the  side  alley.  In  front,  he  kept  beer  and 
candies  and  cigars ;  the  candies  being  well 
specked  over  by  flies  and  dust,  and  the  cigars 
appearing  as  ancient  as  if  they  had  been  ex 
posed  for  sale  in  Noah's  ark,  that  is,  if  smoking 
was  indulged  in  by  Shem,  Ham,  and  Japheth. 
He  had  also  a  few  second-hand  articles,  alto- 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  387 

gether  about  a  wheel-barrow  load.  Everybody 
thought  Jerry  was  poor,  because  he  kept  a  smal) 
shop,  and  had  few  customers ;  therefore  he  did 
not  excite  the  envy  of  the  trade.  Back  of  the 
beer-shop,  he  had  a  little  workshop,  where  he 
pretended  to  file  saws,  and  supply  keys :  the 
latter  thing  he  did  to  boys  in  great  abundance, 
Under  the  shop-floor  he  had  a  place  of  deposit, 
entered  through  a  trap-door,  where  he  kept  a 
furnace  almost  continually  burning,  so  as  to 
melt  bits  of  lead  and  brass,  and  other  stolen 
metals,  to  avoid  detection.  In  his  narrow  cham 
bers  he  could  stow  away  quite  a  number  of  boys, 
when  daylight  prevented  their  escape. 

The  reader  asks,  "  Why  didn't  the  police 
break  up  such  an  establishment?"  We  may  say. 
Why  didn't  they,  or  why  don't  they,  do  a  great 
many  things?  The  truth  is,  policemen  are  like 
other  men,  and  perhaps  no  better.  We  gentle 
men  dressed  in  black  confess  that  we  all  have 
"gone  astray  like  lost  sheep."  Perhaps,  some  in 
our  profession  have  gone  further  than  lost  sheep. 
Now,  I  know  not  why  we  should  expect  more 
of  gentlemen  dressed  in  blue  than  those  dressed 
in  black,  especially  when  we  take  into  account 
the  relative  position  of  the  parties.  When  we 
in  black  retire  from  the  pulpit,  with  headache 
and  heartache,  we  have  a  world  of  sympathy 


388     NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OB, 

bestowed  upon  us,  such  as  the  policeman  does 
not  enjoy.  All  the  mammas  and  grandmas,  and 
daughters  and  grand-daughters  cry,  "  See  how 
pale  our  pastor  looks  !  What  hardened  sinners 
we  are  to  vex  his  righteous  soul  so  much !  See 
how  he  coughs  !  Poor  man  !  he  won't  live  long." 
But  when  the  policeman  comes  down  from  the 
witness-stand,  having  declared  the  "  whole  truth 
and  nothing  but  the  truth,"  he  receives  no 
such  balm  of  comfort  from  his  erring  parishion 
ers.  In  short,  if  it  takes  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief, 
we  must  not  expect  more  sanctity  in  a  rogue- 
catcher  than  in  other  men. 

Now,  Kelly  the  policeman  loved  to  take  a  drop 
or  two  of  the  "  crather,"  and  took  it  whenever 
he  got  a  chance.  Kelly  was  occasionally  tired ; 
why  not  step  into  Jerry's  a  moment,  and  rest? 
even  soldiers  need  rest.  Jerry  had  an  easy- 
chair  .for  Kelly's  weary  frame  :  what  a  comfort 
for  a  tired  man  !  He  had  also  a  "  wee  bit  of  the 
crather  "  ever  ready,  "  without  money  and  with 
out  price,"  free  as  salvation's  streams.  Was  not 
that  a  haven  of  rest?  "Friendship  that  pays 
something  is  ivorth  something"  was  Kelly's  motto. 
We  gentlemen  in  black  understand  this ;  why 
not  those  in  blue?  When  we  in  black  have  the 
Thanksgiving  turkeys  brought  in,  and  see  our 
parishioners  pay  up  their  pew-rents  generously, 


STREET    LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  389 

we  don't  feel  like  calling  them  such  big-  sinners! 
such  awful  sinners !  such  outrageous  sinners ! 
as  we  do  when  preaching  to  them  on  fast-day 
with  nothing  to  eat.  I  tell  you,  gentle  reader, 
bread  and  butter  make  some  difference  even  in 
preaching.  Why  not  in  practice  ?  We  in  black 
describe  the  sinner ;  they  in  blue  catch  him. 
Ours  is  easy  work ;  theirs  is  a  most  unthank 
ful  task.  If  meats  and  drinks  somewhat  temper 
our  zeal,  why  not  theirs  ?  especially  when 
whiskey  is  taxed  two  dollars  per  gallon! 
"  Friendship  that  pays  is  worth  something." 
Kelly,  however,  came  near  being  reported  at 
head-quarters  for  being  disguised  in  liquor  at 
court,  during  his  other  encounter  with  Ned  Nev- 
ins  ;  but  was  let  off  on  account  of  his  family,  so 
he  still  walks  his  beat  before  Jeremy  Jacobs's 
door. 

Now,  Jeremy  Jacobs  was  an  interesting  char 
acter  in  his  way,  quite  a  lion  among  the  boys, 
especially  among  junk-stealers.  The  boys  swore 
by  Jerry,  they  dr^nk  health  to  Jerry,  they  sang 
songs  to  Jerry,  and  they  talked  to  their  girls 
about  Jerry.  Jerry  was  a  short  man  and  hump 
backed,  so  that  his  head  was  about  on  a  level 
with  theirs  ;  and  he  put  himself  on  a  level  with 
them  in  more  ways  than  one.  He  sang  songs 
with  them,  drank  with  them,  played  pick- 


3'JO  NED    KEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

pocket  with  them,  praised  their  adroitness, 
suffered  them  to  beat  him  in  the  game,  and  to 
beat  him  over  the  head  occasionally,  so  as  to  en 
courage  them.  When  the  boys  had  beaten 
Jerry  over  the  head,  they  had  plenty  of  fui  .  a 
"  bully  of  a  time."  When  some  of  them  were 
"  hard  up."  Jerry  actually  favored  them  with  a 
little  money.  Such  was  the  character  of  Jeremy 
Jacobs :  he  was  just  the  man  for  the  business ; 
no  phrenologist  could  point  out  a  fitter  man  for 
the  place.  When  excited,  he  stuttered  a  little, 
but  that  only  added  interest  to  his  character. 

Ned  Nevins  suspected  that  Jerry  had  got  his 
trunk;  so  he  loitered  round  the  premises  occa 
sionally,  Jerry  thought,  as  a  spy.  How  could 
Jerry  get  rid  of  him?  One  sinner  in  Jacobs's 
code  of  ethics,  might  destroy  much  good. 
Therefore  the  street  must  be  cleared  of  Ned 
Nevins.  Jerry  sent  a  boy  who  had  a  key  to 
Ned's  room,  with  some  tools  from  his  shop,  with 
orders  to  place  them  under  Ned's  bed.  This 
was  done,  and  Ned  slept  there  one  night  with 
out  discovering  them.  Next  day,  when  Ned 
appeared  at  Jerry's,  he  was  offered  some  beer, 
of  course  in  a  friendly  manner,  but,  unfortu 
nately  for  Ned,  the  beer  was  drugged ;  hence 
the  fracas.  Ned  became  excited,  just  what 
Jacobs  wanted ;  high  words  and  blustering  accu 
sations  followed  ;  so  the  beer  was  working  admi- 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  391 

rably.  Now  threat  succeeded  threat,  and  blow 
to  blow,  till  at  last,  when  Ned  saw  the  policeman 
Kelly  coming,  he  suspected  the  plot,  and,  crazed 
as  he  was,  and  reeling  with  intoxication,  he 
broke  from  the  grasp  of  Jacobs,  and  ran  with  all 
his  might  and  main,  and  fell  almost  senseless  and 
exhausted  at  Mrs.  Nelson's  feet. 

Kelly,  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  do  his  friend 
a  favor,  put  chase  to  Ned,  while  Jacobs  came 
puffing  and  wheezing  after,  trying  to  stammer 
out,  "Stop  thief!  stop  thief!  hang  the  rogue! 
there  he  is,  going  in  there  ! "  as  Kelly  sprung  to 
the  door  so  as  to  prevent  Dinah  from  closing  it 
in  his  face. 

"  I  hain'tdone  it !  I  hain'tdone  it,  Mrs.  Nelson! 
I've  done  no  such  a  thing :  you  may  cut  out  my 
tongue,  put  out  my  eyes,  bury  me  alive,  if  I 
have  taken  a  thing,  if  I  have  stolen  a  cent 
from  anybody.  No,  no,  Mrs.  Nelson ;  you 
know  I  hain't ;  you  know  Ned  wouldn't  steal ! 
No,  I  wouldn't  steal  for  the  world !  |f  I  do 
wrong,  nothing  good  will  come  to  me.  God  will 
forsake  me.  0  Mrs.  Nelson !  I  have  been 
poisoned !  I  feel  niy  head  turning  round  like  a 
top ;  that  man  has  given  me  something  to  kill 
me  !  Oh  !  I  am  dying  !  I  am  dying  !  "  —  "  It  is 
f-f-f-false  !  "  stuttered  Jacobs,  "  that  b-b-b-boy  is  a 
r-r-r-rogue  !  Mr.  K-k-k-Kelly  will  tell  you  so,  Mrs. 
N-n-n-Nelson."  —  "  Ah  !  "  cried  Ned, "  that  is  the 


