Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1897-11-08

that is appalling and shameful. It wal
lows 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 q 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
There they are, men, women, children,
blacks, whites, Mary Magdalene with
out her repentance and Lazarus without
his God. These arc the olives into
which the pickpockets and the thieves
go, as we'll as great many who would
like a different life, but cannot get it.
These places are the sores of the city
which bleed perpetual corruption. They
are the underlying volcano that threat
ems us with a Caracas earthquake. It
rolls and roars and .surges and heaves
and rocks and blasphemes and dies
And there are only two outlets for it
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 these staggering wretches
shall come up in the light of the judg-
ment 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
restitution not SO squalid, but almost
as helpless. You hear their 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 a charnel house. They hear
the roar of the wheels of fashion over
head 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 infdelity
like that of the poor German girl who,
when told in the midst of her wretched-
ness that God was good, said: "No,
no good God Just look at me- No good
God. !"
The Christian Duty.
In these American cities, whose cry
of want | interpret, there are hundreds
and thousands of honest poor who are
dependent upon individual, city ard
state charities IF all their voices codld
come up at once, it would be a groan
that would shake the foundations of the
city and bring all earth and heaven to
the rescue, but for the most part it SUI
fers unexpressed. 1t sits in silence,
gnashing it's teeth and sucking the blood
of its own arteries, waiting for the judg-
ment day. Oh, / should not wonder if
on that day it would be found out that
some Of us had some things that be-
longed to them, some extra garment
which might have made them comfort
able on cold days, some bread thrust
into the ash barrel that might have ap-
peased their hunger for little while,
some wasted candle or gas jet that
might have kindled up their darkness,
some fresco on the ceiling that would
have given them roof, some jewel
which, brought to that orphan girl in
time, might have kept her from being
crowded eff the precipices Of an unclean
life, some New Testament that would
have told them of him who "came to
seek and to save that which was lost. -
Oh, this wave of vagrancy and hunger
and nakedness that dasheS against our
front doorstep-I wonder if you hear it
and see it as much as l hear it and see
it. I have been almost frenZied with the
perpetual cry'for help from all classes
and from all nations, knocking, knock
ing, ringing, ringing 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 it? And yet
there they are.
The sewing women, some of them in
hunger and cold, working night after
night, until sometimes the blood spurts
from nostril and lip. How we'll their
grief was voiced by that despairing wo-
man who stood by her invalid husband
and invalid child and said to the city
missionary: 81 am down hearted. Ev-
erything's against US, and then there
are other things What other things?"
said the city missionary. "Oh," she
replied, my sin 'tWhat do you mean
by that?'' well, - she said, Il never
hear or see anything good. It's work
from Monday morning to Saturday
night, and then when Sunday comes l
can't go out, and L walk the floor, and
it makes me tremble to think that I
have got to meet God. Oh, sir, it's SO
hard for us. We have to work SO, and
then we have SO much trouble, and then
we are getting along SO poorly, and see
this wee little thing growing weaker
and weaker, and then to think we are
getting no nearer to God, but floating
away from him-oh, sir, do wish
was ready to die.
I should not wonder if they had a
good deal better time than we in the
future, to make up for the fact that
they had such a bad time here. 1t would
be just like Jesus to say: "Come up
and take the highest seats. You suffer
ed with me on earth, now be glorified