Second Plea

“They perish in the open streets — beneath the pitilesa peltingof the stoim — of cold, and hunger, and broken hearts.”’

Bishop Horsley.

DURING the noontide heat of an African iun, the missionary sat with his family in the shadow of their wag#n. A widely-spread solitude extended far away and all around them. The sun glowed from a cloudless sky on the scorching sand; the lion lay panting in his shady den; the wild beasts had sought, some the cooling river, some the depths of the dark forest; and all around the travellers there was neither sound, nor sight of life. Nature lay exhausted; and had dropped asleep like an infant in the heat of day. An object moving in the distance, and approaching his encampment, at length attracted the eye of the missionai-y. By and by a boy stood before him, in the grace of savage freedom, scantily attired in the skin of a wild beast, wlii eh himg from his bronzed and naked shoulders. He was accompanied by a beautiful springbok, which licked his hand, and trotted lovingly at his heels. The child of parents who had died or deserted him, without brother or sister, kindred, clan, or* companion, save the gentle deer — he told his story in a single sentence. Fixing his large black eyes on the man of God, he stretched out his naked arm, and said, “Stranger, I am alone in the world.” The appeal was touching, tender, irresistible. Let us hope it will prove as successful with kind hearts at home.

The solitude of a crowd is the most painful of all. We have sat on the shore of a lonely bay, shut out from the green earth by its gigantic walls, with nought but the blue sea before us, and the blue sky above us; on the sands no print of human foot, nor white sail on the waters. At the close of day we have stood in a lone Highland glen, where the mountains, crowned by frowning crags, rose to heaven, and the lake, undisturbed by a rip])le, lay

PLE.VS FOIT RAGfJEP SCHOOLS. 71

asleep at their feet — shining in the last glei.in of twilight, like molten silver at tlic bottom of a coal-black crucible. In such scenes we have felt much alone; but never so much so as, in early youth, on descending from a coach on a winter evening, in the heart of London, where amid the glare of lights, and the roar of business, and Juirrying crowds, we knew no one The Solitary of a City is a lonesome being; and such, in the most bitter circumstances, ari many on behalf of whom I venture once m.ore to address a humane and Christian public.

The appeal which we are now about to make is chiefly addressed to those who have as yet lent nothing to the Ragged Schools. We employ the word lent designedly and deliberately. It has not slid in by a slip of the pen, but is used in virtue of the Divine enunciation, “He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord, and He will repay.” On that security we would borrow your money, while reminding you of these other words of Divine benevolence. ‘* Hide not thyself from thine own flesh;” “Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away.” The money which is lavished on sturdy beggars, on the wasteful slaves of vice, on the reckless and improvident, you have no right to expect repayment of. These are not the poor. On the contrary, they plunder the poor, and prey on poverty; and, hardening men’s hearts by their frauds, improvidence, crimes, and detected impostures, against the claims of real poverty, they deserve not charity, but chastisement. It is a scandal and a shame that such devouring locusts are permitted to infest our city, and swarm in its streets. The vices of a system which the police strangely tolerate, and oui charity unwisely maintains, are visible in the blotched and brazened features of those thriving solicitors. The very breath with which they whine for charity smells of the dram-shop. It poisons and pollutes the air; and those who contribute to foster this profligate system have no claim to the blessing,

“Blessed is he that wisely doth
The poor man’s case consider.”

If ov I- Ragged Schools should be under the paiufnl necessity of drawing in their expendimyf and of contracting, instead of extending tlic sphere of their operations, it will be lamentable. With thousands yearly wasted on the maintenance of a horde of plunderers, the condition of the body politic shall be as unhealthy as is that of the body corporeal, when its blood and juices go to nourish an enormous wen, which exhausts the strength, creates deformity, and swells at the expense of shrunken and wasted limbs.

Should this plea fall into the hands of any whose first impulse is to fling it aside, with such a growl as that wherewith some fat and well-fed mastiff salutes the timid, lank, hungry, houseless cur who presumes to approach his well-heaped trencher, we beseech their patience. As confident in the goodness as we are earnest for the success of our cause, with the brave old Roman we say, “Strike, but hear me!”