392  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OE, 

man  who  has  got  my  trunk  arid  my  mother's  ring 
and  prayer-book.  0  the  villain  !  what  does  he 
want  of  a  prayer-book  ?  0  Mrs.  Nelson  !  don't 
let  me  be  taken  away  from  you  !  Let  me  die 
here  !  Let  me  die  beside  of  Nellie's  bed !  Let 
me  dip  at  your  feet !  0  Nellie,  Nellie  !  does 
she  see  me?  Can  she  weep  in  heaven?  Ah! 
Mrs.  Nelson,  you  are  the  only  friend  that  can 
save  me  !  don't  let  me  be  carried  to  the  prison! 
don't  let  me  go  to  court !  no  one  will  have  any 
confidence  in  me,  if  I  am  taken  again  !  I  shall 
certainly  be  sentenced,  disgraced,  ruined  !  Oh, 
I  fear  Mr.  Nelson  is  at  the  bottom  of  this  !  Ah, 
he  hates  me  !  he  has  a  spite  against  me  !  He 
seems  glad  that  I  have  lost  my  trunk,  with  all 
the  relics  of  my  mother :  he  wishes  me  banished 
from  the  city,  —  banished  from  his  sight  L  God 
of  the  fatherless  have  mercy  upon  me  !  pity  me, 
ye  angels  !  0  Mrs.  Nelson,  turn  me  not  away ! 
You  are  my  last  hope  !  my  only  hope  !  If  you 
forsake  me,  Eddie  Nevins  is  lost !  ruined !  for 
ever  ruined  !  Nellie's  lock  of  hair  which  I  wear 
in  my  bosom  would  blush  and  stir  with  grief. 
Her  picture  would  weep  for  shame.  Her  bones 
would  stir  in  her  coffin.  But  you  won't  turn  me 
away !  I  know  you  won't !  I  see  you  weep ! 
Ah  !  you  feel  for  me,  though  you  do  not  speak  I 
Eddie  has  one  friend  !  yon  won't  see  this  police 
man  take  him  away  !  No  !  I  know  you  won't !  " 


STREET   LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  893 

u  La  sus  ! ''  said  Dinah,  standing  in  the  door, 
half  frightened  to  death,  "  La  sus,  "  de  patrolls- 
man  shan't  hab  Ned  !  No,  I  know  day  shan't !  Ye 
better  go  off,  ye  wicked  critters  !  go  off!  and  let 
poor  Ned  alone  !  "  And  Mrs.  Nelson,  staring  in 
astonishment,  inquired,  "  What  does  this  mean? 
What  is  this  policeman  here  for  ?  " 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Ned,  "  he  is  here  to  ruin  me!  he 
takes  up  what  boys  he  wants  to,  and  sends  them 
off  just  to  please  this  pawnbroker.  More  boys 
are  ruined  in  this  way  than  are  saved  by  all  the 
ministers  and  churches  in  the  city  !  I  knew  this 
policeman  before :  he  is  more  cruel  than  the 
grave  !  Boston  has  no  match  for  him  !  I  prayed 
to  him  when  my  mother  was  sick  and  dying. 
He  would  not  hear  me  !  I  rather  pray  to  a 
bear.  There  is  no  pity  in  his  eye,  no  feeling 
in  his  heart !  he  has  no  heart !  a  rock  is  softer  ! 
Oh,  drive  these  men  from  your  door  !  You  will 
do  God  service,  and  humanity  service  !  They 
are  a  disgrace  to  cannibals  !  Hyenas  a,re  more 
respectable  !  Oh,  deliver  me  from  their  hands  ! 
Oh,  save  me !  save  me  !  0  heavens  !  vengeance  ! 
murder  !  murder  !  "  Then  falling,  and  throwing 
his  hand  to  his  hea'd,  he  said,  in  lower  and  more 
subdued  tones,  "  0  my  head  !  my  head  !  it  will 
split,  it  will  split !  Oh,  how  it  whirls  round  !  oh 
my  head  !  my  head  !  0  !  0  !  0  !  " 


394        NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY. 

As  Ned  uttered  these  words,  and  fell  almost 
lifeless  upon  the  floor,  Kelly  himself  was  some 
what  moved  to  pity ;  yes,  even  an  Irish  police 
man  had  some  little  feeling:  but  then  there  stood 
Jacobs,  and  Jacobs  was  an  old  friend.  "  Friend 
ship  that  pays  is  worth  something  ;  "  therefore 
the  wants  of  old  friends  must  be  attended  to. 

"  Excuse  me,  madam,"  said  Kelly,  very  obse 
quiously,  "  excuse  me  ;  I  hope  I  am  not  intrud 
ing,  madam ! "  Now  he  took  off  his  cap,  and 
bowed  gracefully,  and  continued  with  bland,  af 
fable  smiles,  "•  This  'ere  gintleman  has  lost  some 
tools  from  his  shop ;  he  thinks  they  ba  in  this 
'ere  boy's  house."  —  "  They  ain't  in  my  house! " 
cried  Ned,  gasping  and  almost  lifeless  on  the 
floor :  "  he  lies  if  he  says  so ! "  Then  Kelly 
smiled,  and  said,  in  mild,  persuasive  tones,  "Ex 
cuse  me,  madam !  if  you  will  be  kind  enough  to 
get  me  his  key,  I  will  examine  the  room ;  then, 
if  they  ba  not  there,  it  will  ba  all  right ;  yes,  all 
right,  madam !  " 

"  He  shan't  have  my  key ;  they  stole  my 
trunk  !  "  muttered  Ned,  in  gasping  throes  of  defi 
ance  ;  but  Ned  was  too  far  gone  to  speak  further, 
or  to  resist  their  efforts.  So  Mrs.  Nelson  gave 
Kelly  the  key,  and  requested  Dinah  to  accom 
pany  the  men,  to  prevent  collusion,  while  she 
remained  with  the  senseless  boy  to  cogitate  on 
her  own  reflections. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

NED'S     RECONCILIATION    TO    DAVID    NELSON,  —  HIS 
ADOPTION. 

t 

H !  what  does  this  mean  ?  what  is  the 
matter  ?  is  this  Ned  ?  "  asked  David  Nel 
son,  as  he  came  home,  and  saw  Ned  lying 
on  the  floor,  and  Mrs.  Nelson  wiping  his 
his  face,  and  placing  a  pillow  beneath  his 
head.  "  Drunk  !  hey  ?  Well,  I  thought 
as  much :  I  thought  he  would  come  to  some  bad 
end ;  been  in  a  fight,  hey  ?  perhaps  he'll  want 
me  to  get  him  out  of  the  scrape ;  but  I  shan't  do 
it :  I'll  let  him  go  to  the  Island.  Say,  Mrs.  Nel 
son,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Matter  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Nelson,  "  the  boy 
is  poisoned." 

"  Poisoned !  oh,  fiddlesticks  !  then  he  is 
poisoned  with  whiskey,"  said  Mr.  Nelson.  "I 
tell  you  that  boy  is  drunk :  he  looks  just  like  it. 
Say,  what  was  that  policeman  here  for  ?  " 

"  He  was  on  a  bad  errand,  sir  !  "  replied  Mrs. 
Nelson;  "  he  was  after  Ned.  He  declares  that  Ned 
has  stolen  some  burglars'  tools ;  but  I  would  not 

395 


396  NED    KEVINS    THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

allow  him  to  be  taken  until  his  room  wag 
searched  for  the  tools." 

"  Well,  you  may  rest  assured  they  will  find  the 
tools,"  said  Mr.  Nelson.  "  Depend  upon  it,  Ned  is 
guilty ;  he  has  got  drunk  to  avoid  being  taken 
away  from  you." 

"  I  hain't  done  it,  Mrs.  Nelson  !  I  hain't  done  no 
such  a  thing,"  muttered  Ned  in  deep  guttural 
tones,  with  groans  and  sobs,  unconscious  of  what 
was  going  on  around  him. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  think  he  is  guilty  ! "  replied  Mrs. 
Nelson  :  "  the  precepts  of  his  mother  are  not  so 
easily  lost  as  this." 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Nelson  :  "  these  women 
are  always  preaching  up  charity  and  love  ;  they 
would  spoil  the  best  of  boys  by  their  misplaced 
s}rmpathy  ;  they  would  humor  them  to  death. 
When  you  have  had  as  many  boys  to  deal  with 
as  I  have  had,  then  you  may  get  your  eyes 
open." 

''  I  feel  it  is  better  to  err  on  mercy's  side,"  said 
Mrs.  Nelson,  "  though  once  I  was  cruel  myself." 

"  I  hain't  done  it :  I  am  poisoned  !  murdered  ! 
Oh,  dear  !  I  fear  that  Mr.  Nelson  is  at  the  bottom 
of  this,"  said  Ned,  as  he  rolled  upon  the  floor,  yet 
coming  a  little  to  his  senses.  "  Don't  let  me  go  ! 
don't  let  me  be  taken  away,  Mrs.  Nelson  !  let  me 
die  here,  let  me  die  with  you !  " 


STREET   LIFE    IN   BOSTON.  397 

"There  it  is  again,"  said  Mr.  Nelson;  "the 
boy  is  accusing  me  :  what  have  I  done  ?  "  * 

"  Ay,  sir !  "  said  Mrs.  Nelson,  "  I  fear  you 
did  it  all :  to  start  with,  you  was  the  guilty  party  ; 
but  enough  of  that." 

Now,  in  come  Kelly  and  Jacobs  in  exuberant 
spirits  of  high  satisfaction,  as  they  threw  down 
the  tools  upon  the  floor  by  thfe  side  of  the  pros 
trate  boy.  Dinali  still  remained  at  Ned's  room  to 
gather  testimony,  and  see  if  the  old  Irish  lady 
with  a  pipe  knew  any  thing  about  the  tools. 
When  the  rattling  irons  fell  with  hideous  jar  by 
the  side  of  Ned's  head,  then  the  terrified  boy, 
started  by  fright  and  indignation,  leaped  and 
raved  like  a  wild  tiger;  and,  seizing  one  of  the 
irons,  he  cried  to  Jacobs,  "  Oh,  you  old  thief  and 
burglar  !  you  detestable  old  knave  and  villain  ! 
you've  poisoned  and  almost  murdered  me  ;  you 
stole  my  trunk  ;  you  placed  these  tools  there 
yourself,  that  is,  if  they  were  found  there,  for  ] 
never  saw  them.  Here,  take  that,  you  old  scarnp  I 
take  it,  if  I  die  for  it!"  as  like  lightning  he 
hurled  it  at  Jacobs'  head  ;  but  Jacobs  dropped 
his  head  to  dodge  the  missile,  crying,  "  St-st-st" 
stop  the  r-r-r-rogue,  st-st-st-stop  the  r-r-r-rogue, 
and  allowed  the  iron  to  pass  his  head  and  strike 
a  large  looking-glass,  which  it  broke  into  a  thou* 
sand  pieces. 


