DEWITT&SNELLING BOOKSELLERS ' STREET THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. A ]N T OVEL. HARR WAGNER AND E. T. BUNYAN, Editors of " The Golden Era." INTBODUCTOET ESSAY BY REV. ROBT. MACKENZIE. A man's misfortunes antedate his birth. SAN FRANCISCO CAL. SAN FRANCISCO NEWS COMPANY 1883. ,\ Copyrighted 1883, by Wanner & Bunyan. Bancroft Library INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Some painter enriched our Centennial Exhibition with a picture of the Ciesar on his war-horse. An affrighted woman carrying her child is seen in the distance, escaping for her life; the ruthless hoof of the horse is planted in the bosom of another woman, less fortunate in her escape, while the Caesar, indifferent to the sufferings of his march, is calmly studying the globe in his hand, planning at what gates he will next marshal his legions, and what country he will next subdue to his scepter, ^ That proud and ruthless Caesar is dust to-day; his marchings are all over; his name affrights no woman or child, but his horse goes on, mounted by another and more reckless, cruel, bloodthirsty rider. Caesar has given place to alcohol; strong drink commands a larger army, besieges and conquers more cities, and tramples into the dust more women and children than ever did the Caesar. Women and children are always the victims of the world's passions. Men may have the glory, the fame or the pleasure; women and children have the pains, the privations, the bitter dregs of it all. Man's breast may heave with proud ambition, on the horse; woman's breast is crushed by the cruel hoof. That horse and that rider are making fearful havoc on our own streets. Their victims pass us on every corner in increasing numbers. The mark of the hoof is plainly seen. Their cry is in our ears, and we dare not be deaf to it. It may be true that strong drink and its blighting results have not touched us; but we are surely past the days of the Stoic and the Pharisee who could wrap themselves in their superiority, and thank God they were not as other men. " What is your Christianity to me?" is an ac- cumulating cry coming up from these miserable unfortunates, which we know and feel ought to have a more practical and comprehensive answer. Christian people hear that cry and feel the inadequacy of the work per- formed. We stand on the corner of some famous streets where these waifs gather in greater numbers, and, looking beyond, we see the spires of our churches that have cost a hundred thousand dollars costly piles that stand idle and echoless for six days in the week, across whose portals, opened for two hours on the Sunday, few of this class feel welcome, and less come, and we realiza that certainly something is wrong. That amount of capital ought not to be locked up at such a small per cent of return. None feels or regrets this more than the Christian community. There are hundreds who fain would do something, even much, to alleviate and to pre- vent all this misery, if they only knew what to do and where to do it. Many a willing heart is delayed, waiting for a large opportunity, or discouraged through the failure of an attempt on too grand a scale. The heroism of books, the chivalric deeds of the past, seem to have all been performed on horseback, by mailed knights who scoured the globe for the relief of the oppressed and the unfortunate. That form of benevolence still lingers in our imagination, and many zealous spirits are idle, waiting the INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. opportunity to come to them, thus grandly and gaily equipped. To-day the world's heroism is not mounted; those that are helping the world along are almost all on foot humble, unknown and often obscure. We read in German history how the Northmen came down upon that country, carrying war and ruin with them. Arnulf, a rough but brave man, led his country in the defense. The swampy nature of the ground and the position of the enemy where they were encamped were singularly unfavora- ble to such fighting as the knightly noblemen had practised before. They were about to retreat, when Arnulf did the most unknightly thing of dis- mounting, and, taking in his hand the banner of the empire, led the way on foot through the morass to storm the cainp. Christian and other philan- thropic people must follow Arnulf 's example, and go at this work on foot. The benevolence of the world can reach the needy classes in no other way. Let us be willing to do the little things, to speak the simple word, to begin by gathering in and helping the few. Let us be willing to go right into the swamp, as Arnulf did. Our pity will become still more active and practical when it is aj plied to the prevention of this misery. "Is she a bad one?" is asked in the following pages. We certainly would discourage nothing done for the redemption of the "bad ones;" but there are thousands of these children who are not "bad ones" yet. They are only on the way some of them on the verge of it. The painter represents the angels, not lifting the fallen out of the abyss, but drawing back the tempted, persuading them from the leap into it. We will be on the side of the angels when we mass our energies in preventing this misery. In this line many benevolent people are already found reaping rich results. Our kindergartens, our children's sewing schools, our city missions, our mission visitors that go from house to house, are all work ; ng in the line of preven- tion. Impressions of the good are indelibly made upon the hearts of these children that will underlie and outlive all the wounds of the evil they yet may see. Nor is there any work on earth that so rewards the worker as that which we do for little children. The Saviour is said to have wept three times, and never to have laughed; but surely there was one time in his life when he smiled when he took the little children in his arms and blessed them how could he help it? There is something in our ministry to children that opens the widest gates of our own hearts, something which appeals to the very best within us. When the miners of '49 were in our mountains they en- dured manfully many of the privations of home and family; but it is said when a little child came casually to a camp, they left their work for a time to go and see it, and sometimes gave the proud mother money for the privi- lege of kissing the little one; it reminded them of home. When Christ was on the earth, the only thing that reminded him of home was little children. We ure surely following in worthy footsteps, when by charity or love we gather up one of these little flowers from the merciless street. ROBERT McKfiNziE. TME*STREET*ND4TME*FLOER PRELUDE. From out the depths of humanity comes a plaintive cry for help. Myriad voices are combined in the penetrating com- plaint. This cry, which is voiced by tears, has been uttered by every human being. With some it has been the cry for bread, some for clothes, some for friends, some for freedom, some for genius, and with others for recognition. Plato heard the cry of humanity for help; he gave the people philosophy. Luther heard the wail; he reformed religion. Dickens saw the tears of pov- erty in the streets of London; he planted flowers there and made poverty eminently respectable. Our Pilgrim Fathers heard the cry, and freedom lived. John Brown heard the faint echo of the negro's plaintive song, and we are doubly free. The cry for help has reached above mortal ears, and a favorable answer is found in the gradual progression of the race. But life is a web. There are few weavers and much material. That part of the web which is limited by the confines of this city com- prises the action and philosophy of this story. The weavers are those who have listened to humanity's cry. Some have listened to the whispers of an angel a bad angel. Some of the weav- ers tangle the already tangled web, and ruin the material. It is our intention to discriminate closely between the true and false position of social reformers; to give the time principles of social 2 THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. ethics; to ridicule some and to praise others who now figure prominently in social affairs. Poverty and love for love, not sentimentality, is the mainspring of every emotion wealth and philosophy for philosophy governs the