There are schemes of benevolence which labor under a serious disadvantage. The objects they seek to benefit, and the benefits they sueceed in bestowing on them, are out of sight; remote, and far away. The Christianizing ot* the heathen, and emancipation of the slave, achieved amid foreign scenes, and on fields from which we are separated by thousands of miles, are objects to us, not of sight, but of faith. We neither saw the negro writhing under the lash, nor, when his chains were struck off, bound from the earth to dance and sing, and shout in a delirium of joy. We could neither see the Indian leap in hideous paint and with whirling tomahawk into the circle of the war-dance, nor, when converted, hurl his tomahawk into the bosom only of the lake, and sit down as a child of peace at the feet of Jesus, “clothed, and in his right mind.” To move the feelings and touch the hearts of men till waters flowed as to the rod of Moses from the flinty rock, and money poured into the Treasury of Liberty or Religion, it was necessary to call in the orator and the poet, to address the imagination through eloquent and pathetic pictures of the sorrows of humanity. Fortunately, at least for our cause, our streets swann with living evidences of the need o these schools. Their advocates are before us, in all the pathos of misery, begging, shivering, starving in the streets. What picture could I paint half so touching as the living spectacle!

‘^ Famine is in their cheeks; Need and oppression staring in their looks; Contempt and beggary hang upon their back’s.”

I may state, for the information of those who have not read the first “Plea,” that, while engaged in writing it, I had statistics showing that there were at least one thousand children growing up among us in total ignorance, and doomed to a career of crime. Their only hope of being saved lay in the opening of an adequate number of Ragged Schools. Now since that “Plea” was published much good has been done; but how much remains undone! The numbers attending our own school and others are as follows: —

Rev. Messrs. Paul and Veitch’s Ragged School 68 United Industrial School... .100 The Original Ragged School (our own).. 210 Assuming that there are no more than one thousand outcast children in Edinburgh, then we leave more than the half to perish. At that estimate, we bring off little more than a third from the wreck; and if, as is probable, the actual number is not one, but two thousand, there are then more than fifteen hundred children here who are growing up to disturb and disgrace society, to entail on the country an enormous expense, and to supply with their hopeless and unhappy victims our Police Office and prisons. How hard and melancholy their lot! These furnish fifteen hundred arguments for our schools. While one poor child remains unsaved, so long as one is left hanging on the wreck over the devouring sea, I have ground, firm as the truth of God, on which to appeal both to your justice and generosity.

So much for numbers. Let me next present some idea of the state in which these children are when found. The following cases are copied from our books or the record of the Police Office:

Case 1. “John H, seven years of age, has been in the habit of sleeping in stairs, or wherever he can find shelter, and was sent to our school from the Police Office, where he was well known as a juvenile mendicant. He deserted school thirteen times; and when our teachers despaired of breaking in this young savage, a sister of about eight years old appeared at the school, as wild, wandering, and wayward as himself. The change on these children is such, that, instead of being a pest, they are now a pleasure.”

Case 2. “Anne B, thirteen years of age,

was sent here from the Police Court, having been convicted of public begging. She could read none, having never been at any school. Her mother is dead, and her father has long since deserted her. Her uncle resides in town, goes to no church, but keeps a low lodging-house in a mean locality. There are twelve beds in his house, and each of these is generally occupied by three or four persons. She had to carry drink to the lodgers at all hours of the night; and her fortune was, sometimes to get a bed for herself, — sometimes none at 7* all. riiis poor girl, so nigh to destruction, has .een rescued from circumstances which wou.d have speedily ended in her ruin. She has found a Saviour and an asylum in our Ragged School; and now, sheltered at night beneath the roof of a decent widow, she is happy, contented, and willing to do well.”

Case 3.” Jane T, about eleven years

of age. She has been wandering about the town, begging in ordinary, and stealing when she could; sleeping on stairs, or wherever a place could be found for her head to lie on, along with her brother, who is such another outcast and wanderer. She was sent to our School from the Police Court. Their case, as well as many others, proves the early power of evil habits, and how difficult it is to tame these Arabs of the city. The day after being received into the school they both deserted. There was reason to believe that the boy had committed some crime, for which he had been thrown into jail. The girl was sought for: the lost sheep was found; and, by her excellent behavior, she now promises, with

PLEAS FOR llAGCED SCHOOLS. 79

God’s blessing, to reward all the care and kindness she has received.”

Case 4.” The son of Eliza J, residing

.... does not know his age; supposed about eight or nine; father dead; a smart, active child; and has been singing on the street and jumping Jim Crow for a considerable period past. He was formerly at the Industrial School, but was taken therefrom by his mother, who found it more profitable to have him singing and begging than being at school. Bailie Stott requests that he be again received; and should his mother try to take him again away, the police will do all they can to get at her.