398  NED    NEVINS   THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

"  Th-th-th-there  !  th-th-th-there  !  Mrs.  N-n-n- 
Nelson !  you  s-s-s-see  wh-wh-wh-what  sort  of  a 
b-b-b-boy  he  is." 

And  Kelly,  seeing  that  it  was  a  proper  case  for 
arrest,  came  forward  with  cord  and  twist  sticks  to 
bind  Ned's  wrist's,  and  to  put  on  the  handcuffs. 

"  Hold,  hold  !  "  said  Mr.  Nelson  ;  "  never  mind 
the  glass,  let  us  have  fair  play  in  the  matter.  The 
boy  seems  conscious  of  innocence,  or  he  would 
not  be  so  bold  :  something  is  wrong,  I  fear." 

"  0  Mr.  Nelson  ! "  said  Ned,  in  gladness  and 
surprise,  as  he  fell  upon  his  knees  before  him ; 

0  Mr.  Nelson  !    have  you  come  ?    do  I  see  your 
face?    Oh,  sir  !  I  am  as  innocent  as  a  lamb.     I 
have  been  drugged,  crazed,  murdered  by  this 
fiend   of   a   pawnbroker.      Believe   me,   sir !    I 
never  saw  these  irons  before  ;    I   know  nothing 
about  them.     What  do  I  want  of  burglars'  tools  ? 

1  have  no  locks  to  break,  no  shutters  to  pry  open. 
Do  not  let  me  be  taken  away  !  don't  let  me  go  to 
court !  Let  me  be  a  servant  for  you.     I  will  be 
any  thing,  and  do  any  thing,  if  you  will  but  re 
ceive  me,  and  forgive  me.     I  will  wait  upon  you 
by  day,  I  will  watch  for  you  by  night ;    I  will 
build  your  fires,  black  your  boots,  sweep  your 
streets,  carry  your  burdens ;  I  will  do  any  thing 
but  be  dishonest  or  mean.     I  will  live  upon  half 
a  meal;    I  will  wear  these  fingers  to  the  bone, 


STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON.          399 

and  these  hands  to  the  elbows,  and  my  feet  to  the 
quick,  and  blister  my  back  with  burdens,  until  I 
convince  you  that  I  am  innocent  of  these  charges, 
and  that  I  am  au  honest  boy." 

"  He's  not  an  honest  b-b-b-boy  !  "  cried  Jacobs  : 
"  he  st-st-st-stole  these  t-t-t-tools." 

Ned  continued,  "  I  am  not  only  honest,  but  I 
hope  respectable.  0  Mr.  Nelson  !  you  don't 
know  what  a  good  boy  1  would  be  for  you.  I 
would  not  work  for  you  before  because  you  did 
not  respect  me  :  you  would  not  allow  me  to  come 
to  your  house  ;  you  whipped  me,  arid  treated  me 
like  a  beggar ;  and  you  thought  mo  too  free  with 
Nellie.  Now  that  Nellie  is  gone,  oh !  sweetly 
would  I  fill  Nellie's  place  in  your  affections  ; 
how  tenderly  fill  up  the  mighty  void  in  your 
afflicted  heart !  How  kindly  would  I  wait  upon 
you  !  oh,  how  I  would  win  your  love  !  how  I 
would  work  my  way  into  your  heart !  Ah  !  you 
do  love  me  now  ;  I  know  you  do  :  and  you  pity 
me.  Hard  has  been  my  lot,  Mr.  Nelson  !  It  is 
hard  to  have  no  father,  no  mother,  no  home  ;  to 
be  kicked  about  like  a  dog,  without  a  friend  to 
protect  you  in  the  great  wilderness  of  this 
wicked  city.  How  you  would  feel  to  be  so  neg 
lected  ?  and  how  would  you  weep  if  you  had  a 
boy  so  exposed  !  Then  pity  me.  It  is  hard  to  be 
the  mark  of  every  body's  suspicion,,  because  ye 


400  NED    KEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

have  no  father ;  hard  to  have  the  police  ever  on 
your  track,  watching  every  step ;  hard  to  be 
drugged,  and  falsely  accused.'' 

"  Come,  come  ! "  said  Kelly,  "  we  have  beared 
enough  of  that:  let  him  talk  to  the  pint.  He  shall 
have  a  fair  trial." 

"  0  Mr.  Nelson !  it  is  hard  to  be  falsely  ac 
cused  ;  hard  to  be  shut  up  in  jail  without  a  crime  ; 
hard  to  have  no  one  to  take  your  part.  What  if  I 
were  your  boy,  —  would  you  not  pity  me  ?  Why 
not  pity  me  now  ?  You  do  pity  me  ;  I  know  you 
do.  Your  eyes  look  tenderly  on  me  ;  your  heart 
beats  gently,  though  you  have  seemed  so  stern. 
Severe  has  been  your  look,  but  gentle  your 
heart.  Oh  !  I  know  you  must  feel  for  me  ;  you 
want  to  see  me  do  well.  My  grandfather  was  a 
preacher;  my  father  I  know  nothing  about,  I 
hope  be  was  a  true  man ;  my  mother  was  a  noble- 
hearted  woman.  She  said  if  I  had  respect  for 
myself,  and  did  no  wrong,  something  good  would 
come  to  me  ;  and  I  have  obeyed  her  precepts." 

"  Yis,  I  guess  he  has,"  said  Jacobs  :  "  he  has 
kept  her  pr-pr-pr-precepts  in  st-st-st-stealin'  these 
t-t-t-tools." 

"  Hush  your  mouth  !  "  said  Mr.  Nelson,  "  let 
the  boy  speak." 

Ned  continued,  "  The  reason  I  did  not  love 
you  before,  Mr.  Nelson,  was  because  you  did 


STREET   LIFE   IN  XBOSTON.  401 

not  respect  me.  I  was  willing  to  work,  willing 
to  do  the  hardest  work  ;  I  love  work,  none  loves 
work  better ;  but  I  want  a  man  to  feel  that  his 
home  is  not  too  good  for  me  to  sit  down  in,  that 
he  is  of  the  same  flesh  and  blood  as  myself.  Yet 
when  you  scorned  me,  and  whipped  me,  and 
drove  me  from  your  door,  I  was  true  to  your  in 
terest.  When  Solomon  Levi  the  Jew  sought  to 
ruin  you,  I  exposed  his  plot  to  you,  and  helped 
you  regain  your  money.  When  the  boys  told 
me  there  would  be  that  night  a  fire  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  your  store,  I  came  and  warned  you. 
When  your  own  dwelling  came  near  being  con 
sumed,  I  prevented  it.  You  gave  me  no  reward, 
no  thanks,  but  spurned  me  from  your  presence. 
I  asked  for  none  ;  the  consciouness  of  doing 
right  was  reward  enough.  0  Mr.  Nelson  !  I  am 
an  honest  boy  :  I  never  took  a  cent  from  you,  or 
anybody  else.  Please,  sir,  take  me  on  trial ! 
take  me  into  your  family  ;  try  me,  and  see  if  I  am 
not  an  honest  boy ;  and  Heaven  will  reward 
you." 

"  No,  he  will  not,"  said  Kelly  :  "  but  I  will  dc> 
it.  I  will  take  you  on  trial ;  I  will  give  you  a  fai> 
trial  to-morrow  morning  at  nine  o'clock  ;  mean 
while  I  will  keep  you  in  the  station-house  and 
the  tombs." 

At  the  sound  of  the   "  station-house   and  the 

26 


402  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

tombs/7  the  child  became  perfectly  infuriated. 
He  thought  of  his  past  experience  in  the  tombs : 
he  shuddered  and  raved  and  chafed  like  a  wild 
beast  at  bay. 

"  Oh,  save  me,  Mr.  Nelson  !  save  me  from  these 
dreadful  men ! "  he  said,  as  he  fell  upon  his 
knees,  and  grasped  Mr.  Nelson's  hand.  "  Save 
me,  I  cannot  go  to  jail ;  I  cannot  be  locked  up  in 
a  dungeon  ;  I  cannot  be  at  the  mercy  of  these 
terrible  men  !  don't  let  me  go,  Mr.  Nelson  ! 
pluck  out  my  eyes,  take  away  my  life,  rather 
than  let  me  leave  you  ;  I  rather  die  a  thousand 
times,  than  be  disgraced ;  let  me  die,  but  do  not 
let  me  leave  you." 

"  Ah,  Ned !  if  you  do  go,  you  shall  have  a  fair 
trial  :  I  will  see  that  you  have  fair  play,"  said 
Mr.  Nelson  soothingly. 

"  Fair  play  !  fair  play,  did  you  say  ?  Fair  play 
among  felons  ?  fair  play  in  the  hands  of  these 
men  ?  fair  play  with  Jacobs  for  a  witness  ?  fair 
play  with  this  policeman?  as  well  throw  a  lamb  to 
hyenas  as  to  place  a  friendless  orphan  among 
such  men  !  Fair  play  in  jail  ?  fair  play  in  court, 
with  not  a  witness  for  you  ?  No,  sir !  let  me 
never  be  taken  from  your  door  !  let  my  trial  be 
here,  and  now  !  '' 

"But  I  am  your  friend,''  said  Mr.  Nelson,  as 
the  tears  started  in  his  eyes,  "  though  you  may 
doubt  my  friendship." 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  403 

"  A  friend  to  me,  and  allow  such  men  at  your 
door  !  a  friend,  that  thrusts  me  into  their  hands  ! 
a  friend,  that  drives  me  from  your  house  !  a  friend, 
that  sends  me  to  jail  !  a  friend  that  will  not  shel 
ter  me  !  Out  on  such  frendship  !  let  me  trust  the 
Evil  One  quicker." 

"  But  I  shall  be  a, better  friend  if  I  find  you 
innocent,"  said  Mr.  Nelson. 