proper distribution of all wealth are the accompaniments of the story. The prelude now ends. The story begins. CHAPTER I. " Heaven is not far removed in our infancy." In the chill, gloom and squalor of one of the dingiest houses of Benton Park a child caught the breath of heaven, and Miff had a motherless sister. The bright-eyed boy, ragged, healthy, immoral and dirty, touched with his finger tips the cold, purple lips of his mother, whose life ended when his sister's began. Six years previous to a time, it matters little when, Miff was born into this straggling world. His misfortunes antedated his birth. Jared Kenwood, his father, was a man whose posterity claim no honor through inherited qualities. He was in his earliest youth crushed and warped out of all manly shape and charac- teristics. Life to him was a mere song, not a song of home, but of the concert hall, low, lewd and inharmonious. Touch him gently with the sharp pencil of truth. Let the fog of the city mantle his weaknesses. He is a man, a father the para- gon of animals and the wonder of society. The bloated face calls for a woman's kind toilet powder; his nose need be painted with the hue of a rose a white rose; the eyes in the elbow of his coat sleeve need be patched with silver lining; paint him no blacker than he is, or by the darkness of Erebus, a paint blacker than crime will have to be discovered. What right had Jared Eenwool to have born into this world a child tainted with bad blool, albeit a spice of nobleness came from a gentle mother, and the gera of a soul was caught in the first breath as it fluttered and fell from the edge of a cloud to the soulless earth. The world wants more gods. 4: THE STEEET AND THE FLOWER. There was a presiding deity of creation; now let us have a pre- siding deity of procreation. If there had been some one to see that all were born right, Miff's career would have been like the vast majority unwritten. The family of Ren woods, who lived in Benton Park, consisted of Jared Renwocd, his wife and boy Miff. But in a day the fam- ily was changed. Mrs. Kenwood, a kind, gentle and refined woman, was buried. Jared Kenwood was dead drunk, and the infant child was kindly cared for by Mrs. Martin, a good moth- erly soul, who had only ten children of her own to care for and liard bone labor to support them. Jared Kenwood made his home in the saloons. Miff took care of himself, picking up a lesson here and there on the ways of the world, fighting this and stealing that, until a 3 r ear had passed, bringing a sort of re- liant, defiant and immature manhood to the sorry denizen of the street. A hallowed affection existed between him and his baby sister. Every day he would run across the street and touch her soft cheek, pinch her hand and pull out the longest delicate hair he could find on the bald, peach-shaped head. When there was an expressionless smile there was a little more sunshine for him. His affection was the pure, natural, kindred love. One day, Mrs. Martin called Miff over and asked him what he would call his sister. " Baby, to be sure," he answered. " No, that won't do; you must give her some nice lady's name.'* " Call her somethin' that'll make her good," said Miff. " Let us call her Bona that means good," said Mrs. Martin. And Miff was satisfied, and as he called his little sister Bona for the first time, he baptized her with a kiss, and was happy in having a sister with such a splendid name. In the city, at this time, was a noble, self-sacrificing woman who was looking after homeless and motherless children. A sys- THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 5 tern of schools, called children's gardens, was established, and into these kindergartens were gathered many a child who re- ceived such moral and religious instructions that their after lives were made a satisfaction to themselves and a glory and honor to humanity. Mrs. Kate Benson was at the head of this work; she perfected the plans, and, by her own personality, overcame much of the prejudice that existed against all practical work in the way of reform. Benton Park knew Mrs. Benson. Once she had taken a moth- erless child from the place, and had given it a home. Mrs. Mar- tin would willingly have kept Bona, but alas, poverty forbade, as it has often, before and since, a generous impulse. Kenwood was not consulted. He never contributed a cent toward the child's support, and did not even give a father's love. Mrs. Benson, on learning the history of Bona, gladly accepted the protegee. Alas for poor Miff, when he returned, Bona was not to be seen. " Where is Bona?" was his first inquiry. When told a good woman had come for his sister, he insisted that a bad woman, a wicked woman, had taken his Bona. When Jared Kenwood learned that his little daughter had been taken charge of by a charitable lady, he began to curse the women in general, who were always bothering poor folks under the guise of charity, yet their main object was to get a man into church, in order to get collections from him. He took Miff by the hand, and together they went to the corner saloon, and there, in the crowd of half-drunken loafers, he told his tale of woe, and heard the words of sympathy expressed by those pres- ent. Miff's hands twitched. His eyes flashed, and, looking up de- fiantly, he said: " I am going to get my sister back. The bad woman" and tears choked his utterance. The bar-maid gave t> THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. him a glass of beer to drink. The loafers cheered him and called him a little man, and petted his tendency to their own fallen es- tate. In this corner saloon call it a grocery store; dignify it .by any name you please; call it a Crystal Palace, Saints' Best, Sinners' Retreat, Palace Grocery Store, The Elite; call it Para- dise, if you choose the fact remains that no name will ever remove the evil it has done nor lessen the influence in destroy- ing the children who frequent the place to perform a mother's errand. Miff grew up in the company of his father, who liked him because he was a lovable child a mixture of the good and bad, a boy with a capacity for good, but trained to evil. A tender and refined mother had guarded his existence until he was six years of age; then a father's evil associates and a father's bad example influenced him. Miff was of the street; upon the high- way he lived, and the alleys were his retreat. He had a home a cold, comfortless home. The sunshine and the companion- ship of the street were dearer to him than his cheerless room. Almost every day he would inquire of Mrs. Martin for Bona, and his grief did not lessen with time. The little sister had made an impression upon his childish heart. One day he was playing in the sand on one of the hills back of Benton Park, where he met a little girl about his own age. They pulled up the weeds and tossed the sand into each oth- er's eyes, and Miff, to give his mate a fair advantage, threw against the sea breeze. At last, becoming tired of the sport, he said to her abruptly: "What is your name?" Not waiting for an answer, he pulled her down on the sand by his side and told her about the wicked charity woman -,vho took his sister Bona. It was a pitiful story, and every time he told it the sadness became. more marked. THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 7 While they were talking, a policeman approached them. " That is a charity man," said the little girl. " He took my brother for takin' something from Shinlers." At this information the little couple started for Benton Park. When near the place, Miff again asked the girl her name, and learned that she was called Viola. They found a man waiting at Mrs. Martin's for their return. As soon as they arrived, Mrs. Martin told Miff that a real nice old man wanted him to go with him and grow up to be a fine man, so that when he would find his sister she would be proud of having such a nice brother. The information startled Miff. " Is he a charity man?'' And, not waiting for an answer, he fied from the room and ran down the street toward the corner saloon. "It's a charity man after me!" he yelled back to Vi- ola, as he saw her running after him at a speed nearly as rapid, as his own. CHAPTER II. " The children figure in the giant mass Of thirgs to come." Down the street Miff and Viola