(Signed) Jas. Morham.”

“Police Court.”

Cctse 5.” P. G was brought up as a vagrant. He confesses he had not been at school for two years, and frankly admits that he has been all that time going about stealing. He expresses his willingness to go to school. The family is said to be a bad one. The case is continued for a month. In case he absconds,

SEED-TIME AxVD HARVEST; OR,

he will require to be watched, as he confessea to have had a hand in many thefts.

(Signed) Andrew Jameson.”

In regard to this boy, — sent to our school by the Sheriff-substitute, Mr. Jameson,* one of its warmest and most enlightened friends, and we may add that the superintendent certifies his regular attendance, and the great satisfaction upon the whole that he has given.

These examples may convey to the reader some idea of the hard and melancholy lot of these poor children.

The whole country has been agitated by discussions on education; and debate has waxed warm and high on the question, whether the instruction of the people belongs to the Government, or should be left to voluntary enterprise. There are two sides to that question, — there is but one side’here. If these wretched, neglected, and unhappy outcasts are to be

‘■’ In the Appendix the reader will find a valuable letter from ;Ir. Jameson, where he bears his testimony to the operation of the Industrial Schools. taught and saved, there is no room to deny, or even doubt, the indispensable necessity of Ragged Schools. Nowhere else can the objects of our charity find a school and an asylum. Theirs is a hard and woeful lot; nor could it perhaps be better set forth than in the following table, descriptive of the cases of the children who have attended our school during the last twelvemonth: —

Above Eip;ht
Years of Age.

Infants.

Total.

Boys.
23

Girls.

Fatherless, with drunken Moth’s
Motherless,” ‘* Fathers
Both Parents utterly worthless
Certainly known as Children of

Thieves

23
35

28
48

18
47

G9
130

T?plipvpd to be 80

Who have been Beggars
Who have been in Jail
Who have been in Police Office
1 Who were homeless

15 1 12 These victims of parents’ damnable and damning vices suffer through sins not their own. Look at that creature whose shivering limbs, and pinched and hungry features, appeal to your tenderest feelings! Are you to follow the footsteps of the good Samaritan, or, passing by on the other side, leave that hapless child to its miserable doom? Little do many know what misery, what bitter hours, what biting cold, what brutal usage are summed up in its short experience. This elf-like creature, whose infancy was neither cradled nor caressed, that stands here with naked limbs, and tangled locks, and “uncouth features, meagre, pale and wild,” has suffered day by day the most brutal usage, — usage such as, if inflicted on child, brother, sister of yours or mine, woulcj stir the very depths of passion, and make our eyes flash with angry fires! What mothers they have! One night the street along which I walked was suddenly filled with loud piercing shrieks. A poor starved-like boy, whose mother was going with her paramour to drink, had followed her, remonstrating with

PLEAS FOU RA(^GED SCHOOLS. 83

her. She had turned on him like a wild beast. I found her beating him most savagely. And I well remember with what rage, when I had thrust myself in between them, and flung her back, she turned on me to justify her brutality; alleging that, as the child was hers, she might treat him as she liked. To the children of such mothers, — or monsters rather, — our school opens wide the gates of a most welcome and blessed asylum.

To leave them to the care of their parents, is to doom them to certain ruin. Are they to be taught industry by idleness? honesty by theft? sobriety by drunkenness? purity by pollution? decorum by indecency? the fear and the love of God by those of whom the Scripture says, “God is not in all their thoughts?” Those only who, like ourselves, have gone down into the dark abodes of poverty and crime, of fever, pestilence, and pollution, can form a sufiftciently strong conviction of the utter folly of leaving these children to no other than parental care. In their ignorance some may wonder at our anxiety to pluck the child from the arms of her whom nature teach* es to love it. But vice turns a mother’s heart to stone, and works a metamorphosis passing any sung by Ovid. How altered in the poet’s hands does Lycaon grow!

“The tyrant, in affright, for shelter gains The neighboring fields, and scours along the plains. Howhng he fled, and fain he would have spoke; But human voice his brutal tongue forsook. About his lips the gathered foam he churns, And, breathing slaughter, still with rage he burns; But on the bleating flock -his fury turns: His mantle, now his hide, with rugged hairs, Cleaves to his back; a famished face he bears. His arms descend, his shoulders sink away, To multiply his legs, for chance of prey. He grows a wolf; his hoariness remains. And the same rage in other members reigns.*’

The poet turns Lycaon into a ravenous wolf; Ijut, as George Whitefield was wont to say, and thunder over awe-struck assemblies, sin has turned man into a monstrous compound of half-brute half-devil.