"Innocent!  do  you  doubt  my  innocence? 
Can  you  doubt  it?  Do  you  believe  me  guilty? 
Is  it  not  a  sin  to  doubt?  Is  not  suspicion  akin 
to  knavery?  Have  I  been  guilty  before?  When 
you  have  trusted  me  with  hundreds,  did  you  lose 
a  cent?  When  Solomon  Levi  tried  to  bribe  me, 
did  he  succeed  ?  When  I  was  first  accused  in 
court,  did  you  not  pity  me  because  I  was  inno 
cent  ?  If  I  have  refused  to  take  money,  even 
hundreds,  do  you  think  I  would  steal  these  old 
irons,  these  burglar's  tools?  No,  Mr.  Nelson, 
you  know  better :  you  don't  believe  I  would ; 
you  can't  believe  it.  Then  thrust  these  men 
from  your  door." 

"  No,  he  can't  do  that!"  said  Kelly ;  "  he  must 
not  resist  an  officer  (straightening  up  in  his  offi 
cial  dignity),  "  there  is  a  big  fine  'ginst  the  man 
that  resists  an  officer." 

"Officer!"  said  Ned,  "you  an  officer?  you 
to  execute  the  law  ?  you  to  teach  virtue  ?  you  to 


404  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

protect  the  innocent?  God  of  justice  deliver 
me  from  such  an  officer  !  0  Mr.  Nelson !  you 
say  you  are  a  friend  to  me  :  show  it  by  banish 
ing  these  men  from  my  presence  !  Let  them  not 
gloat  on  my  sorrows !  let  them  not  sport  at  my 
woes!  They  are  monsters!  child -murderers ! 
hell  moves  to  meet  them  !  My  eyes  roll  wild 
at  sight  of  them  !  My  blood  freezes,  my  pulse 
stops,  my  nerves  tingle,  at  their  approach!  My 
heart  shudders  with  the  horrors  of  death  at  the 
very  thought  of  them !  My  ears  ring  with  the 
Avails  which  they  have  caused  !  My  brain  reels 
at  the  gulf's  brink  where  they  have  brought  m'e  ! 
Oh,  the  depths  !  the  depths  !  Oh,  I  am  sinking  ! 
sinking!  Oh,  my  head!  my  head!  save  me! 
save  me,  Mr.  Nelson  ! "  he  said,  as  his  head  fell 
on  Mr.  Nelson's  knee,  and  he  clung  to  it  like  a 
drowning  man  to  a  floating  spar. 

"  Come,  come  !  "  said  Jacobs,  "  let  him  t-t-t-talk 
about  the  t-t-t- tools  !" 

Ned  clung  to  the  knee,  and  sobbed  and  cried, 
and  hugged  it  as  if  it  were  an  angel,  such  as 
Jacob  wrestled  with,  —  an  angel  that  held  the  des 
tiny  of  his  life.  Finally,  with  heart  more  sub 
dued,  and  in  gentler  tones,  he  raised  his  face, 
nnd.  looking  into  Mr.  Nelson's  eyes,  and  climb 
ing  into  his  lap,  and  printing  a  kiss  upon  his 
check,  he  said,  with  that  innocence  and  childish 


STREET   LIFE   IN   BOSTON.  405 

confidence  which  characterize  the  prayerful, 
"  0  Mr.  Nelson,  you  do  love  me  a  little ;  you 
say  you  are  my  friend  ;  then  let  these  men  be 
gone.  I  want  to  speak  with  you  ;  a  poor  orphan 
child  wants  a  word  with  you.  I  have  something 
to  confess  to  you.  Oh,  I  want  to  tell  you  how  I 
love  you  !  I  love  you  for  appearing,  as  I  hope 
you  do,  to  save  me.  I  love  you  for  hearing  my 
complaint ;  for  listening  so  long  and  so  feel 
ingly.  I  love  you  because  your  nature  seems  so 
much  like  mine.  You  would  not  do  wrong ; 
neither  would  I.  Give  me  your  hand ;  let  me 
smooth  your  locks;  let  me  hug  your  cheek.  Oh. 
how  like  a  father  you  seem  to  me !  There ! 
thank  you  for  that !  thank  you  for  Nellie's  sake  ! 
you  have  a  tender  heart,  you  do  pity  an  orphan ; 
you  love  me  a  little  ;  you  say  you  are  a  friend ; 
now  order  these  men  away.  Do  but  this,  for  this 
once,  and  I  will  forgive  all  your  cruelty  and 
coldness  towards  me." 

'•'Lasus!  Ned,  you  needn't  be  so  afearfed," 
said  Dinah  Lee,  as  she  came  rushing  into  the 
room.  "  La  sus  !  I  has  got  a  witness  what  will 
help  ye  :  she's  comin' ;  she  be  here  in  a  minute  !  " 
Then  in  came  the  old  lady  with  the  pipe,  who 
said,  "  Don't  ye's  be  hurtin'  that  'ere  innocent 
uheeld  !  he  ba  a  darlin'  latle  crather ;  he  wouldn't 
stale  a  cint  for  the  world ;  no,  he  wouldn't.  I 


400      NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

seed  that  ere  pawnbroker's  boys  go  into  Ned's 
room  with  some  irons ;  and  I  hears  the  irons  fall 
on  the  floor  over  my  head,  I  did  ;  yis,  I  did.  I 
has  seed  the  boys  go  there  before :  they  has  got 
keys  to  Ned's  rooms,  they  has.  Oh,  ye's  miser 
able  crat.hers  !  Bad  luck  to  ye's  !  ye'll  be  the  ruin 
of  that  ere  cheeld  !  " 

"  Good  heavens  !  is  that  so?  "  said  Mr.  Nelson, 
in  astonishment.  "Is  there  a  conspiracy  against 
the  boy?  Has  Ned  so  narrowly  escaped?  If  he 
had  been  caught  before  reaching  my  door,  noth 
ing  would  have  saved  him.  Are  boys  taken  in 
this  way  ?  Is  this  the  way  the  streets  are 
cleared,  and  justice  is  administered?  0  ye 
worse  than  scoundrels  !  Out  of  my  house  ! '' 

"  She  t-t-t-tells  a  f-f-f-falsehood,"  said  Jacobs. 

"  Leave,  instantly,  or  I  will  have  you  both 
arrested,"  said  Nelson. 

"  But  you  must  not  resist  an  officer,"  said 
Kelly. 

"  Officer  !  officer  !  resist  an  officer?  "  said  Nel 
son,  indignantly  :  "  resist  the  Devil,  and  he  will 
flee  from  you !  begone !  or  I  will  have  your  sil 
ver  star  and  blue  suit  stripped  from  you  in  less 
than  twenty-four  hours." 

"  Oh,  L  thank  you,  Mr.  Nelson !  you  arc,  in 
deed,  rny  friend,"  said  Ned,  as  he  fell  upon  his 
knees  before  him. 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  40\ 

V 

"  No  thanks,  my  lad,"  said  Mr.  Nelson,  much 
excited :  "  rise,  and  stand  upon  your  feet ;  here, 
give  me  your  hand ;  you  have  been  a  lamb 
among  wolves,  yet  bold  to  assert  your  innocence; 
henceforth,  my  hand  shall  protect  you." 

"  Oil,  I  thank  you  !  "  said  Ned  ;  "  how  can  I  re 
ward  you  for  this  great  favor  ?  " 

"  By  being  as  truthful  and  honest  in  the  fu 
ture  as  in  the  past,"  said  Mr.  Nelson. 

"  But  that  will  not  satisfy  you,  and  reward 
you  for  all  your  trouble,"  said  Ned. 

"  Yes,  it  will,  my  boy,  more  than  satisfy  me, 
to  have  an  honest  boy  in  my  house." 

"  In  your  house  ?  what,  Mr.  Nelson !  you  are 
not  going  to  take  me  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Ned,  you  shall  never  more  want  for  a 
home  ;  my  house  shall  be  your  home  forever; 
you  shall  take  the  place  of  Nellie,  and  become 
my  son  and  heir,"  giving  him  a  kiss  and  a  tender 
embrace,  crying,  "  0  my  noble  boy  !  may  I  be 
as  true  to  you  as  you  have  been  to  yourself. 
Oh,  how  I  pity  you,  and  love  you,  you  little  hero, 
and  faithful  saint  of  your  mother !  May  God 
smile  upon  you  and  bless  you!  ten  thousand 
blessings  on  your  head,  my  child  !" 

"Oh,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Nelson  !  you  have  been 
more  than  a  father  to  me." 


408  NED    KEVINS    THE   NEWSBOY. 

"  No  thanks !  no  thanks,  my  son ;  all  I  have  is 
yours  !  enough  of  this." 

"  La  sus !  Ned/7  said  Dinah.  "  I  didn't  know 
dat  ye  was  goin'  to  be  Massa  Nelson's  son  and 
arr !  La  sus  !  if  ye  keeps  on,  and  ye  does 
nuthin'  wrong,  I  guess  somethin'  good  will  come 
to  ye." 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

PAETING     WITH     THE     REMAINING     CHARACTERS. — 
CONCLUSION. 

)E  now  part  with  our  remaining  charac 
ters.  David  Nelson  has  retired  from 
business,  and  moved  into  the  country, 
taking  with  him  the  remains  of  little 
Nellie,  and  burying  her  by  the  sunny 
hillside  and  brookside  on  his  new  es 
tate.  Ned  has  gone  to  school,  and  become  assid 
uous  in  his  studies,  hoping,  if  he  proves  true  to 
Mr.  Nelson,  and  "  does  no  wrong,  something 
good  will  come  to  him.'7 

Not  the  least  of  the  influences  brought  to 
bear  on  Mr.  Nelson  for  reconciliation  was  a 
threatening  note  from  Mrs.  Nevins's  attorney-, 
concerning  a  certain  bond  signed  by  Mr.  Nelson 
in  Fairfield  County,  Connecticut,  not  twenty 
years  ago.  The  bond  was  attested  by  a  justice 
of  the  peace,  and  had  but  two  conditions  ;  viz., 
"  maternal  seclusion "  and  "  filial  integrity." 
Mr.  Nelson,  to  avoid  publicity,  accepted  the  de- 
mand,  and  made  the  best  of  it. 