ran, their speed diminishing 1 with their fear. They halted at last in front of a dwelling, on which the sign " For Rent" had been obscured by the corroding influence of time. They stood, hesitated a moment; then Miff, taking Viola by the hand, crept through a narrow opening in the fence, and, going to the rear of the house, they looked for a hiding-place. A basemenc door was open. Trembling with excitement, and believing that the charity man was close behind, determined to catch them, the couple fearlessly entered where women would not dare to tread. The dampness of the cellar, the darkness, and now and then the move of some harmless insect, perhaps the fluttering of a bat, made it decidedly dis- agreeable for so young a twain. They crept into a corner, and economized as much space as possible. His shoulder touched hers, cheek caressed cheek, eye confided in eye. The trust and confidence of a woman will make the most arrant coward valor- ous, and Viola, by some freak of human nature, trusted her little companion, Miff. The darkness of night coming over the city did not change the light of their hiding-place. The fog at sunrise was not even noticed by them. They slept on. Viola awoke. Miff was sleeping still. His fingers were entwined in her hair. One hand was in his pocket. His body curled up like a ball. Viola rubbed her eyes with a doubled fist, and then, looking fondly a moment at Miff, leaned over and kissed him. He uttered the THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 9 word " mother," and opened his eyes. The kiss to him was a mother's benediction. He was no doubt transferred to Para- dise the happy land of dreams. Viola's kiss made the dream of his mother real in the awakening moment, but it dispelled the illusion, and the transportation from dreamland left him, as it does all, in a cold and uncharitable world. When he was wide awake he told Viola that his mother had come back, and that just before he awoke she had kissed him. " Did she ? why, I did too," said Viola. " And she put my hair back this way," continued Miff, as he stroked his hair. " That's what I was doing, too." A quizzical look came into Miff's face. He did not quite un- derstand a mother's kiss, and could not remember that Viola kissed him. "I am awful hungry," pleaded Viola. Miff took some sassafras and some browned coffee, which he had supplied himself with from the counter of the corner saloon where it is generally kept to purify the breath after polluting the throat with bad whiskey from his pocket, and soon they were enjoying their frugal meal. The breakfast was suddenly interrupted by slow, measured sounds on the stairs. It was the measured sound of step after step, the somewhat sharper sound of a cane, as it did its master's service descending the stairs. The children were frightened. They huddled together, and Viola whispered: "What will we do?" The sound came nearer. The last step seemed to be reached. Miff placed Viola in a cor- ner, and taking a board placed it in front of her, and then stood guard. He saw a door opening. The form of a man approach- ing. His voice trembling too much to do him service, yet ready to protect his companion, he cried out: " Viola is not here! " 10 THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. " And who are you, my little man ? " was spoken in a kindly voice. Miff was afraid, though a kind voice is as full of treachery to a child as to a man, at times. He stood against the board so hard that a sob was heard, and a plaintive " Don't " from Viola. " Come, my little fellow, why did you come here and who is that behind the board ? " The questioner was Oswald Grayson, a peculiar man. His features were no index to his character. A huge lump deformed his back. His head was large while his limbs were diminutive; in fact, his body was so out of proportion that he was compelled to reverse the common process of putting on a shirt. His form was abnormal too ill-shaped to be agreeable, and not enough to arouse active pity. He was not poor, neither was he rich; for wealth is measured by health, and personal property is worth a world if it consist* in a handsome face and form. Oswald Grayson lived alone. The neighbors knew him only to shun him, and the sii-eet knew him not. , .The old house was his abid- ing place. He was as sensitive as the plant that withers at a touch, and the world was to him no more than an unheard of country is to us. The house that everybody supposed was un- occupied was Oswald Grayson's home. Miff did not answer his inquiry, but Viola, with the keen per- ception of her nature, stepped from behind the board and said: " It's me." She recognized kindness in the voice, and dreaded not the man's presence. Seeing him, excited her pity, while it aroused Miff's fears. Mr. Grayson took the children, Miff reluctantly, Viola will- ingly, up the stairs, and gave them a bountiful supply of bis own breakfast. They ate heartily, although they believed they were the guests of a veritable ghost. Rumor said the old house was haunted, and surely the presence of Grayson gave credence to THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 11 the story. Mr. Grayson went over to Viola, and, taking her on his knee, began to talk to her. Soon they were engaged in an interesting conversation. Miff' eyed them suspiciously. " And so your name is Viola, and you live at Benton Park. Now, won't you tell me your other name ?" "It is Viola Proctor." At the mention of the name, the color left the old man's face, and a deep, harsh and unnatural look overspread his counten- ance. He rudely pushed Viola from his knee, and muttered un- intelligible invectives. "I knew it; the face was like hers as winning, as lovable, and in her willingness to follow me and to be with me, I can trace her mother's nature. A nature willing but weak, strong to attract, but repelling every attention that did not gratify her vanity." Going to an old stand, he unfolded a package of letters, and took out a withered violet. The chil- dren watched him, for his movements were strange, and his agi- tation perceptible even to them. He held the violet in his hand, and, raising it on a level _witb his eyes, fixed his gaze upon it. " Oh, that my affection could wither like the violet, and that remembrance would fade like its color! The years of the past rise before me. I sec again and live over the scenes of twenty years ago. The vision of a beau- tiful woman rises before me as if to mock my deformity. I smile and she smiles in return. I love and she loves in return; but alas, the sacrifice was too great for her, and those letters, yellowed with age, and this faded violet, are all that linger of a lingering affection. Viola Proctor and the violet. Did Edna remember the flowers, and did she christen her child come Viola." And he took the little girl in his arms and kissed her tenderly. Miff, ever restless, took Viola by the hand as soon as Mr. Grayson put her down, and drew her towards the door, but Mr. Grayson did not let them go until he had won their childish con- 12 THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. fidence and friendship by several gifts. Viola cariied with her a bunch of violets. The children returned to Benton Park. The charity man was no longer there, unfortunately for Miff. The children's absence from Benton Park was not commented upon. A drunken father asked : " Where's my boy to-night?" and went on drinking; and Edna Proctor knew not, and neither did she care, of the where- abouts of Viola. A hard fate had crushed out a mother's affec- tion. The world and life among the low had dulled her sensibil- ities until she was worse than a brute, because the instincts of the animal are never debased. She stood behind a bar on Bar- bary Coast. From the first night with Mr. Grayson, Miff and Viola prowled the streets as chums. Their condition was to be in an unwashed, forlorn, uncared-for and hungry state. They wandered about the dirty streets, picking up a living as best they could. They grew in years and ignorance, and were worthy members of the hoodlum society, in which organization they were elected honor- ary members for life, or as long as their good behavior continued. The street was their home; their mode of living precarious. The necessities of life made them necessarily bad. If sent for beer, they would stop to taste, to sip. Their lives were in the same channel, though for weeks they were separated. Viola was with her mother some, and Miff kept up a speaking acquaintance with his father. Our castaway, Viola, for she was no better, attracted one day by a little bit of color while sprawling in the back yard with some other children, inhaled the fragrance of a violet. Unconsciously she watched it. The other children had a monopoly of the play, so they did not disturb her. She fell asleep by its side and dreamed, perhaps, of bright flowers, graceful forms and a para- THE STREET AKD THE FLOWER. 