There can be no greater folly than to ti’ust the drunkard’s children to the drunkard’s care. If habits of dissipation be once thoroughly rooted, character forfeited, and the powers of the mind prostrated by long indulgence, vain is the struggle which domestic love, religious knowledge, and even an anticipation of the dreadful issue, maintain with this master vice. To illustrate this, and to rouse a drowsy public, to awaken virtuous indignation against the drinking-shops that are strewed, like some fatal shore, with wrecks of families, and fortune, and fame, and character, — let me select from many such cases, one which has left an indelible impression on my memory.

On the forenoon of a winter day, some seven years ago, I received a note, urging me, if I wished to save his life, to hurry to the abode of the writer. I knew him. He was a man of talent; and had an uncommon knowledge of Scripture. After seeing a great deal of the world, he had returned to spend his days at home, possessed of what, with a little industry on his part, would amply suffice for the maintenance of his family. A prudent, tidy, sober, sensible wife, with two or three fine children, made up his domestic circle; and a sweeter, 8 happier home there might not have been in all Edinburgh. But what availed these? He was a drunkard. On my first visit to this district, I found him a woe-begone wretch; sitting idle and gloomy in a foul apartment; his wife heart-broken; and he himself the terror of his children, who, clad in rags, waited on no ministry, and went to no school. In course of time a very remarkable change was wrought on his home and habits. The wilderness had become an Eden, and the desert a garden of the Lord! And it was a pleasant sight to set’ that man on the Sabbath day, — his family beside him, roses blooming on their cheeks, and their rags exchanged for comrtable and be coming attire. I have often looked at hin with wonder as he sat before the pulpit, drinking in the truth, his glistening eye fixed upon the speaker. His home was now comfortably and fully furnished. Cheap and simple ornaments adorned its once naked walls. It was impossible to stand on the clean-swept hearthstone, before the bright fire, amid so many comforts, with such a happy, cheerful family around, and not cling fondly to the hope that this was “a brand plucked from the burning.” Such had been the state of matters before I received the ominous note. It was with dark forebodings that I hastened to the house, and climbed live flights of stairs to the room where drunkenness and poverty had driven this man, and where, though brighter days had dawned, he still resided. His poor wife, “her eyes consumed with grief,” with three children clinging in terror to their mother, was the first sight that met me. She put her finger on her lips, and led me into a neighbor’s room. There I heard all. He had been mad with drink foi some days. Trembling for her own and hei children’s lives, she had had to seek an asylum beneath a kind neighbor’s roof. The door of his room was bolted; but he opened it when 1 knocked and announced my name. What a scene was there! No furniture; no bedding; the fire quenched on the hearth; the very grate removed from the cold black chimney, — all sold for drink. And amid this desolation stood the man himself, that cold winter day, without coat, ss

or vest, or stockings, or shoes, — the sleeve ol his shirt rolled up to the shoulder, and a large knife in his hand.. He had resolved on suicide, but stood uncertain how to leave the scene: whether by the knife; or by the window thrown up for the dreadful leap; or by a rope and noose, that hung ominous and frightful from a post of the bedstead. I dealt as I best could with this guilty and troubled spirit. His conscience was again awakened. Affection to his wife and children resumed its sway. He threw himself at her feet: he kissed his little ones, and accused himself of being the veriest, vilest wretch on earth! The scene, which would have melted a heart of stone, afforded me some hope that, from this new struggle with an old enemy, he might at length come off victorious, — earning the blessings of his family, and the praise of Him who hath said, “He that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that taketh a city.”

Alas! his goodness was like the morning cloud: and by and by he abandoned his home, adding another to the vast number of miserable families which have been deserted by their

PLEAS FOR RAGGED SCHOOLS. 8V)

natural protectors. In time he was forgotten, as a dead man out of mind. Yet we met aaain. Engaged, one day, in visiting in the Grassmarket, I entered a low lodging-house, kept by an Irishwoman. While conversing with some of her countrymen, the mistress said that a lodger in the back room wished to see me. She lighted a candle; and, stooping, followed by me, she entered a low, long, dark, narrow apartment, with beds, as thick as they could be placed, ranged on each side. She stopped by a bed, on which, under a dirty coverlet that was drawn over the face, lay a human form, like a corpse beneath its shroud. A heavy sigh was the only answer returned to the question. Who wishes to see me? The face was at length uncovered; and the light of the candle fell on the haggard, death-stamped features of the wretched man who once seemed to have been saved. I was shocked at the sight; and shall never forget his piteous tone and despairing look, as he asked, “Is it possible, sir, after all, I can be saved?”