409 


410      NED  KEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY;  OR, 

Mrs.  Nelson,  true  to  her  Christian  sympathies, 
still  labors  for  the  poor  and  the  boys  of  the 
street.  Ned  is  her  idol,  the  chief  object  of  her 
love,  made  doubly  dear  by  his  associations  with 
the  angelic  little  Nellie. 

Dinah  thinks  Ned  a  little  proud  now  and 
then,  and  cries  out,  "  La  sus,  Ned  !  yer  feelin' 
right  smart  ob  yerselb,  ye  be,  hey  !  "  But,  nev 
ertheless,  Ned  bears  his  honors  meekly. 

As  to  the  other  boys  of  the  night-school,  Tom 
the  Trickster  and  Tim  the  Tumbler  have  found 
comfortable  homes  on  farms  in  the  country. 
Johnny  McCurdy  and  a  dozen  or  two  of  others 
still  cry  their  papers  in  the  streets.  A  score  or 
two  of  boys  have  become  cash-boys  and  office- 
boys  ;  and  one  or  more  of  them  may  be  found  in 
almost  every  large  establishment  where  boys 
are  employed. 

"  There  !  take  that !  "  said  a  boy  on  board  of 
the  "Sabine,"  as  I  visited  that  school-ship  for  Un 
cle  Sam's  boys  in  New-London  Harbor,  "  There ! 
take  that  from  Boston  !  "  (giving  his  foe  a  lev 
eller  with  his  fist).  "  Boston  is  not  to  be  sneezed 
at ;  none  of  your  taunt  about  New  England  be 
ing  left  out  in  the  cold;  New  England,  with  her 
cotton  mills  and  sewing-machines  and  reaping- 
machines  and  books  and  newspapers  and  Par 
rot  guns,  could  civilize  all  creation,  ye  fool  ye !  " 


STREET   LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  411 

That  boy  was  Nicholas  Nobody.  Only  three 
years  had  elapsed  since  he  left  the  night-school ; 
yet  he  had  become  captain  of  a  section,  was  pro 
moted  to  the  highest  honors  of  the  ship,  and  ex 
pected  to  graduate  at  Uncle  Sarn's  expense  in 
the  Naval  Academy. 

If  the  night-school  can  bear  but  one  such 
jewel  in  the  crown  of  its  rejoicing,  the  re.ward  is 
sufficient. 

We  notice  the  two  remaining  characters. 
Patrick  Kelly  is  now  stripped  of  his  silver  star 
and  suit  of  blue,  and  reduced  to  the  rank  of  a 
private  citizen.  He  thinks  hard  of  it  that  his 
motives  were  not  better  understood,  and  his  ser 
vices  not  better  appreciated.  He  feels  that  it  is 
by  malfeasance  and  political  chicanery  that  he 
has  been  superseded,  and  he  will  never  vote  for 
the  present  incumbent  of  the  appointing  power. 
"  Friendship  that  pays  is  worth  something,"  but 
not  worth  so  much  when  one  has  lost  the  spoils 
of  office. 

Jeremy  Jacobs  has  curtailed  his  business  since 
the  new  policemen  have  been  appointed  to  pa 
trol  his  street.  He  bewails  the  state  of  the/ 
times,  and  thinks  business  is  not  "  as  it  used 
to  was."  He  now  furnishes  no  easy-chair  for 
Patrick  Kelly,  and  gives  him  no  "wee  bit  of  the 
crather."  He  goes  upon  the  principle  that 


412  NED    NEVINS    THE    NEWSBOY;    OR, 

"friendship  that  don't  pay  isn't  worth  any 
thing ;  "  so  he  keeps  his  whiskey  for  more  profit 
able  purposes. 

Now  comes  the  most  melancholy  part  of  my 
story.  I  visited  Deer  Island,  and  found  twenty 
of  the  night-school  boys  in  the  House  of  Ref 
ormation.  I  went  to  the  Massachusetts  Nauti 
cal  School-ship,  and  saw  ten  more.  There  are 
also  ten  or  a  dozen  at  the  Reform  School  at 
Westboro',  making  forty  out  of  four  hundred 
already  under  lock  and  key,  and  supported  at 
public  expense.  Some  of  them  had  not  a  fail- 
trial  on  the  streets  before  being  taken,  while 
others  were  too  far  gone  for  voluntary  reform. 
When  I  consider  the  much  that  is  to  be  done, 
and  the  little  that  has  been  accomplished,  my 
heart  sickens  at  the  thought.  Though  a  hun 
dred  of  the  boys  may  have  been  improved  or 
reformed,  I  can  but  think  of  the  other  three  hun 
dred  who  have  been  but  little  benefited ;  and, 
though  the  four  hundred  should  all  have  turned 
out  well,  yet  I  must  bewail  the  thousand  that 
still  remain  in  the  streets. 

When  will  the  people  of  Boston  be  fully  awake 
to  their  responsibilities  ?  Oh,  what  a  state  of 
moral  obliquity  prevails!  How  many  boys  live 
by  deceit,  treachery,  and  guile !  How  many 
are  already  too  debased  to  distinguish  truth 


STREET    LIFE    IN    BOSTON.  413 

from  falsehood  !  Some  of  them  cannot  speak  an 
honest  truth  if  they  would.  They  have  sucked 
deceit  from  their  mothers'  breasts ;  they  lie,  be 
cause  it  has  become  their  nature ;  they  steal, 
because  their  fingers  itch  for  the  theft;  they 
burn  your  dwelling,  that  they  may  rejoice  to  see 
a  fire.  We  sleep  amidst  organized  gangs  of  in 
cendiaries.  Nothing  but  the  fear  of  detection 
keeps  down  the  torch  ;  nothing  but  a  strong  po 
lice  force  gives  us  any  manner  of  security. 
Where  the  blame  lies  is  not  for  me  to  say ; 
whether  in  the  governments  of  the  old  country, 
or  the  church  of  the  old  country,  or  the  laxness 
of  our  city  authorities,  or  the  inefficiency  of  the 
pulpit,  or  in  all  these  combined,  I  know  not; 
but  one  thing  I  do  know,  there  is  a  mighty  re 
sponsibility  re  sting  somewhere  !  May  God  hasten 
the  day  when  it  shall  be  laid  at  the  right  door  ! 
If  the  ocean  has  depths  unfathomable,  so  has 
Boston's  bottomless  sea  of  depravity.  For  over 
seven  years  have  I  been  fathoming  its  turbid, 
waters  and  brooding  over  its  dolorous  waves,  until 
they  have  whirled  my  brain,  unstrung  my  nerves, 
ruined  my  health,  and  made  this  crumbling 
frame  but  a  wreck  of  my  former  self.  My  lungs 
have  given  way,  sleep  forsakes  me ;  oh !  what 
would  I  not  give  for  one  sweet  hour  of  sleep? 
What  for  one  single  cairn  night  of  repose  ?  I 


414  NED    KEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY  ;    OR, 

walk  my  room,  and  gaze  at  the  stars,  and  see 
them,  one  by  one,  decline.  I  see  changes  in 
sky,  changes  on  earth ;  I  feel  changes  in  the  air ; 
but  there  is  no  change  for  this  restless  mind, 
these  unstrung  nerves,  this  whirling  brain  ;  no 
change  but  the  last  great  change  that  comes  to 
all.  During  the  lone  watchings  of  December's 
night,  I  see  stars  appear,  and  storms  gather  and 
disappear  again,  and  the  moon  rise  and  set;  but 
no  rest  or  sleep  or  change  comes  to  this  poor 
exhausted  brain  of  mine.  My  restless  frame  has 
forgot  the  name  of  rest.  The  sorrows  and  delin 
quencies  of  this  corrupt  city  have  taken  hold  of 
me  with  the  grasp  of  a  plague.  They  cling  to 
me  like  the  garment  of  contagion.  The  very 
ink  with  which  I  write  this  blotted  line  seems 
drawn  from  the  black  carbon  of  my  heart's 
blood,  beating  in  muffled  strokes  and  funereal 
marches  to  the  tomb.  The  dark,  aqueous  at 
mosphere  gathering  round  with  its  midnight 
damps,  and  falling  from  the  eaves  as  droppings 
from  the  pen  of  doom,  seems  as  the  shadow  of 
the  angel  of  darkness  itself,  imaging  my  own 
horror  and  gloom.  Such  are  the  feelings  of  an 
over-taxed  brain  and  over-worked  nerves.  But 
I  have  no  one  to  blame  but  myself  for  this  state 
of  health.  I  should  have  assumed  less  responsi 
bilities,  and  done  less  work.  The  benevolent 


STREET   LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  415 

people  of  Boston  stood  ready  to  relieve  me  ;  but 
I  was  too  fearful  to  make  my  wants  and  burdens 
known.  The  assistance,  however,  has  come  ;  but, 
alas !  it  has  come  too  late  to  restore  my  health. 
What  is  done  is  done,  and  cannot  be  undone. 

But  there  is  a  relief  to  this  picture  :  there  is  a 
satisfaction  in  doing  good;  there  is  gratitude 
experienced  from  the  relieved  that  cheers  the 
aching  heart ;  there  is  comfort  in  friends  that 
smooths  the  pillow  of  care  ;  and  there  is  consola 
tion  in  the  promises  of  God.  There  has  been  also  a 
well  of  comfort,  a  fountain  of  revery  and  /ecrea- 
tion,  in  writing  this  little  book.  In  this  I  could 
choose  my  own  society,  and  recall  such  charac 
ters  as  best  suited  my  fancy.  When  care  has 
oppressed  mq,  and  driven  sleep  from  my  eyes ; 
when  rest  and  quiet  would  not  come  at  my  woo 
ing,  then  I  have  resorted  to  my  pen.  Convers 
ing  with  the  shadows  that  have  surrounded  me, 
and  peopling  them  with  the  sombre  fancies  of 
my  own  imaginings,  I  have  wandered  darkly 
through  the  saddening  chapters  of  street-life  in 
Boston.  During  the  still  hours  of  night,  the 
streets  have  been  alive  to  me,  though  there  was 
but  .the  distant  tread  of  the  policemen  heard 
upon  the  deserted  pavements.  When  rays  of 
comfort  have  broken  in  upon  my  soul,  then  I 
have  penned  the  virtues  of  Nellie  Nelson  and 


416  NED    NEVINS   THE   NEWSBOY;    OR, 

the  trials  and  triumphs  of  Ned  Nevins.  Much  is 
real ;  but  how  much  is  unreal  I  cannot  say :  for 
the  ideal,  the  imaginative,  has  become  real  to 
me ;  all  the  colorings  seem  a  fact  as  real  as  the 
original  characters  themselves. 