13 dise more beautiful than ever her fancy pictured. She trans- planted the violet into a mug, and placed it in her mother's dis- mal room. She clasped her hands in joy when she saw it was growing and continuing to bloom more and more beautiful. She wondered and wondered, and unconsciously exercised the innate sense of worship of the beautiful, which is implanted in every human heart, and causes the merest babes to rejoice at the light and shapes, the color and proportion of all objects, and to be entranced by the harmony of sound. Viola loved the flower passionately. Her infatuation was noticed. Perhaps she rejoiced in the color and light of the flower, because she listened not to the harmony of a mother's lullaby. A nature has capacities; ambition satisfies the love of the soul, instead of the diviner love of worn in. Man loves woman less because he loves success more, aad woman loves man more because she loves success less. Thus it was with the child. She loved the violet more because she loved her mother less. One day, when watering the flower with water she carried in the hollow of her little hand, her mother passed by, and, seeing her, knocked the mug from the stand, crushing the stem and destroying her flower. The grief of Viola was intense. She gave her mother a bewildered, sad, yet passionate look. Picking up the flower, she put it in the bosom of her old, faded dress. She carried it for days concealed thus, and when the flower bore no resemblance to its former beauty she cried most piteously. But, alas, it was not only the violet that was crushed, but Viola was trodden down. Every good motive, every noble impulse, was crushed as was the violet in its infancy. Viola is the flower of the street. She was planted there; watered in early child- hood by the goodness of God; but no flower can grow and blos- som and make fragrant the air, that is left uncared for in the street. 14 THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. Her mother sent her to the corner to buy some fruit, and ordered her to take, when no one was looking, some peaches. This was her first lesson in practical morality. Her success made her bold, and when she wanted anything there was no commandment to bother her conscience. Miff and Viola would wander on the street for days at a time, watching eagerly for opportunities to secure anything by stealth or sharpness. They became experts, professionals. They were found out, of course; but every one seemed to be aware of their helpless condition, and let them off with a rap over the head or a twist of the ear. Miff's practical lesson on morals one day was never forgotten by her. A few weeks after they had become professionals, Miff ob- served Viola sitting on the pavement near a fruit stand, and set himself to watch. Viola shifted her position occasionally, get- ting nearer and nearer, until she was quite close to the stand. Soon one hand reached out and brought back a paper of grapes; then another attempt was made; then her position was slowly shifted until she was behind the corner again. Miff laughed heartily, but looked serious as he saw Viola running at full speed down the street. He started after her on a run. She heard his footsteps, and, thinking a policeman was after her, increased her pace. A race began. Round corners, through alleys, up and down streets. As they were running up Pacific street, Viola threw down the grapes. Miff stopped, picked them up, and began feasting. Viola looked around, and saw Miff with the grapes. She caoie back panting, but smiling. "Oh, Miff," cried Viola, "I thought somebody was after me." Then Miff told her that it was the very worst policy to run, after taking anything, when no one was looking. THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 15 He passed over the bag of grapes to her, and gave her a peach that he had pocketed a few moments before. They returned together to Benton Park, talking over their prospects for the morrow. The minutes light to some, heavy to some, leaving in their track woe and joy; golden minutes, leaden minutes; for some happiness, for others grief flew by. The life of Miff and Viola is a question for the wisest philoso- phers of social problems to settle. The theory of their lives and reformation, the school boy's philosophy is adequate to such a demand. But, looking at them from every aspect, tak- ing into consideration their moral and physical faculties and souls to be saved, who can kindle a blaze from such hard flint, and make practical a, theory for the development of the hood- lum element in society? What resemblance do Miff and Viola bear to that poetical image which declares man to be noble in reason, infinite in fac- ulty, express and admirable in form and bearing, like an angel in action, like a god in apprehension, the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals ? It is best for us not to examine too curiously, for there is shame to the human race in the lives of Miff and Viola, the street and the flower. The redeeming feat- ure is found in Bona, who will walk through our next chapter, making it radiant with her presence. CHAPTER III. " No mother who stands on low ground herself can hope to place her children on a loftier plane. They may reach it, but it will not be through her." Mrs. Kate Benson was a lovable woman. We call her a lova- ble woman because all women are not lovable. Indeed, we consider them a rarity. A sweet temper, a kind disposition, a philanthropy that embodied the world's friendliness, and a niind that recognized all creeds, were her prominent character- istics. She founded a home for little girls, and in this home Bona was placed.- Each year, from the slums of the city, she would gather three infants, and take them under her care; and the recognition seemed to come to her in this world, for, while her hair is slightly tinged with gray, she is still young enough to appreciate the gratitude of her matured protegees. Ingrati- tude may be a prominent trait of human character, but future years will have to change our present opinion before we accuse humanity of such an ignoble part. Bona was dearly loved by Mrs. Benson, and " Mother" lisped Bona, as soon as she could speak. Mrs. Benson placed her in a Kindergarten school, and there, under the excellent influence of such a praiseworthy system of teaching, and the careful train- ing, B'jna grew in years and beauty. At the age of ten, she joined the Flower Mission Society, and took a great delight in charitable work. One day, while on her way to the jail, she saw a queer couple on the street. A ragged boy of seventeen and a girl a few years younger hoodlums, yes, veritable vaga- bonds. Legitimate children of San Francisco's low-ebb society. THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 17 The boy's trousers were tattered at the edges were old, patched, torn, and large enough for two such boys. The girl was attired in a new calico, and she all the while was turning half around as if to see if it fit her on the back. The dress was a present to her from Oswald Grayson, the hermit of the haunt- ed house. Some years have passed since we saw them before, yet we recognize in the hoodlums Miff and Viola. Miff stopped and looked at Boua, stared at her, and, taking a bunch of her flowers, buried his face among the buds and blossoms, as if to get the sweetest perfume. Viola, Miff's constant companion and frequently his imitator, grabbed another bunch and did likewise. Bona looked at them in astonishment. " Give me my flowers," she said, kindly. :< Won't you buy a bouquet, please, from a poor orphan boy ? " said Miff, as he offered Bona one of the stolen bunches. Viola laughed heartily as Bona handed him the