There are many such unhappy men an<l un- 8* happy families! Political economists may preach till “the crack of doom” on the natural rights of parents, and the dangers of abusing charity; but are we to allow parents to sacrifice their offspring to their vices, — to offer them in the fire to Moloch? We cannot stand by without attempting to rescue them. Who could, if they stretched out their little hands to us from the windows of a house which had been fired by their father in the frenzy of intoxication? Yet how strange it is that humane, kind, generous, good Christians can smile their way along the streets where hundreds of poor children are perishing in a worse way before their very eyes!

The world presents few examples of the power of familiarity more palpable, or more painful, than may be seen in these streets. There, exposed to the biting blast, in faded weeds that are glazed with the soaking rain, sits a woman; a tender infant lies on her open lap; while, ever turning up wan, and sallow, and meagre faces for charity, a child on each Bide cowers beneath her scanty cloak. Less fortunate than the brood that swin cradled in downy nest beneath the warm feathers of a mother’s wing, these creatures nestle close together, in the vain attempt, on that cold pavement, and beneath that lashing rain, to warm their torpid limbs. How strange must it seem to angels, as they look down through that stormy sky, to see how this group of living misery attracts less attention than if, — the triumph of some sculptor’s genius, — it were chisfciled from a block of marble! And — most base and worthless pity! — people there are, of refined taste, and sentimental in their way, who would stand to gaze and shed tears on the cold stone, that pass this living group of sorrow w>.h pitiless indifference.

They may U us, in self-defence, that the mother is a wicked and worthless profligate. We cannot take that for granted. We have seen crime rustling In silks; a saint expiring on a bed of rags; u.>d innocence begging bread on our streets. What scenes of virtuous sorrow and unpitied suffering could many of these old, lofty, begrimed tenements reveal!

“Where the palhd mother croons to rest The withering babe at her milkless breast; She, wakeful, views the risen day Break gladness o’er her home’s decay, And God’s blest light a ghastly glare Of grey and deathy dimness there.”

But grant the mother’s profligacy. So much the worse for her children; and so much the greater, we add, the need of your interference. The apology which you make for your neglect, is an aggravation of its guilt.

The charity too often wasted on drunken mothers, we would apply to the benefit of their innocent offspring. And in proposing to interfere between the rapacity of the parent and the ruin of the child, we do nothing but what others elsewhere have proposed, and all men have commended. Turn your eyes on India! As if our humanity had grown warm beneath its sunny skies, we interposed the authority of British law to abolish infanticide. Though the sacrifice was on their part an act of devotion, we prevented Indian mothers casting their female infants into the stream. Here, as well as there, liberty should be restrained wheD

it passes into licentiousness; and, wherever they are flagrantly abused, parental, as well as elective rights, should be withdrawn. It was a noble act to put down infanticide in India; yet why tolerate at home the horrid crimes committed by parents against their children? It looks as if our humanity was affected, like a thermometer, by climate, rising and falling with the temperature of the zones, — glowing beneath the sun of India, but cold and chill here as the fogs of our northern skies.

Does the reader ask, What can I do? Follow, we answer, where a princess leads. The castaway is before you, adrift, like Moses, on the stream: we stand anxiously by the river side, watching the result of this appeal. Ready to undertake the welcome task, we wait for you to say, with Pharaoh’s daughter, “Take this child away, and nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy wages.” We implore you to follow a yet higher example, and attempt an “Imitation of Christ” Himself. I have often thought, had He walked our streets, how Jesus Christ would have pitied these unhappy chil- (Iren! Who can doubt it, that remembers his parable of the good shepherd, who left the ninety and nine, to seek the lost sheep in the wilderness; nor abandoned the search till he could return, rejoicing that the lost was found? With such an example, who should refuse their help? Give as you are able; but give. Then, though still with sorrow, you can without shame look a helpless outcast in the face. You have done what you could.

It may encourage many to come to our help, as it has encouraged our Committee to continue their exertions, to show how the tree, though planted but two short years ago, is not only budding, and blossoming, but, like Aaron’s rod, is also bearing fruit.