My  task  is  done  ;  the  book  is  written.  Nellie 
Nelson  is  no  more  ;  and  Ned  Nevins,  rising  from 
his  low  estate,  wanders  from  my  embrace.  No 
more  will  he  cheer  my  vigils  by  his  imaginative 
presence,  no  more  call  out  the  undiscovered 
fountains  of  my  sympathetic  tears  by  his  suffer 
ings  and  misfortunes.  Farewell,  noble  boy  !  yet 
I  cannot  say  farewell  while  thy  shadow  lingers, 
and  thy  image  is  before  me. 

The  world  sleeps ;  it  is  past  midnight ;  Ned 
fills  my  thoughts ;  clouds  come  and  go  ;  stars 
change  ;  bells  strike  the  hours  as  they  pass,  and 
I  am  left  alone  with  Ned.  Now  one  lone  star 
peeps  through  the  mist,  and  looks  down  upon  us  : 
it  looks  like  the  diminutive  bright  eye  of  little 
Nellie  in  heaven.  It  shines  like  a  taper,  gleam 
ing  with  dim  light  on  this  naughty  world.  She 
seems  to  say,  "  Cheer  up,  sir ;  your  toils  are  not 
all  lost :  if  you  have  rescued  but  one  soul  from 
doom,  you  have  done  a  great  work."  0  .Nel 
lie  !  what  joys  must  be  thine  to  see  that  Ned  has 
prospered,  and  is  true  and  faithful.  But  enough 
of  this.  Now,  Ned,  we  must  part :  the  hour  of 


STREET    LIFE   IN    BOSTON.  417 

our  severance  is  at  hand.  Better  than  a  harp 
hast  thou  been  to  me  ;  thy  voice  has  been  as  mu- 
'sic  to  my  soul ;  thou  hast  drawn  out  my  sympa 
thy  and  my  love.  1  ought  not  to  be  selfish,  and 
desire  thee  to  tarry  longer ;  yet  I  part  with  thee 
reluctantly. 

Farewell,  noble  child  !  "  if  thou  doest  no 
wrong,  something  good  will  come  to  thee." 
Yet,  one  kiss  more,  as  thy  footsteps  linger  ;  one 
more  look  into  those  childish,  confiding  eyes ; 
one  more  sound  from  those  magic  lips ;  one  more 
gentle  embrace.  Adieu,  my  child  !  along  adieu  ! 
The  clouds  are  breaking,  the  day  is  dawning,  the 
light  of  morning  kisses  the  waters  of  the  harbor ; 
this  is  no  time  for  fancies  ;  the  light  that  is  break 
ing  in  upon  the  waters  is  as  the  dawn  of  eterni 
ty,  wherein  there  is  no  fiction,  but  all  is  stern 
reality. 

Go,  then,  fair  child  !  on  the  beams  of  the  morn 
ing,  go  !  tarry  not!  go  on  the  breezes  that  waft  the 
clouds  behind  the  western  hills  ;  go  towards  the 
setting  queen  of  night,  now  paling  before  her 
mightier  peer;  go  towards  that  star  that  has 
peeped  into  our  window  so  long,  now  blushing 
at  being  discovered  by  the  all-seeing  eye  of 
day.  Go  in  the  shadows  towards  the  Hesperian 
hills  ;  and,  as  thou  goest,  let  me  watch  thy  reced 
ing  footsteps  over  mount  and  vale,  and  by  the 


418        NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWSBOY. 

brook  and  glen  ;  let  me  listen  to  the  last  note  of 
thy  departure  as  I  would  to  the  dying  echoes  of 
sweetest  minstrelsy  struck  by  fairy  fingers  or  a 
friendly  hand.  Now  in  mellow  cadence  thy  harp- 
strings  echo  on  the  breeze,  like  ^Eolian  sympho 
nies  when  the  winds  are  low,  such  as  sound  over 
the  tomb  of  the  loved  and  lost  in  dulcet  whis 
pers,  "  Farewell !  " 

Now  I  see  Ned,  beyond  the  precincts  of  the 
city,  with  eye  aspiring  and  feet  advancing,  climb 
ing  the  hills  of  learning,  mounting  the  steeps  of 
fame.  Now,  as  the  winds  rise,  I  hear  him  sound 
upon  the  breeze  with  trumpet  voice,  his  ever-to- 
be-remembered  watchword  and  motto,  —  that  leg 
acy  left  him,  and  the  generations  that  follow,  — 
the  successful  motto  that  has  carried  him  through 
every  trial,  and  temptation ;  the  legacy  of  a  dy 
ing  mother ;  words  first  on  his  lips  at  morning, 
and  last  in  his  heart  at  evening  ;  a  spell  against 
enchantment,  a  charm  against  the  charmer  ;  hope 
to  the  desponding,  comfort  to  the  forsaken,  shield 
to  the  accused ;  applicable  to  all  men  in  all  con 
ditions  of  life  ;  heaven-inspired,  gospel-sanctioned 
rule  of  action,  guide  of  life,  —  hark!  I  hear  it 
sound  upon  the  breeze,  "  If  I  do  no  wrong,  some 
thing  goodwill  come  to  me." 

FINIS. 


FINANCIAL  VIEW  OF  THE  BOSTON  UNION 
MISSION   SOCIETY,   1866. 


THIS  Society  was  organized  Feb.  27,  1859,  by  the  friends 
of  Rev.  Henry  Morgan,  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  the  gospel 
to  Dfie  poor,  clothing  children  for  Sabbath  School,  educating 
boys  of  the  street,  and  getting  homes  and  employment  for  the 
needy.  It  embraces  a  Church,  Sabbath  School,  Night  School, 
and  Benevolent  Circle.  Mr.  Morgan  was  then  preaching  in  the 
Boston  Music  Hall.  He  soon  after  accepted  from  the  city 
authorities  the  free  use  of  the  Franklin  Building,  on  Washing 
ton  Street,  near  Dover  Street,  which  he  has  occupied  to  this 
day. 

The  City  Fathers  have  found  the  grant  a  cheap  police  invest 
ment,  for  the  prevention  of  crime.  Piety  that  pays  is  worth 
something.  To  reform  a  vicious  and  idle  man,  whose  family  is 
dependent  on  charity,  saves  the  public  the  time  and  the  wages 
of  the  man,  — saves  fifteen  dollars  a  week.  Such  salvation  pays. 
To  educate  two  or  three  hundred  boys  evenings,  and  reform 
them  while  they  are  earning  their  own  living  on  the  streets,  saves 
the  State  one  hundred  dollars  per  day,  or  fifty  thousand  dollars 
a  year.  Sucli  salvation  pays.  Volunteer  teachers,  with  moral 
suasion,  battling  against  sin  and  ignorance,  are  more  likely-fo 
succeed  than  hired  officials,  with  whip  and  lash,  in  public  institu 
tions.  Besides,  reforms  to  be  genuine  must  be  voluntary,  and  in 
the  face  of  temptation.  Boys  must  learn  to  resist  while  the  bait 
is  before  thorn.  There  is  no  virtue  in  fasting  where  there  is  noth 
ing  to  eat.  Plants  in  hot-houses  won't  stand  the  storm.  The 
School  Ship,  last  year,  with  one  hundred  and  sixty  boys,  cost 
twenty-eight  thousand  dollars.  The  Westboro'  Reform  School 
cost  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Street  reforms  are  cheaper  and  bet 
ter  than  either.  Churches  are  cheaper  than  jails.  Congregating 
boys  in  public  institutions  vitiates  them ;  evil  predominates.  By 
huddling  fire-brands  together,  you  increase  the  flame.  Christi 
anity  individualizes ;  despotism  centralizes.  Away  with  despot 
ism  :  it  is  costly. 

419 


420  BOSTON   UNION   MISSION   SOCIETY. 


RELIGIOUS  MEETINGS. 

Religious  meetings  have  been  held  nearly  every  night  for  over 
seven  years.  Six  services  are  held  on  Sunday.  These  meetings 
are  profi table  in  various  ways.  They  are  self-supporting;  they 
pay  the  pastor  his  salary;  they  furnish  laborers  for  the  Benevo 
lent  Circle,  and  teachers  for  the  Night  School ;  they  are  a  shield 
to  the  young ;  they  prevent  crime ;  protect  life  and  property ; 
they  moralize  and  regenerate  society;  they  are  profitable  here, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  "hereafter."  They  are  the  cheapest 
and  purest  of  all  recreations.  "  Sing  unto  the  Lord,  oh  ye  his 
saints !  "  None  but  the  pure  in  heart  can  enjoy  them  ;  therefore 
their  tendency  is  to  elevate  the  life  and  soul.  At  these  meetings, 
over  a  thousand  persons  have  professed  a  change  of  heart. 

The  theatres  of  Boston  cost  forty  thousand  dollars  a  month. 
Pluces  more  questionable  cost  ten  times  as  much.  Sinful  pleas 
ures  are  costly.  Piety  pays. 


CHURCH. 

The  Church  is  Congregational  in  government,  Baptist  as 
respects  immersion,  and  Methodist  in  doctrine  and  modes  of  wor 
ship.  It  is  called  the  "  First  Independent  Methodist  Church  of 
Boston." 

Receipts  of  the  past  year.  Expenditures. 