required dime. " Buy mine, too; I want something to eat." And she threw such a hungry look in her eyes, and in her voice such a woeful tone, that Bona made the second purchase, and was a3 well off in her bargain as most people who buy from beggars. The two hoodlums were not satisfied with their bargain. They wanted more, and Miff, understanding the power of flat- tery, said: "You're a nice little girl. Won't you give us somethin' towards gettin' a pair of shoes ? " He looked dole- fully at his feet, and thrust his toes in such a way as to make the holes in the leather very conspicuous. In reply, Bona drew from her pocket a ticket of invitation to the children's prayer meeting on Pacific street, and handed it to him. Viola, thinking it a ticket for charity, held out her hand for one. Miff gave a peculiar whistle when he saw the nature of the card. He could not read, yet had learned to spell 18 THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. before his mother died, and frequently amused himself by spelling words on signs. By his clan he was considered a highly-educated gentleman. Viola trusted all to his great wis- dom and learning. Their heads were very close together, as Miff slowly spelt and pronounced: "Admit the bearer to chil- dren's prayer meeting and supper." " Prayer meeting and supper. Say, can we have the supper without the prayer meeting ? " The two hoodlums laughed so heartily that Bona started on a run. Miff, with no evil intentions whatever, darted after her at full speed, and Viola kept up in the rear. A heavy hand was placed on Miff's shoulder, and Viola darted around a corner. Bona ran on. " Here, sir." " I did not mean any harm, sir. I was only trying to catch her to give them back," said Miff, as he held to view the supper and prayer meeting tickets. The rail form of Dr. Halstead towered over Miff; the sharp eyes assumed a stern look, and made him tremble with fear. Bona saw Miff in the hands of Dr. Halstead, and, forgetting her fear, stopped and returned. "Please, sir," she said, " let him go. He did not mean to hurt me." "No, miss; I only wanted to thank you for those tickets, and for buying my bouquets." And the fellow blushed with shame as he remembered the bouquets. Dr. Halstead, amused at the turn affairs had taken, still held to the hoodlum. " I think, sir, I will put you in the House of Correction." " Oh, don't, sir. I have been there |three times, and was beaten nearly dead." " What do you do for a living?' 1 THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 19 "We sell flowers. We do anything. Viola scrubs some- times, and I watch places for people. We are not vagabonds." The sympathies of Bona were now fully aroused, and she said again: ' "Please let him go." Dr. Halstead took from his pocket a half dollar, and gave it to Miff, and invited him to visit his night school, and fit himself to be a man. Bona's plea was effective, and Miff started off to hunt his almost inseparable companion, Viola, but not until Bona's little hand rested in his. A look, a steady gaze, and an indescribable something passed between them not recognition, but the first impulse of an affinity that governs the likes and dislikes of all the relations of life. "Indiscriminate charity again," said Dr. Halstead, as he walked down the street, musing on the incident. " I wonder if in giving that worthless fellow a half dollar I have not assisted in making a criminal. Charity, after all, is a reward for crime, and indiscriminate charity would make beggars of us all, and beggary is only a step from crime. An honest beggar is like an honest thief." " Well, you should get out of my way," said Dr. Halstead, as he almost stumbled over a small girl on the street. " I'm hurt," piteously cried the girl, and two big tears glist- ened in her eyes, which she tried to make as conspicuous as possible by having them run down the groove in her face. Dr. Halstead looked at her kindly. Kindness always reaps its own reward, for Viola began: " Mamma sent me out to buy some bread, and I lost the money here." And she made a dili- gent search, but of course could not find that which she had not lost. But she succeeded in bringing some tears to the surface, and with an unnatural boo-hoo the sympathies of Dr. Halstead were again aroused, and, taking from his pocket a fifty- cent 20 ' THE STKEET AND THE FLOWER. piece, "gave it to Viola, who looked up, thanked him, and then made away as rapidly as possible, for she could hardly keep back the gleam of satisfaction. " Hello, we're in luck to-day a dollar and twenty cents and two prayer meeting tickets. Enough to live on a week/' said Miff. " That was a good job we put up on the old man. He is a regular sympathizer, ain't he ? I told you if you would hurry and play the game, you'd make something. " Dr. Halstead walked a few steps; then turned and looked in the direction Yiola had taken. " I wonder," he thought, " if that was indiscriminate charity again. Well, the poor girl is welcome to it. I only wish that there was more individual charity. " He walked on down until he reached Pacific street, and there, under the shadow of the sign " Children's Home," he entered. The faces of a score of children were brightened by his presence. He was in his own home, built by his money, for the purpose of training children of the street in useful employ- ments. They were gathered from the streets and from the hovels of the poor. The low, the vile ay, the worst of man- kind were gathered here; but a week had a wonderful influ- ence on their lives. A week of good food, good lodgings and kindness made them new creatures. As he looked upon their busy fingers, or listened to their lessons, no conscience accused him of mistaken charity. A consciousness of noble work of reformation, of the rescuing of lives from shame and degrada- tion, came to him as he studied his work. Dr. Halstead, the charity man for it was he who endeavored to place Miff, years ago, under good influence, away from the influence of the street, of parental crime, the crime of a bad example was a reformer, an ideal reformer; not a blatant talker, but a doer. He was every inch a man; measure as you THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 21 will, the dimensions of a square man will always be found. His face was beautiful not with the lines of beauty, but with the furrows of care. His tall form was slightly stooped curved, not by dissipation, but by burdens of an active life. There are a great many people born in the world who are not wanted. They are like a standing army in time of peace no earthly good. The world, they say, owes them a living. They gener- ally get it through prison bars. Dr. Halstead was not a man of this type. He was a man of large wealth, and with a liberal spirit as broad as humanity. Poverty to some is a load, and wealth is a load to others. Thus it is that we can bear each other's burdens. Dr. Halstead en- deavored not to lift the burden of poverty so much as the bur- den of evil and vitiated habit, and his charity did not begin at home, but at the spring-time of life. Charity should begin with the rising generation. The old are past redemption. Mrs. Benson waited a long while for the return of Bona; the darling girl was her favorite. There was nothing of a past life clinging to her. The ten years in a Kindergarten and excellent home training had made her fine in thoughts, graceful in action and polite in manners. The day passed, and no Bona came. A. week of fruitless search, but no Bona. Then the following ad- vertisement appeared in the " Chronicle": LOST A child ten years of age; small for her age; dark hair; full, round, expressive brown eyes; fair complexion; wore a sma 1 ! ring on her finger, en- graved Kindergarten; a dark gingham dress; when last seen was on her way to the jail with some flowers. Any information will be thankfully received by Mrs. Benson, Van Ness Avenue. Dr. Halstead, noticing the advertisement, sent Mrs. Benson a note informing her of the incident that happened on the morning Bona was missed. A search was made for Miff. When found, and told the mission of the inquiries, he assumed a knowing 22 THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. manner and refused to give any information until rewarded. He recognized the sympathizer in Dr. Halstead. . " I'll