, 
 
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 when 1 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, 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. i l 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 dou r t 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 ! Oh 7 ye 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? 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. 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 ! 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 goin r 
 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, " 
 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, " 
 
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, " 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." 
 
 " 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, 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. " 
 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 ! 
 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. 
 
 " 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, " my mother, my mother ! 
 She is freezing, starving, dying, all alone, her 
 Eddie far away. 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. mother ! mother 1 " 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO MRS. SOPHIA NEVINS, NED S 
 MOTHER. 
 
 k AT 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, " 
 Eddie ! why do you not come, when your mother 
 is so sick? 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; ? 
 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 ? " 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " 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\ en V 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, " Eddie, Eddie 1 has it 
 come to this ? 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. 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. 
 
 " 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, a k s 
 
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? 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. 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. " 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? 
 
 " 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, " 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. 
 
 " 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 ? 
 
 " 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, " 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, stammering 1 . " 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, " 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 ? 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. 
 
 " 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, 
 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, 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 
 
 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, 
 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. 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. 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. " Dinah ! " said Nel 
 lie, " you make me shudder and tremble, when 
 you show so much temper. 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. happy sleep ! if it could but 
 hide his pain, or obliterate his woes. Then the 
 vigilant watcher by his side again said, " 
 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 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, " 
 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. " 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. " 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." 
 
 " 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. ! ! ! " 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. 
 
 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. 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 4 to 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 said f 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! 
 rapturous hour ! 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 ) 7 ou 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." 
 
 " 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, " 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. 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, God ! hear me for thy mercy s 
 sake ! 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, 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, 
 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, 
 
 " 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 
 
 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, ! " 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 ! 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? 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. 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. 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. 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. 
 
 " 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, " 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 ! 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? 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, " 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. 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. 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." - " 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. " 
 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, 
 heavens ! give ear, 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 knewthat 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, " 
 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. " 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. 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. the villain ! what does he 
 want of a prayer-book ? 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 ! 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 ! 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 ! heavens ! vengeance ! 
 murder ! murder ! " Then falling, and throwing 
 his hand to his hea d, he said, in lower and more 
 subdued tones, " my head ! my head ! it will 
 split, it will split ! Oh, how it whirls round ! oh 
 my head ! my head ! ! ! ! " 
 
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} r mpathy ; 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." 
 
 " Mr. Nelson ! " said Ned, in gladness and 
 surprise, as he fell upon his knees before him ; 
 
 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. 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." 
 
 " 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 X BOSTON. 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. 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 ! 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, 
 " 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? 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, " 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." .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- f o 
 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 
 rforms 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 j r oung 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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