Money  raised  by  Society  $1,120  Paid  Paster  .  .  .  $1,000 
Out-side  Subscriptions  .  1,7~>5  Sexton,  organist,  gas,  fuel,  &c.  800 
Clothing  received  .  .  1,015  Charities  in  goods  and  money  1,970 

IS'ight  School  expenses    .  554 

4,460  

4,38^ 

Balance  in  Treasury 6* 


AUDITORS    OF   ACCOUNTS. 

DR.  I.  J.  WETHERBEE,  46,  Dover  Street. 

DR.  JOSEPH  H.  WARREN,  903,  Washington  Street. 


CONTRIBUTORS  TO  THE  MISSION,  OF  TWENTY 
DOLLARS  AND  OVER. 

CLOTHING  AND  DRY-GOODS. 

George  H.  Lane  &  Co $200.00 

Whitten,  Burditt,  &  Young 175.00 

Isaac  Fcnno  &  Co 150.00 

J.  C.  Howe 100.00 

Samuel  Johnson 100.00 

Knowles  &  Leland 70.00 

Cushman  &  Brooks 70.00 

Dresser,  Stevens,  &  Co 70.00 

Simons,  Brothers 65.00 

G,  W.  Simmons  &  Co 50.00 

F.  Skinner  &  Co 50.00 

Haughton,  Sawyer,  &  Co '. 25.00 

Converse  &  Gray 25.00 

Hovey  &  Co 25.00 

Chandler  &  Co 25.00 

Gardiner  &  Pratt 25.00 

George  S.  Winslow  &  Co 25M) 

Curtis,  Webster,  &  Co 25.00 

Jordan,  Marsh, &  Co 25.00 

Mareh  Brothers,  Pierce,  &  Co 25.00 

George  Burbank  &  Co 20.00 

BOOTS  AND  SHOES. 

Potter,  White,  &  Bayley $85.00 

Fogg,  Houghton,  &  Coolidge 70.00 

Boyd  &  Brigham 70.00 


422  CONTRIBUTORS   TO    THE   MISSION. 

Alexander  Strong  &  Co $70.00 

William  Claflin 50.00 

Field,  Thayer,  &  Whitcomb 36.00 

Potter,  Hitchcock,  &  Co. . . 30.00 

H.  L.  Daggett 25.00 

Cole,  Wood,  &  Co 20.00 

HATS  AND  CAPS. 

Walko  &  Barnum $50.00 

William  H.  Slocum 50.00 

Steele.  Eaton,  &  Co 50.00 

Kent,  Foster,  &  Peck 45.00 

George  Osgood 40.00 

Carpenter  &  Pimpton 20.00 

Moore,  Smith,  &  Potter 20.00 

Klous  &  Co 20.00 

A.  N.  Cook  &  Co 20.00 

Shute  &  Sons 20.00 

Bent  &  Bush 20.00 

MILLINERY  AND  FANCY  GOODS. 

J.  W.  Plimpton  &  Co $50.00 

W.  Heckle 50.00 

Sleeper,  Fiske,  &  Co 50.00 

Lane  &  Tattle 50.00 

Prescott  &  Co 50.00 

Ordway  Brothers 40.00 

Given  Holmes 40.00 

Miles,  Mandell,  &  Burr 35.00 

John  Harrington 30.00 

R.  H.  Stearns  &  Co 30.00 

N.  D.  Whitney  &  Co 30.00 

George  M.  Atwood 20.00 


CONTRIBUTORS   TO    THE    MISSION.  423 


FANCY  MISCELLANY. 

* 

J.  I.  Brown  &  Son.     Troches $50.00 

Kelly  &  Edmunds 47.00 

D.  P.  Ives  &  Co 40.00 

J.  Burnett.     Extracts 40.00 

M.  Salom 40.00 

S.  W.  Creech 40.00 

Heyer  Brothers 30.00 

Henshaw  &  Co 30.00 

F.  A  Hawley  &  Co 30.00 

E.  A.  &  W.  Winchester 30.00 

C.  Copeland.     Confectionery 30.00 

George  W.  Vinton,  &  D.  Fobes  &  Co.     Confectionery  . . .  20.00 

C.  Wakefield.     Carpets 30.00 

Goldthwait,  Snow,  &  Knight 30.00 

Forbes  Richardson  &  Co 50.00 

BOOKS. 

Ticknor  &  Fields $25.00 

.  Lee  &  Shepard 25.00 

A.  K.  Loring 25.00 

Crosby  &  Ainsworth 25.00 

Oliver  Ditson  &  Co 25.00 

L.  Prang  &  Co 25.00 

J.  E.  Tilton  &  Co.  and  Brewer  &  Tileston 20.00 

M.  H.  Sargent.     Mass.  S.  S.  S 20.& 

JEWELLERS. 

Shreve,  Stanwood,  &  Co $45.00 

C.  A.  W.  Crosby 42.00 

Haddock,  Lincoln,  &  Foss 35.00 

Josiah  Gooding 35.00 

Bigelow  Brothers  &  Kennard 35.00 

Crosby  &  Morse 35.00 

Palmer  &  Batchelders. .                                                       .  20.00 


424  CONTRIBUTORS  TO   THE   MISSION. 

CASH. 

James*!).  Little $50.00 

Peter  C.  Brooks 50.00 

A.  Wigglesworth 50.00 

Mrs.  Bowditch 50.00 

Mrs.  A.  Hemmenway 50.00 

E.  R.  Mudge,  Sawyer  &  Co 50.00 

J.  M.  Beebe 50.00 

Gardner  Brewer  &  Co 50.00 

Foster  &  Taylor 45.00 

Naylor  &  Co 45.00 

N.  Thaycr 25.00 

James  Parker 25.00 

Elisha  Atkins 25.00 

Charles  Amory 25.00 

Parker  &  Mills 25.00 

Robert  Watcrston 25.00 

William  Munroe 25.00 

William  H.  Boardman 25.00 

J.  E.  Daniels 25.00 

Israel  Nash 25.00 . 

T.  H.  Tyler 20.00 

Glidden  &  Williams 20.00 

Misses  Newman 20.00 

Mrs.  B.  T.  Green 20.00 

Richard  Fletcher 20.00 

James  Savage 20.00 

Miss  Julia  Bryant 20.00 

Miss  Pratt 20.00 

Dr.  Schenck,  of  Philadelphia,  whose  Pulmonic  Syrup  has  been 
the  means  of  relieving  Mr.  Morgan  from  a  lung  difficulty,  gives 
two  hundred  dollars  in  medicine  for  the  poor  of  the  Mission. 

The  city  pastors  and  others,  who  have  preached  or  lectured  for 
the  Mission,  are  Rev.  Drs.  Kirk,  Blagden,  Gannett,  Ncalc,  Hague, 
Parker,  Stone,  Webb ;  Rev.  Messrs.  Manning,  Dexter,  Haven, 
Hepworth;  Gov.  Andrew,  Hon.  Josiali  Quincy,  E.  S.  Toby, 
Judge  Russell,  Joseph  Story,  Marshall  Scudder,  J.  H.  Stcphen- 
Bon,  Aldermen  Nasli  and  Paul,  Ex-Mayor  Wightman,  Wendell 
Phillip;;,  and  J.  D.  Philbric'k,  Superintendent  of  Public  Schools. 


NOTICES  OF  THE  BOSTON  PRESS.      425 


NOTICES  OF  THE  BOSTON  PRESS. 


NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWS  BOY,  or  Street  Life  in  Boston,  is  the  title 
of  a  book  written  by  REV.  HENHY  MORGAN,  which  is  selling  very 
rapidly,  most  of  the  first  edition  being  sold  wholly  in  Boston,  and 
within  a  few  days  of  its  publication.  It  reveals  much  of  the  life  of 
the  "dangerous  classes,"  as  they  are  termed  in  England,  or  the 
poor  and  vicious,  as  they  are  generally  spoken  of  in  this  country. 
Mr.  Morgan  is  at  the  head  of  the  mission  enterprise  established  in 
Franklin  Building,  near  Dover  Street,  and  has  devoted  himself  to 
the  work  of  reclaiming  and  benefiting  the  lower  classes  of  our  popu 
lation  with  great  earnestness  and  much  practical  wisdom,  and,  there 
is  reason  to  believe,  is  accomplishing  great  good.  This  book  of  his 
is  deeply  interesting,  as  it  presents  in  vivid  colors  the  daily  life  of 
the  juvenile  outcasts  of  the  city,  and  their  mental  and  moral  char 
acteristics,  as  well  as  the  causes  which  lead  them  into  vice  and 
crime.  It  is  a  book  that  all  may  read  with  profit,  and  especially 
those  who  take  an  interest  in  reformatory  movements. 

Mr.  Morgan  is  receiving  many  calls  to  deliver  his  lectures  on 
"  Life  in  Boston,"  and  "  Fast  Young  Men."  —  BOSTON  JOURNAL. 

The  volume  before  us,  NED  NstiNS,  or  Street  Life  in  Boston,  by 
REV.  HENRY  MORGAN,  gives  a  most  life-like  notion  of  the  juvenile 
outcasts  of  the  city,  of  the  good  and  evil  which  are  in  them,  and 
of  the  means  and  instrumentalities  by  which  the  good  may  be  made 
to  triumph  over  the  evil.  Mr.  Morgan,  in  his  paintings  of  life,  be 
longs  to  the  pre-Raphaelite  school,  and  is  anxious  to  reproduce  his 
subjects  with  vivid  distinctness.  His  boys  seem  to  be  taken  out  fcf 
the  street,  arid  put  bodily  into  his  book.  Dress,  language,  deport 
ment,  morale,  all  are  given.  The  author  is  an  enthusiast  for  his 
self-imposed  task  of  Christian  reformer.  He  envies  not  the  largest- 
salaried  preacher  of  the  richest  Boston  congregation,  but  evidently 
wonders'  why  they  do  not  envy  him.  To  carry  Christian  consola 
tion,  Christian  hope,  and,  above  all,  Christian  help,  into  the  homes  of 
poverty  and  disease,  seems  to  him  the  greatest  privilege  of  a  Chris 
tian  minister.  To  be  the  first  statesman,  lawyer,  soldier,  man  of 
letters,  or  man  of  science  in  the  country,  is  to  occupy,  in  his  estima 
tion,  a  less  exalted  position  than  falls  "to  the  fortunate  lot  of  him 
who  clothes  the  naked,  teaches  the  ignorant,  helps  the  erring,  and 
r«forms  the  depraved.  —  BOSTON  TRANSCRIPT. 