tell you all about it for five dollars." He got his five dollars. " I was going up Montgomery street one morning, and met a little girl about ten years of age. She was carrying a lot of flow- ers. I bought some from her and then sold them back again. She gave me a dime and then ran off. That's all I know." A dissatisfied look went around, and Dr. Halstead and Mrs. Benson knew that Miff had legally swindled them out of five dollars. A few moments afterward Miff met the soiled flower of the street, Viola. " I made a big stake; look here," as he held up the five dollar gold piece. " I'll soon go into the wholesale swindling business, if I keep on doing so well," said Miff. " I am so glad, because you will take me to the theatre to- night." " I am real sorry the little girl is lost, though." " Say," says Miff, " I wonder if you couldn't make something out of them, too." ' ' I'll try." " Yes, but wait a few days. Let us go home now." Down the street to an unfrequented portion of the city they go. In an old house, weather-beaten and decayed, standing on a square and houses around a disgrace to any city. A saloon is in the basement. The young hoodlums go up the stairs laden with dirt and reach .a cheerless room. An old straw mattress serves as a bed. A chair, a stool, a broken mirror, a tin basin, a maHress and a violet in bloom are all that are in the room. Ever since Oswald Grayson had called Viola a violet, and since the time the violet was crushed by her mother's willful hand, she THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 23 had cherished a fond, childish affection for the violet. They ate a hearty supper, and, agreeing to go to the theatre on the next night, they went to sleep. They were lovers, but they knew not sentiment. They were partners. Like doves they were mated, but their cooing we do not un- derstand. They were ignorant of morals and religion. It is necessary to state this that you judge them not harshly, and look upon them with an uncharitable spirit. They slept on. The stars shone through the roof overhead the eyes of God watch- ing his children. Neither Miff nor Viola had ever looked rever- ently toward the sky. They never said a prayer. The great world moves on. Mighty men of science prove remarkable things, but Miff and Viola, unconscious of all, grow deeper and deeper in ignorance and crime. CHAPTER IV. "We each furnish to an angel who stands in the sun a single observation." Ignorance sleeps late in the morning. Crime hides its sinister face from the rays of the rising sun. The honest laborer had earned a loaf of bread by the sweat of his brow before Miff and Viola were aroused from their slumbers. " Come/' said Miff, " let us get some breakfast." Viola lazily gazed for a moment through the portals of the roof, then turned, as if to take another nap. " Come," and Miff roughly assisted her to rise. " Where will we go for breakfast, this morning?" asked Viola. " Let us go up town and eat with the other people," replied Miff. " Well, we are rich now, and can feast the "same as other folks." They turned the corner at Montgomery and started up town. They passed a window ornamented with tempting viands, but a gruff waiter standing at the entrance bid them go on. The next place they quietly sneaked in, and sought the most hidden cor- ner. Their inferiority was felt, painfully realized, when the bet- ter trained rudely stared at the hoodlums, who quailed beneath the gaze of the reputed polite. The waiter espied them shortly > and, instead of taking their order, gave them one to leave di- rectly. " It's mean that won't let us eat an} 7 where," said Miff. Again they tried, where hundreds were being fed, but none so disconsolate and forlorn as Miff and Viola. They quietly pushed open the door and took a seat as neai\the exit as possible. THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 25 Miff, wiser than many a graduate, took from his pocket the five-dollar coin and placed it in a conspicuous place near his plate. When the waiter, who happened to be one of the proprietors, saw the gold piece, he changed his half-formed plan to order them out, and bid them take a seat in a corner. Miff gave Viola the bill of fare, but it had no meaning to her. She could not read. Miff managed to spell out the articles of diet that he wanted a half spring chicken, torn-cods, a sirloin steak, potatoes, hot cakes, chocolate and a dozen other edibles. The waiter stared in amazement, and if a sight of the golden coin had not convinced him that the check would be cashed, Miff and Viola would not have had their order filled . Thus it is that money wins. If you give a man money, you give him the hom- age of the world. Money conquers and rules with a despotic power. Independence is greater than money, but without money there is no independence. The sight of a five-dollar coin enabled Miff and Viola to secure a breakfast at a fashionable restaurant, and a flashing diamond on the shirt bosom of a de- based man will win a smile from the proudest lady in the land. The two hungry hoodlums enjoyed their feast immensely. Miff paid the bill with the air of a millionaire, and, taking Viola by the arm, the twain walked away from the restaurant, having par- taken of the heartiest meal of their lives. On their way back to their home what a fine word to describe these quarters Miff could not restrain his propensity to increase his material wealth, and lessen considerably his standing in the community, by tak- ing on the sly anything that was not watched. They passed by a baker's wagon, and inside were some fine loaves of bread. Miff approached the wagon, crept to the open door, and returned with some bread and several pies under his coat. Viola imitated his action. A policeman saw her, and in a moment the club the wonderful club, the useless club, the club of the policeman, 26 THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. a relic of Roman barbarism was raised above Miff's head, while the bread and pies fell to the pavement, the visible evidence of guilt. The gruff policeman there are no kind policemen in this city arrested them in the name of justice, and led the trembling pair to jail. In the afternoon the Police Court was to be graced by their presence. " They have us at last.'' " It is all my fault, too," said Viola. " Well, never mind," replied Miff; :{ we will be more careful in the future." And, going over to her, stooped and kissed her, and then turned away. " Come back," said Viola. And, as he turned, she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him again and again. The jailer passing, halted, and opening the cell, ordered Viola to follow. The two were separated. Do you suppose that they should express sorrow for their petty crime? Perhaps you believe in the motto, " Train up a child in the way it should go, and when it is old it will not depart there- from." If so, is it not equally true, " Train up a child in the way it should not go, and when it is old it will not depart there- from." The lessons of life were learned in the street. A slice of bread and butter were more to them than all the virtues, the exercise of which bestows the light of eternal happiness. Why, from very necessity, they believed that bad was good. It is one of the awful mysteries of the times how they were allowed to grow up in ignorance and crime. If there be truth in the newspaper columns, humanity is in sympathy with them as a class whom it is man's duty to lift from the dust. Yet who dare say that Miff and Viola were not fared to be dead to the knowledge of virtue, to earn the condemnation of men and to offend the goodness of the Supreme. THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 27 A smile of recognition a sad. sorrowful smile passed from Miff to Viola as they met in the afternoon in the Police Court. A few hoodlums and the policeman testified, and Miff confessed his crime of stealing, and Viola was too inucti frightened to speak. " Three months in the House of Correction," spoke the Police Court Judge. Miff and Viola were hurried away, and for three months they disappear from really active life. The next case called was that of a man for beating his wife and neglecting his children. A dozen neighbors testified to his cruel neglect of an idiotic child and of his neglect of the