Perhaps the most satisfactory evidence that I can give of this will be found in the following extract. Mr. Grimmond, our superintendent, writes, —

‘’ There are four kinds of fruit resulting from the establishment of these schools: —

‘’ 1.9^, That reaped by the puljlic. in being relieved from the molestation and importunity

PLEAS FOR RACxGED SCHOOLS. 9o

of swarms of juvenile beggars. Under tlii? head I have only to say, that people, in talking to me about these schools, have often remarked that, since their institution, the streets are much more clear of that class.

“2d, The benefits enjoyed by the children, who have been lifted out of misery, and arc now comfortable and happy. Any one may mark the difference between the juvenile bego-ar of the street and the child of the Ragged School; the lazy l)eggar is turned into a busy scholar; the pale, sunken cheek is now fat and blooming; and the miserable, sickly, houseless, uncared-for child is enjoying the blessings of Christianity.

“3(/, The advantages gained by those children who have left these schools and entered on some useful employment, who are now doing

well.

“4,th, The fruit reaped by those who seem to have received, not only religious knowledge, but serious impressions, in our schools. Under this head I can confidently say, that during the Bible lesson these children are more atten-OR,

five than any I have elsewhere seen. The death-beds of some have furnished us with good ground for believing that, from these schools, and through means of them, some have gone to be with Jesus, and that some of your Ragged School fruits are already being reaped in glory. One poor little child, Betty M’K, ten years of age, was blessed, I believe, through the Bible lesson she had carried home, to lead her poor ignorant father to a knowledge of the truth. He died in the Infirmary; and, soon after, she fell into a fatal decline. She never fretted, having learnt to bear with patience all that God laid on her. In answer to my question, she said, ‘I am not afraid to die;’ and, as the reason of her confidence, added, ’ because Jesus loves me.’ On the evening before her death, her tongue, which had been tied for three days, was unloosed, and for some seven minutes she engaged in ferventprayer, saying, as she stood on the brink of eternity, that she thought it far better to depart and be with Jesus; and the Doctor and other Christian friends who visited her had no doubt that she was a lamb gathered into the fold. Some other cases, not less promising, I could give, but abstain, only adding, that the nmnner in which their parents or guardians describe to us how they used to sing with delight the hymns they had learned in the school, and tell about Jesus and heaven, showed that they at least wished to be there. I have no doubt that some of their parents have been greatly benefited in this way; and I could take you to this one, and that one, and another one, who have become church attenders since their children came to the Ragged School; while others of them come and hear the Bible lesson in school along with their children on the Sabbath day.

“William Grimmond.”

We ask the reader’s attention also to the following table: —

Number registered this year from

date 26th March, 1848
Remaining on Roll

Of the 113 who have left, — Left Town

Deserted, being determined Beggars
Sent to other Parishes, on which )

they had a claim j

Removed by deatl (4 of Cholera)
Gone to other Schools, their con- )

dition being improved j
Found employment

Of those at present in School, —

Taught to read the Bible

Taught to write

Boys.

135
89

llnfanls

Girls. I under

Eight.

102
69
Removed.,..

7
6
0

IG
0
Total

325
212
10
19
41

65
34*

For other valuable statistics, and some weighty and important reflections which they have suggested, we refer the reader to a letto.’ In the Appendix, from Dr. Boll, one of our valuable Socrctarios.

In regard to our machinery and management I may state that we have three schools, — one school for boys, another for girls, and a third, which may properly be called the Infant School. All the scholars leave their homes or lodging-houses, or our own dormitories, to assemble at seven o’clock in the morning in summer, and eight in winter. The first exercise they go through is a purifying one. They doff their rags to march for some three yards under the invigorating, cleansing shower of a large bath. Attiring themselves in the school dress, they work an hour, and then (grace being said by one of the children) sit down to a comfortable breakfast of oatmeal porridge. With a reasonable allowance for play, so many hours are spent in industrial occupations, — so many in receiving instruction, both secular and religious.* We seek to communicate a sound and saving knowledge of the Bible, because we believe that, while true of all children, it is emphatically and especially true of

* This will be found fully detailed in a table inserted in the Appendix.

these, that “the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom.” They dine at mid-day; and after another diet of oatmeal porridge about seven o’clock in the evening, they are sent away happy — to cheer sometimes even their dark and dreary homes, with lessons of piety and hymns of praise learned in our school.