426  NOTICES    OF    THE    BOSTON    PRESS. 


NED  KEVINS  is  a  most  excellent  book.  It  is  the-  story  of  a  news 
boy  who  lived  in  Boston,  and  who  had  all  the  various  vicissitudei 
of  his  class,  until  he  met  with  better  fortune,  and  found  a  comfort 
able  home.  It  is  such  a  story  as  young  people  should  read,  for  it 
shows  them  the  temptations  to  which  the  poor  newsboys  are  ex 
posed  on  every  side.  It  will  lead  them  to  sympathize  with  the  un 
fortunate,  and  guard  them  against  certain  temptations  which  sooner 
or  later  will  beset  all  jroung  people.  It  is  a  good  book  for  the  fam 
ily  or  the  Sunday  School.  Its  teachings  are  all  pure,  its  tendencies 
philanthropic,  and  its  lessons  religious.  Every  boy  in  Boston  should 
read  it. 

Mr.  Morgan  has  been  doing  great  good  among  the  newsboys,  and 
other  neglected  persons  in  Boston.  His  church  is  an  independent 
society,  Congregational  in  polity,  Methodist  in  doctrine,  and  Baptist 
in  the  ordinances.  It  embraces  a  church,  Sunday  School,  night 
school,  intelligence  office,  and  benevolent  circle;  and  the  pastor  de 
serves  the  sympathy  of  Christian  people.  We  hope  his  book  will 
sell  well,  and  his  work  prosper.  —  Rev.  Dr.  Eddy,  CHRISTIAN  ERA, 
Sept.  27,  1866. 

REV.  HENRY  MORGAN,  well  known  in  this  city  for  his  earnest 
labors  among  the  poor,  the  vicious,  and  the  unfortunate,  has  written 
a  little  volume  with  the  title  of  NKD  NEVINS  THE  NEWS  BOY,  in 
which,  in  the  form  of  a  story,  he  gives  striking  facts  and  incidents 
drawn  from  his  own  experience  and  observation.  The  story  is  an 
affecting  one,  and  nearly  all  the  characters  are  taken  from  real  life; 
and  many  of  us,  if  we  open  our  eyes,  our  hearts,  and  our  hands  to 
the  world  immediately  around  us,  might  say,  with  the  author, "  From 
the  street  have  I  learned  lessons  of  humanity,  and  among  the  lowly 
have  I  found  disciples  of  Jesus."  —  CONGREGATIONALIST. 
i 

Mr.  Morgan  has  written  this  book  with  much  earnestness  and  sin 
cerity;  and  it  will  do  much  to  call  attention  to  the  boys  in  our  streets, 
and  to  incite  interest  and  action  in  their  behalf.  —  UNIVERSALIST. 

Rev.  Henry  Morgan,  of  this  city,  is  receiving  many  calls  to  deliver 
his  lectures  on  "  Life  in  Boston,"  and  "  Fast  Young  Men."  He  is 
the  author  of  a  new  book  entitled,  NED  NEVINS  TUB  NEWS  ROY,  or 
Street  Life  in  Boston,  which  is  having  quite  a  "  run,"  the  first  edi 
tion  having  been  exhausted  in  a  few  days  after  publicaiion.  This 
story  is  made  uj  of  true  incidents  and  characters,  gathered  by  Mr. 
Morgan,  who  is  much  associated  with  the  newsboys,  and  well  ac 
quainted  with  their  habits. 

The  success  of  li  Life  Sketches  and  Music  Hall  Discourses,"  in 
duced  the  author  to  write  this  interesting  volume.  —  ZION'S  HERALD. 

This  handsome  volume  contains  a  story  that  is  founded  on  fact, 
and  therefore  conveys  a  more  impressive  lesson  than  if  it  were 
wholly  fictitious  and  romantic.  We  cannot  too  cordially  commend 


NOTICES    OF    THE    BOSTON    PRESS.  427 


the  purpose  of  the  author  in  this  effective  little  tale,  or  in  his  entire 
work.  We  hope  that  NED  NEVINS  may  be  put  by  some  kind,  ricli 
man,  like  another  Amos  Lawrence,  into  the  hands  of  every  boy  in 
Boston.  It  would  work  untold  good.  —  BANNER  OP  LIGHT. 

SUCCESS  OF  NED  NEVINS  THE  NEWS  BOY.  —  Rev.  Henry  Mor 
gan's  book  on  STREET  LIFE  IN  BOSTON,  or  NedNevins  the  News  Boy, 
published  by  Lee  &  Shepard,  is  meeting  with  popular  favor.  The 
first  edition  was  sold  within  a  few  days  of  its  publication,  almo.st 
wholly  in  Boston.  A  second  edition  will  be  immediately  issued. 
Mr.  Morgan  is  well  acquainted  with  his  subject,  having  labored  as  a 
missionary  among  the  poor  of  this  city  for  nearly  eight  years.  He 
wields  the  pen  with  the  same  force  and  eloquence  that  he  speaks: 
his  characters  are  true  to  life,  and  cannot  fail  to  win  the  sympathy 
of  the  reader.  None  can  read  the  story  of  Ned  Nevins  the  News 
Boy,  liis  sufferings,  temptations,  escapes,  and  triumphs,  without,  ad 
miration  and  respect  for  this  neglected  class  of  street-boys.  None 
can  read  of  Ned's  mother  in  Orange  Lane,  literally  dying  with  needle 
in  hand,  without  feelings  of  pity  for  the  poor.  The  characters  of 
Solomon  Levi,  of  Nick,  and  of  Nellie,  scenes  of  high  life  and  low  life, 
the  pathetic  and  the  comic,  the  philosophic  and  the  tragic,  are  por 
trayed  in  graphic  contrast,  while  the  enterprise  and  benevolence  of 
Boston  receive  their  proper  tribute.  We  predict  for  this  book  a 
large  sale.  —  BOSTON  POST. 

Nearly  all  the  characters  in  this  story  are  taken  from  real  life. 
Mr.  Morgan's  eight  years  of  missionary  experience  in  Boston,  among 
the  poor,  have  furnished  him  with  the  facts  of  which  he  writes. 
Of  these  facts  he  has  made  good  use,  and  produced  a  story  of  much 
worth,  one  in  which  we  see  a  great  deal  of  life  as  it  is,  and  as  it  is 
likely  to  remain  for  some  time;  though,  under  the  wise  and  benevo 
lent  labors  of  Mr.  Morgan,  and  other  good  and  able  men,  improve 
ment  must  steadily  take  place. —  EVENING  TRAVELLER. 

This  narrative  is  of  one  of  the  waifs  whom  Mr.  Morgan  interested 
in  his  services.  The  boys  will  be  interested  in  the  story,  which  is 
told  in  a  familiar  and  graphic  manner.  —  COMMONWEALTH. 

This  volume  gives  the  history  of  NED  NEVINS,  a  representative 
of  thousands  of  boys  in  Boston  and  other  large  cities;  it  describes 
his  way  of  life,  his  associates,  his  temptations,  his  misfortune^,  and 
his  benefactors,  in  graphic  and  entertaining  style. —  COMMERCIAL 
BULLETIN,. 

In  the  form  of  an  attractive  story,  the  author  has  strung  together, 
with  skill,  a  great  many  facts  in  the  real  life  of  the  poor  and  vicious 
in  this  dity.  There  is  much  of  pathetic  and  even  dramatic  interest 
in  the  volume.  It  will  be  welcome;  and  we  hope  it  may  move 
many  a  heart  to  second  the  philanthropical  work  of  the  home  mis 
sionary. —  THE  VOICE  (WOBKINGMAN'S  ORGAN). 


428  NOTICES   OF   THE   BOSTON   PEESS. 


A  few  days  ago  we  heard  a  boy,  under  twelve  years  of  age,  ex 
claim,  "  That  is  aglorious  book  !"  We  asked  what  book?  '•  VVhy," 
said  he,  "  '  The  Newsboy.'  "  He  had  just  been  reading  Rev.  Henry 
Morgan's  pictorial  narrative  of  Ned  Nevins,  published  by  Lee  & 
Shepard.  We  turned  to  the  work  at  once,  and  were  soon  in  sympa 
thy  with  the  boy's  state  of  feeling.  It  is  a  picture  of  Life  in  Boston, 
truthful  to  reality.  Among  the  fresh  issues  from  the  press  there  is 
no  better  gift-book  for  a  boy,  adapted  to  educate  the  heart  and  the 
conscience,  to  guard  against  temptation,  and,  in  the  doing  of  good  as 
well  as  the  resistance  of  evil,  to  nourish  a  manly,  heroic,  Christian 
spirit. —  REV.  DR.  HAGUE  (HERBERT)  in  Watchman  and  Reflector. 

We  are  glad  of  the  book.  It  will  tell  "  the  oldest  inhabitant " 
something  about  the  Yankee  Metropolis  that  will  be  new  to  him, 
and  we  hope  will  warm  many  a  heart  to  the  calls  of  humanity.  — 
BOSTON  RECORDER. 

He  has  succeeded  in  showing  street  life  in  Boston  in  its  true  col 
ors.  —  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNION. 

NED  NEVINS  is  one  illustrious  example  that  crowns  the  wisdom 
of  such  effort  in  the  redemption  of  outcast  youth.  —  AM.  MISCEL 
LANY. 

Remarkably  regenerative  in  its  tendencies,  and  sharp  and  pointed 
in  style.  —  WIDE  WORLD. 

In  his  portraiture  of  the  Boston  News  Boy,  he  gives  its  some  very 
graphic  delineations  of  life  among  the  lowly. —  THE  NATION. 

It  is  written  in  a  very  taking,  familiar  style.  —  PLOUGHMAN. 

The  street-boy  of  Boston  is  depicted  in  a  clear  and  forcible  man 
ner.  —  NEW-ENGLAND  FARMER. 


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