, 1885-04-02
GHICAGO's POOR.
PoLANnERs WHO LEFT susslA Fob
THEIR cHiLDREN's SAKE -
''sbaii They Remain Like me-Know
Naught More Than the Beasts Of thu
- N FIeld:" the One contm- SIT
nal Cry.


. lJlurt DMe CulcAgO NoWs.l .
We hAv irayersed Wesson street before.
We have penetrated many OF its wretched
homes together. You have brought aid to
those here who were starving, sick, and de-
spairing You knew all its phases a year
ago-its double row OF houses crowded to
overlooking with human beings. The mar
row thoroughfare seems less filthy than then.
Greater cleanliness comes TO IL with greater
prosperity. There'are fewer people along It
In need OF help than there were a year ago.
Then the dogs were sn~arling and wrangling
over some fieshless bones. while now they sit
contentedly near their own doorsteps, or re-
main within near the fire with the children,
for hunger does not drive them forth this
winter TO search for c~ast-away bits OF food.
You have paused at this door before-you
have entered the house, but never that por-
ton Of IL where we will now go. Up the
old steps, along the narrow passage, and
then down another flight Of stairs even less
secure than the first At the foot we turn
our faces toward the street and notice a low,
black door in under the stairs. You think
no one can dwell within. You say no human
being would think of living here; that this
Is but the rough plank foundation to support
the house. You point to the ~crevices, filled
with manure to keep the frost from entering.
and say scarcely n rat would bur
row here. Yet thers are men
and women and little children
who call this place home. We push open
this little black door. All within is dark
ness. At our call a door. far around to the
left, Is opened, aud a faint streak Of light
from a rear window guides TO where u
woman stands holding a barefooted, f~retting
baby. Its small toes are purple with the
cold, and the frosted skin Is peeling off from
them. Two other children, also barefoot
are in the room. There is no fire in the
small stove. There Is ondAwretched bed, des-
titute OF sheets, its only covering an old
blanket or two. The woman stares inquir-
ingly at us She speaks no English or Ger
man. She is a Russian Pole. Generations OF
repression, generations Of suffering from
cold, hunger and brutal treatment, ara
stamped on her face. When we speak to
her she runs quickly out and brings in a lad
TO act as interpreter. "Her name,n says this
boy, us Mariana Wynderche. They came
to America In July. Why did they comet
Because It is so bad in Russia for the
Poles.1 m
"But could they live there and have less
than they have hereF' 1 asked, In surprise.
For answer he turns 10 her and repeats my
words.
"Shs says he answers, athat may be
never will she be bettered by coming here,
but that her children will. There, she says,
her children could look for nothing better
than what their fathers and mothers have
borne. Here they have a chance. She says
she will send them to school that they may
learn Her man is a molder. but he
can find no work, for he talks naught but
Polish. So he picks rags, but the snow has
covered all the rags. Soma days, she says
they have something to eat; some days
nothing. Today they ave no fire. To-
morrow, perhaps, they may have, for her
man may find some cinders or bits OF wood.
She says it Is no worse than Russia, and by
and by the children viii do better"
Meantime the two tiny, low rooms are
~fireless; there is not a morsel Of food in
them. Mt a soul whose shelter they are
has broken fast to-day. The two older
children utter no lament; only the babe
keeps up a eeaseless. fretful complaint
Of its misery. IL Is but a little they re
quire 10 make life more than endura
BILE, for with these folk a little goes a great
way. The woman Is not stupid because she
weeps not nor makes complaint. Hers Is the
stolidity Of endurance. But she stoops with
a sudden gesture and kisses my hand as l
give her a coin When We return TO the
light ! SEQ something glistening upon it. Is
II a bit of melted snowl
Down in the rear of another number we
knocked loudly at another door. A woman
0loio ~ hho - Inv III AANoAn AAkh RA1
foot is encased in an old rubber; the other in
the portion of a boot. Presently she ex-
plains to us through an interpreter that she
found them in an ash heap. There is no fire
here, either. Some h~alf-charred pieces of
pine lay by the stove. These, too, she picked
out OF an ash heap.
"She say, OIL so cold were they many
nights tells the interpreter. Neither she
nor her two little girls could stay in the bed.
They must walk, walk, all night to keep
from the death"
The two pretty children look at him as he
tells the story, and the smaller one shivers In
remembrancs of the last nights torture.
Even with our heavy wrap we are chilled
now, in the daytime, by the atmosphere Of
the room
The woman is a widow, and her name is
Eve Hohovitoh. It is the same story she
tells as the one before her.
II came that my little girls could be bet
ter in their life than me. What Ind they
to hope forf' She stretches out her hands.
Her voice is even-keyed but harsh. But her
gestures are as impassioned and expressive
as a tragedienne's. What has her existence
been but a tragedy
Il would have the clothes and shoes that
they may go to school and learn" she con-
tinues. "Shhll they rernain like me-know
naught more than the beasts in the stable
now that l have got them to Americai
What is it | may dot Nothing but to feed
the pigs and dig in the earth. II I kept my
children In Russia not more would they
know, nor yet their children. l come here
and now l cannot cover them that they may
go to the great schools; 1 cannot keep the
hunger or the cold from them"
She differs from her neighbor inasmuch as
she chafes in the bonds Of her poverty. She
has none OF the calm endurance which char
a~cterizos the other woman Russian despot-
ism has been unable to crush entirely out Of
her the brave old spirit Of Poland.
II would" she says. shat l might find in
the springtime some place on ons Of the great
American farms where l could AXE my little
girls with me. Where / could house them
and feed them and send them to school. p
The one continual cry Of these people, ~1et
our children learn that they may be better
off than u.s. Il can work quite like a man .
she declares; Il can plant and hoe and rake;
l can work in the grain fields; L can
milk, clean the stables and feed the pigs: but
/ cannot sew, nor wash, nor do tho nice
housework that Americans have. will
work very hard for a little il / can find this
place and take my children"
bounty for Tree-PIanting.
~ .ns