The discipline, also, of our school is one of its most interesting features. Our teacher, Mr. Gibb, has achieved the most singular success in breaking in these children, ameliorating their dispositions, and humanizing their whole character and habits. We remarked in our first “Plea,” that they were not to be moved by hard words and harder blows, being too much accustomed to these at home, and having “learn to be as indifferent to them as the smith’s dog to the shower of sparks.” From the beginning, we put our faith in kindness. It has been tried, and not found wanting. Those that would have bristled up before a harsh word or blow, have become soft and pliant in her tender hand; and care has always been taken in the few cases of corporeal pimishment to administer it with the smallest possible measure of pain, and the largest possible measure of kindness. The following extract of a letter received from a lady, will form a suitable introduction to some details belonging to school discipline.

“I went to the Ragged School to-day with some friends, and spent two hours among the boys, much to our amusement, and admiration both of them and Mr. Gibb. We were most fortunate in our choice of a day for our visit, for several interesting events occurred. A deserter was brought back, and regularly put upon trial; and truly it was as good as a play any day, to hear the examinations, as conducted by Mr. Gibb in presence of the assembled school, and the queer answers and odd reasons for running away, tendered by the culprit in his own defence. After he was heard for himself, every boy who in conscience thought he had done wrong was desired to hold up his right hand. The verdict was unanimous; and it was Guilty. And then came the question of punishment. This was speedily decided by 9* a special jury, selected from his own class, who retired to consult, and who returned in a few minutes, and, through their dux as chancellor, announced a sentence of twelve palmies. Mr. Gibb begged us to remain and see the dose administered. Curiosity, and a lively interest in the scene, overcame the scruples of our tenderer feelings; and we were amply repaid by hearing the judicious, tender, and Christian admonition with which Mr. Gibb accompanied the correction, — explaining, both to the culprit and school, that punishment was administered on the well-known principle of these schools, — the motto of your ‘Plea,’ — ‘Prevention is betr ter than cure.’”

Take the case of S. This boy had deserted the school to resume his predatory and begging habits. Mr. Gibb had desired some of those who lived in his neighborhood to get hold of him, and bring him back. Though they went to his house next morning, and repeated their visits for two or three successive days, they never got sight of him. “The nest w as flown.” To Mr. Gibb’s surprise, however, one morning he saw S sitting in the work-room, under a strong guard; a sentinel on each side of him, and one in front. At his home, by six o’clock in the morning, the boys had found him sitting beside the fire-place in his shirt. In vain, though backed by an elder brother, they told him to dress, and come along. On the appearance of force, he flew to the weapon, which, according to Sir Walter Scott, proved so effective in the hands of a famous Bailie, and, drawing a red-hot poker from the fire, was like to put them all to flight. Two of them at length got hold of him, the third following with his clothes; and, doubtless, he had been carried in this state to school, but that his cries reached the ears of a policeman, who persuaded these rough valets de chamhre to find him a dressing-room in a common stair. Mr. Gibb found him fertile in excuses for his bad behavior. Finding none of them avail him, with the cunning of his class, he invented one’ on the spur of the moment, which he supposed would awaken the interest of some pious ladies then visiting the school. “I dinna like,”

said the rogue,” to come to this scule. I want to gang to a .scule whar I’ll get mair learnin’, and learn to read the Bible. ‘’^ At this moment a gentleman entered connected with one of the Ragged Schools in London; and wishing to know how we managed disorderly boys, he was told that we had then a case in hand, and, if he pleased, he might stop and see the result.

A jury of the school decided against S;

and when the sentence was about to be administered, the boys were asked if any of them would have the generosity to share his punishment. The appeal was not made in vain. Two or three stepped forward, each more anxious than another to bear a part of the penalty.

The change which our school has wrought on these children, through the power of kindness and religion, could not be better set forth than by a scene to which I will introduce my readers. Summer weather brings the butterfly from its clirysalis, and tempts the various insect tribes to roam on the wings of freedom through the sunny air, and to children of unsettled, roving habits, the summer days and the green fields have irresistible charms. Mr. Gibb found that, as the skies grew warmer, the school grew thinner; the roll of attendance shortened with the length of the day. He found it necessary to enact, “That no boy shall go away from school, until he is prepared to remain away altogether, or to submit, on his return, to a certain measure’ of punishment.” The law was passed with acclamation, and he thought all was right. Next day, however, a dozen had absconded. On being brought back, they said they wished to remain at school; but the four ringleaders refused to submit to the punishment. They were obstinate, and refused to yield, which to Mr. Gibb was a great grief, as they were bigish boys, and stood most of all in need of such a school. He resolved to try and bend them by an appeal to their better feelings, saying, —

“Boys, we will not compel you to accept of the food and instruction of which hundreds like you would be glad, who have it not. If you like to remain, submit to the rules, and you are welcome. Will you do it?”

