The Caucasian. (Clinton, N.C.) 188?-1913, 1891-04-16

CthEf sIue i'uC IA rawniae; ana iet Inein
take their choice l like for that class
of people the scant bill of fare that
Paul wrote out for the ThessaIonian
loafers, ''Ifany work not, neither should
he eat" BY what law of God or man
is it right that you and / should toll
day in and day out, until our hands are
blistered and our arms ache and our
brain gets numb, and then be called
upon TO support what IN the United
States are about two million loafes !,
They are a very dangerous class. Let
the public authorities keep their eyes
on them
Again, among the uprooting classes
| place the oppressed poor Poverty
to a certain extent is Christening; but
after that, when it drives n man to the
wall, and he hears his children cry in
vain for bread, it sometimes makes
him desperate. think that there are
thousands of honest men liberated into
vagabondism. There are men crushed
under burdens for which they are not
half paid. While there is no excuse
for criminality, even in oppression, /
state it as simple fact that much of the
scoundrelism of the community is con-
sequent upon ill treatment. There are
many men and women battered and
bruised and stung until the hour of de-
spair has come, and they stand with
the ferocity OF u wild beast which, pur-
sued until it can run no longer, turns
round, foaming and bleeding, to fight
the hounds.
LIFE IN THE CELLARS.
There is vast underground New
York and Brooklyn life that is appall-
ing and shameful 1t wallows and
steams with putrefaction. You go down
the stairs, which are wet and decayed
with filth, and at the bottom you find
the poor victims on the floor. cold,
sick, three-fourths dead, Sinking into
a still darker corner under the CLEAN
of the lantern of the police There has
not been a breath of fresh air in that
room for five years, literally The
broken sewer empties its contents upon
them, and they lie at night in the
swimming filth. There they are, men,
women, children; blacks, whites; Mary
Magdalene without her repentance
and Lazarus without his God. These
are ''the dives" into which the pick
pockets and the thieves go, as well as
a great many who would like differ
ent life but cannot get it. These places
are the sores Of the city, which bleed
perpetual corruption.
They are the underlying volcano
that threatens us with Caracas
earthquake 1t rolls and roars and
surges and heaves and rocks and bias
phemes and dies. And there are only
two outlets for 1.-THE police court and
the Potter's field. In other words,
they must either go to prison or to hell.
Oh, you never saw it, you say. You
never will see it until on the day when
those staggering wretches shall come
up in the light of the Judgment throne,
and while all hearts are being revealed,
God will ask you what you did to help
them.
There is another layer of poverty and
destitution, not SO squalid, but almost
as helpless You hear the incessant
wailing for bread and clothes and fire.
Their eyes are sunken. Their cheek
bones stand out. Their hands are
damp with slow consumption. Their
flesh is pulled up with dropsies. Their
breath is like that of the charnel house.
They hear the roar of the wheels of
fashion overhead, and the gay laughter
of men and maidens, and wonder why
God gave to others so much and to
them SO little. Some of them thrust
into an intidelity like that of the poor
German girl who, when told in the
midst of her wretchedness that God
was good, said: mo, no good God.
Just look at he. No good God"
In this cluster of cities, whose cry of
want l interpret, there are said to be
as far as can figu1o it up from reports
about three hundred thousand honest
poor who are dependent upon indiyid-
uaI, city and state charities. If all their
voices could come up at once it would
be a groan that would shake the foun-
dations of the city, and bring all earth
and heaven to the rescue. But, for
the most part, it suffers unexpressed
1t sits in silence, crashing its teeth and
sucking the blood of its own arteries,
waiting for the judgment day.
Oh, l should not wonder if on that
day it would be found out that some
of us had some things that belonged to
them; some extra garment which might
have made them comfortable in cold
days; some bread thrust into the ash
barrel that might have appeased their
hunger for little while; some wasted
candle or gas jet that might have kim
died up their darkness; some fresco on
the ceiling that would have given them
a roof; some jewel which, brought to
that orphan girl in time, might have
kept her from being crowded off the
precipices of an unclean life; some New
Testament that would have told them
of him who ''came to seek and save
that which was lost"
Oh, this wave of vagrancy and hun
ger and nakedness that dashes against
our front doorstep! If the roofs of all
the houses of restitution could be lifted
SO we could look down into them, Just
as God looks, whose nerves would be
strong enough to stand ita And yet there
they are. The fifty thousand sewing
women in these three cities, some of
them in hunger ana cold, working
night after night, until sometimes the
blood spurts from nostril and lips.
How we'll their grief was voiced by
that despairing woman who stood by
her invalid husband and invalid child,
and said to the city missionary: II am
downhearted. Everything's against us :;
and then there are other things. -
what other things?" said the city
missionary. oh" she replied, ''my