others. His wife was put on the stand, bearing the marks of hard blows. The man did not deny that he beat her. The neighbors say cruelly: blood stains were on the floor. No aggravation on the wife was put in evidence. A clear case of base cruelty. A hea- vy fine was imposed, oh no a few days imprisonment was all. Compare the two unequal sentences and you have the vulgar value put on bread and pies, and the value of human flesh in the Police Court market. A group of reformers, mostly women, met at the Children's Home in order to consider the various reforms. There was a tall, angular woman, who cared not for helpless children, who, like the judge, would pass an unjust sentence on incorrigible chil- dren, but at the same time be lenient with the parent who forces such children upon the State. Society in this city is built from the social ruin of two genera- tions. It needs a revolution a declaration of independence to be free, not from one, but from a thousand shams. Pretension and sham, sham and pretension, and intensified shams, are the visible mainstays of society. You hear more said in praise of an elegant dancer than a brilliant conversationalist. Mrs. A. De- 20 THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. vine, the reformer of skirts, is more widely known than Dr. Hal- stead, the indiscriminate charity man. Yet, the Children's Home was built by the latter's money. If the treasurer of any benevo- lent association found out that he gave money to any charity, not through a committee, he was censured by all. Mrs. Devine rose first among the reformers, and said: " The most important movement of this age is the advancement of social science. Women must have the ballot, and must reform their dress, habits and manners. Men do not sympathize with women in this, but we should have their aid and support." "I should think," said Dr. Halstead, " that it is more impor- ant for men to sympathize with the helpless children to reform Barbary Coast, rather than Nob Hill. I met, but a day or two ago, two children raised among the saloons and dens of vice. They were an incumbrance to society, blots, waifs, and will fur- nish countless themes and oceans of words to reformers. To-day I read that they have been sentenced to the House of Correction. Yesterday I met a homeless girl on the streets. I asked a police- man to give her lodgings in the jail or station house over night. He asked me, * Is she a bad one.' A good girl, homeless, friend- less and hungry, must qualify herself by crime before she secures a refuge from the city. Let the policeman cry, ' Move on." We must give the unfortunates work, and in this building we must organize a sewing school/' Thus it was with Dr. Halstead ever opposed to the lip phil- anthrophy that invariably closes the pockets, he was eminently practical, and indiscriminate charity did not worry him. If he saw a hungry boy on the street, he did not wish to secure a com- mittee of experts to examine his appetite, but his hand was in his pocket. Then Mrs. Benson said: " I was passing down Market street yesterday afternoon. Two fashionable young men passed by a THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 29 poor blind boy, who stood by a lamp post with his hand appeal- ingly held forth. One of the young men struck the hand a blow with his cane. The other laughed at the joke and fright of the poor boy. Dr. Halstead came up a moment afterwards and gave the poor boy money. The policeman, noticing the adven- ture, bid the blind boy move on. The young men or rather, matured brutes were smiled on, while the unfortunate boy felt his way cautiously to another square. I claim, that after all, Dr. Halstead's method was the true modus operandi of charity. Reform schools have a purpose . Free kindergartens for home- less children do a good work. The Old Indies' Home will sup- ply a long-felt want. The Children's Sewing Society has its mission. Reform and benevolence, in whatever guise it works, benefits humanity and uplifts the race; for it does not only en- hance the happiness of the recipient, but the donor as well. Money ypent in benevolent purposes may always be put to the profit side of the account on our books; for in the great book of reckoning for eternity, every dollar spent for the glory of the race is placed to a man's credit." CHAPTER V. ' I am persuaded that every time a man has a generous impulse but much more when he performs a generous act it adds something .to generations yet to come." While the band of earnest workers were devising plans to bene- fit the poor, a jeering crowd had assembled in Edna Proctor's home a nice name for a Pacific street den. " Well, Eenwood, where's your boy ?" " Gone." ' 'Police nab him?" " Yes; up for three months." " Where's that gal of his ? " Police got her, too. She is keepiug company with Miff, as usual. She is no good, always getting Miff into trouble." " Your boy trained her, anyhow," said Mrs. Proctor. " Precious little training either one ever got," suggested John Martin. " They're better than yours, ever if you do send them to a charity school." " Better send them to a charity school than the House of Cor- rection," retorted Martin. " Miff can take care of himself. He will make just as good a man as your hypocritical Sunday School children," Kenwood re- plied. " Well, I propose to let my gals go to Sunday School, to Dr. Halstead's Reform School, and wherever they please." " Yes, and you will have them puttin' on airs, gettin' con- verted, preachin' religion and takin' away your liberties. I'll THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 31 bet if your gals go to Sunday School you will quit coming here within a month." " It would'nt be much worse for me if I staid at home." " You talk like a weak-kneed subject for emigrating right into a church." " It would be better for us all if we quit drinking nnd lived better." " Oh come, give us a regular sermon, won't you"? asked Ken- wood. " Take a drink first," suggested Mrs. Proctor. The foaming beer and the destructive whiskey made them for- get all about the sermon. Even Martin himself became noisy and hilarious. A pale, sickly wife, poorly fed, and worse clad children were forgotten. The revelry began. The hoodlums passing were attracted by the hilarity. They stopped, entered and were contaminated by vile companionship. They passed out and on one square, perhaps two another den, anothe r drink. Vile whisky had done its work. Alcohol in, every ling- ering fragment of good out. Before midnight they were in a state of debauchery, that even paternal love would fall and con- geal at the sight . A little girl came down the stairway at Proc- tor's saloon, and as she came into full view Kenwood exclaimed: " My God! how like her! Whose child is that ?" " Nobody's, I guess/' was Mrs. Proctor's retort. " Come here, little girl." The child timidly approached him. " What is your name ?" " Bona." " Where do you live ?" " She lives with me, if you want to know," said Mrs. Proctor. " I don't know why you need be so snappy about the girl." 32 THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. " I don't know why you need be inquiring into other people's business," was the retort. " Well, the child looks wonderfully like my poor dead Janey." " Kenwood, what became of that little daughter that my wife kept for you?" " The charity people got her, and I never heard of her since." " Do you remember she was called Bona. An odd name perhaps the same one." " Woman, where did you get this child?" demanded Kenwood. " She came here." "Where from?" " Ask the girl." " Bona, where do you live " " Away off, at a place ever so much nicer than this. Won't you take me back to my mamma, please ?" " What is your mamma's name ?" " Other people call her Mrs, Benson." " The very same," exclaimed Martin. " I am your father, Bona." But years had separated the tie that binds, and the knowledge carried with it no paternal emo- tions. Bona drew from him, and said: " No, you're not, for mamma told me I had'nt any father." " Now, see here, Kenwood, I don't care whether she is your child or not. I have adopted her, and she stays right here with me. Bona, go upstairs and stay there. You should have been asleep long ago." " Well, I guess not; Bona will go with me to-night." " No, she won't." Mrs. Proctor went over to where they were and led Bona away. Benwood was too cowardly to interfere, but he detained her long enough to imprint a kiss upon her pure lips. As she THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. 