, 1892-03-08
CRUELTY AND FILTH.
Tho ST. ry of One Boy Who Conquered
where So Many Meet Defeat.

-NSE
York's other side by Lady Henry Somer.
set, of London, not long since, she one
night, in company with two other ladies
and p gentleman. visited the Church
street police station to see the dodgers
and their quarters. In a recent article
Jacob A. Riis, author of that wonderful
book, "How the Other Half Lives" tells
of that nights trip of the inquiring Eng,
lishwoman, and from his account the fol
lowing little story is taken. The reader
will understand that Mr.. Riis was him
self the conductor referred to:
The ladies turned away with loathing
after a brief look.
''Is it possible" said Lady Somerset to
her conductor, "for a man to sleep there
a night and come out a decent, self re-
specting beingT'
"Once, yes!" said he, dryly, and as
they went up stairs he told them this
story:
''One rainy October night in the year
1870 a poor boy sat on the bulwark down
by the river, hungry, footsore and
drenched to the skin. He sat thinking
of friends and home thousands of miles
away over the sea whom he had left six
months before to go alone among strang-
ers. He had been alone aver since, but
never more SO han that night. His
money ont, no work to be found, he
had slept in the streets for nights, too
proud to appeal in his wretchedness to
those who could and would help him for
the sake of those over there. That day
he had eaten nothing; he would die
rather than beg. And one of the two
he must do soon. There was the dark
river, rushing at his feet; the swirl of
the unseen waters whispered to him of
rest and peace he had not known since
it was so cold-and who was there to
care, he thought bitterly. No one who
would ever know. He moved a little
nearer the edge and listened more in
tently. Just Their a little whine fell on
his ear and a cold, wet face was pressed
against his; a little black and tan dog
that had been crouching beside him
nestled in his lap. 1t was his only
friend. He had picked it up in the
street as forlorn as himself and it had
stuck to him. Its touch recalled him to
himself. He got up hastily, and taking
the dog on his arm went to this same
police station and asked for shelter. 1t
was the first time he had accepted even
such charity, and as he lay down on his
hard plank in that room down stairs he
Rugged a little gold locket he wore
around his neck, the last link with bet
ter days, and thought with n hard, dry
sob of home.
when he awoke the next morning,
the locket was gone. One of the tramps
who had slept with him had stolen it.
He went up and complained to the SER
geant at the desk-at this desk they were
then sitting at-and the sergeant or
dered him to be kicked out in the street
as n liar, If not a thief. How should a
tramp boy have come honestly by a gold
locket1 The doorman put him out as he
was hidden, and when the little dog
showed his teeth, a policeman seized it
and dubbed it to death there on the
step"
"And the boy?" said one Of the ladies
when the story was told.
HE went out to battle with the world
and to conquer" was the reply. He
lived to become a useful man. That
one night in the police station cured
him of dreaming. He is now in New
York"
"You know himY"
81 know him" said their conductor as
he handed the ladies into their carriage.
Poor fellow" sighed Lady Somerset,
land you sirl if you ever come to Lon
don be sure you do not fail to look me
up there"
The carriage door slammed and the
ladies drove off to their hotel. Their
conductor stood looking thoughtfully
after the vehicle until it disappeared
around the corner. He had told his own
story.
Twenty-one years have passed since
that homeless boy slept in the Church
street police station; a generation of
voters, then unborn, has grown up to
control the politics, the charities, and
the expenditure of the scores of millions
for the government of this city year by
year; many things have changed, but
this has not. The foul disgrace of the
police station lodging house system
breeds tramps today as then. Few who
enter them as did that boy live to shake
off the moral c~ontagion they harbor.
The sergeant who ordered him out is
probably dead long since; but the lodg-
ing room, with its filthy planks, flthier
walls and deadly atmosphere, moral and
physical, is there still. The only change
for the better is that they take fewer
dodgers.