The National tribune., 1888-05-31
A CHILDISH VOICE.

Please, Mister, viii ye gimme 10 cents?"
Iii
CHILDISH VOICE,
and the face that looks up to US is that of a
child Of perhaps 10 years; but, o, the pitiful-
ness of that face, with its hungry eyes, with its
hard lines around the little mouth with its
tale Of years of trouble, and struggling, and
hunger, and of responsibility and patience
through it all
And what would you do with 10 cents. little
one?"
There were tears in her voice, but none in
her eyes, as she said:
20, sir, it's milk / want to git for the baby,
or it'll die; o, it'll die. Please sir, do please
gimme 10 cents"
Where do you liver"
Over there up in that tiniment."
And where can you get the milk"
In the block below, sir"
Well, go and get the milk We shall wait
for you here. We want to go up with you and
see the baby"
She flashes around the corner, and is back
again in two minutes with small bottle full of
milk ciutehed tightly in her hands. We follow
her across the street and grope our way after
her up dark stairway, past room from the
half-open door of which come the voices of
man and woman quarreling; past other rooms
where children are crying and a woman swear
ing; on mp two more flights, aud the child
opens door and bids us enter.
a bare floor, patches Of torn and smoke
stained paper on the walls, light burning
dimiy on a small table, chair, box, and
little oil stove; nothing more in the room.
Yes there in the shadow is bed, and on it we
see woman lying breathing heavily. She is
dressed in her street-c!othes, and beside her is
baby, mere scrap of emaciated humanity.
The child beside US explains as she warns the
milk IN tin cup:
"That's me mother. She's par'lizin' drunk.
She chars, an ! mind the baby when she is out
workiu'. 1t has had nothin' since the mornin',
an she come home that way an widout
cent"
"And you-have you had nothing to eat2"
o, yes, had sonethin' in the mornin'; but
I'm used to the hunger an / can skirmish, but
the baby can't, ye know; an it can't eat the
things that l pick up It's the milk that's
hard to git; an have to russell for it, you bet,
when she gifts full Of the drink"
We give the child money, and we leave the
dreadful den thatshe calls home; she is talking
cheerily to the baby as she feeds it with the
milk, and the woman still lies there on the bed
in drunken stuper.
The policeman below tells us it was in this
house week ago that man committed suicide.
He had been unable TO get work, and his wife
and four little children were starving. When
all the furniture and almost all their clothes
were gone and there had been nothing to eat
but one small loaf in two days the man delib-
crately stabbed himself to death that his loved
ones might be saved from starvation by the
money they would get from the benevolent
society in which his life was insured for small
sum.
so LIVE THE POOR.
They toll and eat when they get food and
sleep when they have time and curse their
lot and drink and quarrel, and starve and help
each other along as BEST they can and die and
are forgotten.
Don't you think that this condition of things
regarding how one half of the world is living
suggests heavy load of responsibility to be
borne by the other haEf2 And what, my good
friend, are you and doing in the matter, and
what are we going to do about it?
You should thank God that you are away
from the struggles and mseries of this closely
packed mass of sweltering humanity--away
from the poverty, disease, depreciation and vice
of the crowded quarters of great city. But
what have these wretches here to be thankful
for? it may be that there is some sunshine in
their lives, but can only imagine them being
thankful when death-the only thing that can
bring them sureease of pain, toll and misery
comes to their relief
Apsfov RNnv