33 was led away, he arose and stole quietly from the room, like a man with a guilty conscience. The gentle touch of the child, Heaven's direct influence on wayward men, aroused the last fad- ing, flickering spark of manhood within him. He started for his home a room eight by ten in a lodging house. He dreamed the dream of youth. Bad habits, whiskey and debauchery rob a man of the gifts of life; but the recollection of former days are the heritage of man, no matter what condition he may be in. It is the right of man iii the hour of his greatest sorrow, even at the point where he ceases to be a man and becomes a brute, for the past with all its glorious achievements and happiest moments to rise up before him. Jared Kenwood had felt the inspiration of youth; had tasted the joys of conscious power. The realiza- sion of brilliant hopes stood" but a little distance from him. In a moment of temptation he threw off the restraints which are placed upon every man. The transformation from manhood to mere brute existence was rapid indeed. The touch of lips to lips, the angel touch of Bona, as her hand, so small, so soft and caressing, rested a moment on his bleared and sin-marked face, aroused within him the thoughts and emotions which visit the degenerate only at rare intervals. Kenwood promised the im- pulse to lead a nobler life. He remained three days, and then he was back at Proctor's again, drinking and carousing worse than ever. A youth will, a young man may an old man hardly ever does reform. A training school for children, a reform school for youths, a house of correction for young men, a penitentiary for men; and these institutions, properly conducted, may regulate society; but the solution to the great social problem is found in Bona's reply to Mrs. Proctor. " Here, drink this beer." " Mamma taught me never to do that." " Drink, I say." 3 34 THE STREET AND THE FLOWER. " No, I wont, for mamma said I shouldn't taste anything like that." " Well, well, such training; they will soon be trying to make us all saints." The teaching of love had more power than the influence of fear, and Bona, with the Christian culture of ten years, stood out firmly against the woman's demands. Bona had been in care of Mrs. Proctor several months. Dr. Halstead and Mrs. Benson had tried in vain to find her. They inquired of Mrs. Proctor and Kenwood, but they consciously lied to them. Yet both Dr. Halstead and Mrs. Benson were convinced the child was in their possession, but they had no way to get possession of her. Oswald Grayson now enters the story again. In the mean- time he had not been idle. Many useful men and women will remember how they were helped, comforted and aided by his generous acts. When asked why he spent his time among the lower classes and worked differently from other people for the world knew of his charity he responded: "lam persuaded that every time a man has a generous impulse but much more when he performs a generous act it adds something to genera- tions yet to come . Yes, I am convinced that the highest degree of personal happiness is found in bestowing happiness upon others." One day, as Grayson was passing down Pacific street, he saw Bona in the saloon, and entering, learned, by stealth, her posi- tion. He received a permit for the girl, and an official order to place her in the Home of the Friendless. The institution was presided over by a fat, fussy and grumbling woman, whose face wore a perpetual scowl. Perhaps the best insight into the whole institution can be gained from Bona's diary. Mrs, Benson taught her to write something each day a record of the day's work. How well she performed her part can be learned from the following: CHAPTER VI. "Error doos n it stop where it bagias. The misdeed of youth are the crimes of maturer years." "TUESDAY, June llth. There are lots of girls and boys here. They are watched by ugly women, who beat and scold them. At meals they eat with fingers, and always eat so fast they can't talk. I. know it is wrong to do that way, because mamma told me it was. Last night a nice little girl died the one that the ugly woman whipped yesterday. I think the people are cruel. I wish they would speak kindly, instead of harsh and cruel. Mrs. Lamor orders us around just like our old coal man did his horse. When Mr. Grayson comes, I am going to coax him to take me away. I know that he will find mamma. I hear a lot of boys and girls being whipped in the hall. I wish they would not cry so. I am going to run away from this horrid place. That's all for to-day. BONA." The leaves of her diary were stained with tears. Bona's running comment each day was something like the pre- ceding the wail of woe, the consciousness of poverty, and the complete lack of sympathy. Better for the helpless poor to die upon the cold and cheerless street; to lift their hands in mute appeal to Heaven, and receive naught else in return but the rain or the morning dew, than to die unloved and a burden to the miscalled charitable institutions of this city. The cry of the chil- dren re-echoes from Heaven in the ears of God's people. They heed it not, unless perchance the echo resounds in the heart of some sympathetic woman, who labors patiently and earnestly for the good of neglected youths. The rich those who have by successful speculation reached the sphere of luxury will pay hundreds of dollars for a mere luxury, and a dollar or two is all that they give, and that grudgingly, to the deserving poor. The wheels of Juggernaut should crush out of existence every parsi- monious heart. Human nature once touched with the fair caress of charity is warm and tender, but oh, the cold exterior which 36 THE STKEET AND THE FLOWER. bars the approach of a generous. impulse. A man may commit suicide and yet live. He crushes out of existence every frag- ment of happiness, when he strangles the promptings of a gen- erous heart. While one stops to moralize, the world moves on. The rich change places with the poor; the child becomes a man, and the man returns to the dust. The street waif has become calloused by repeated crimes, and the good have grown nobler by their self-sacrifice. ******** Five years have passed five long years since Miff and Viola were sentenced to the House of Correction. They still follow their old way of living. Error does not stop where it begins. The misdeeds of youth are the crime of maturer years. One morning when the fog made the city almost dark, the re- gion of the Barbary Coast was cheerless and drear. The inhabi- tants seldom retired before the town clock had struck two, hence it was late in the day before they arose. A solitary figure half- walked, half-sneaked along Pacific street. Her old dress, faded, tattered and torn, hung upon her ill-shaped form. Her beauty was marred by strong lines of dissipation, her eyes lined with dark rings, and the sparkle removed by the presence of blood. Her walk was a swagger, her looks revealed the sadness of her heart, and her whole existence seemed to be within the circle of shameful dissipation. On up the street until the jail is reached; then boldly going up to the guard, she asked: " Is Miff here?" She knew no other name for him, and no other name is needed, because the good and the bad alike know a notorious character by his first name. " What do you want with him?" was the guard's reply. An old woman passing by tapped Viola on the chin. " Well, my beauiy, corne after your lover, didyer? Better look up an- THE STREET AND THE FLOWEB. 37 other. They are no good once in there." And she pointed her long, bony finger towards the dingy calls. Viola drew back from the woman's presence. Soon a released prisoner came out, but it was not Miff. " Hello," he said. And leered at her, while she drew further back. At last, unable to bear the scrutiny of the crowd, she went in the corner, and stood obscured by the open door. As each one passed, she looked for Miff. "While watching, Oswald Grayson passed in. She stepped from the corner, and touched him on the sleeve. He turned. " Why, is this you, Viola ? " " Yes. Miff is in there. Won't you get him out for me ? "