“No, sir.”

“Would you have me tell a lie, by not acting up to my word?”

“No, sir.”

“Would you like to remain, and be allowed to do as you please?”

“No; because we would go wrong, sir.”

“Why, then, not submit to the rule you agreed to?”

“We’ll stop if you’ll no lich us, sir, — if you’ll no gi’e us palmiesJ’

“Boys, were you ever punished before? and why?”

“Because we deserved it.”

“And don’t you deserve it now? Take it, and be done with it.”

After trying them in this manner for some time, without any success, Mr. Gibb addressed them in a farewell speech, suited to the taste, and calibre, and character, of those he spoke to, saying, —

“Well then, boys, I think I have done; — I

PLEAS FOli RA(^.GED SCHOOLS. lOT

can do nothing for you ; — I dare not let you pass. You are going away, and it may be that I will never see you more. Perhaps I will see you rich and respectable men. Perhaps I will see you masters of a fine shop, standing behind the counter, with your hair nicely curled, and dressed like gentlemen. Or, may be, when I am an old man, and walk leaning on a staff, I will see you rolling by in a fine carriage drawn by two grey horses, attended by grand servants, and a beautiful lady seated by your side; and when you see me you will say, ‘Look! there’s the Ragged School master, that used to lick us when we were laddies: here, Mr. Gibb, there’s something to keep your pocket.’ Now, these things may be; but ah I my boys, I much fear that if ever I see you riding, it will be in one of those dark, gloomy carriages, with the locked door and iron grat. ings, conveying you — you know where to?”” Yes, sir.’’

“And is it not likely, if you go away from the school, that you will be obliged to sink to begging again? And then your next step down will be to stealing; and down and down you go. But whether I may see you again in this world or not, I do not know. One thing, however, is certain — we shall meet again, — and where?”

Their heads, till then erect, now began to hang down; and as one or two answered, “At the last day, sir,” they, and the greater number of the children, as if by a sudden shock of electricity, burst into tears. The Superintendent of Work, who had worn the red coat for upwards of thirty years, turned on his heel, and the tear glistened in the old soldier’s eye, while nothing was to be heard but sobs and sighing. Now was Mr. Gibb’s time to drive home the wedge; and so, though almost overcome himself, he said, “All that I ask of you now, my boys, is a shake of your hand, and we part good friends.” Nothing remained now for the poor fellows but to go. Moving slowly to the door, and all the while crying bitterly, they shook hands with their companions and went, — but returned. On the threshold they yielded to the master’s last appeal, fairly conqnered, and examples of the all but omnipotent power of Christian wisdom, combined with Christian kindness.

It is but an act of justice to our admirable teacher, to the school, to the cause, and to the children themselves, that I should close this part of my “Second Plea” by the following letter: —

Ragged School, Ramsay Lane,

25th December, 1848. Reverend Sir, — I can say that, of the many boys that have attended the Ragged School, I have met with few, indeed none, who have not shown the greatest readiness to do me a personal kindness, either in school or out of it. To show this many instances might be given. Allow me only to trouble you with the follow-

[ya-: J C lost his mother, who was

an Irishwoman, and his father, who was a Scotchman (by trade a shoemaker), when he was about six years old. When I found him he had been trying to provide himself with food and lodgings for upwards of a year, by carrying luggage for passengers to and from 10 the Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway. He seemed rather destitute, and I asked him to come to school; but it was not till some time after, when he had got a sore foot, that he found his way thither.

Afterwards I was seized with typhus fever, and two or three of the boys called to inquire for me every day. C came regularly morning and evening, and was always very anxious to see me; and so long as he was told I was no better, he went away crying; but when he was told that I was getting better, the tear was changed to a smile. On the evening before I went to the country for change of air, he was asked to come next morning and assist me to the Canal boat. He got me safe on board; and when we had started, I was surprised, on looking out at the window, to see half a dozen

of the Ragged School boys, with C at

their head, running alongside, and crying, “Yonder he’s;” and this they continued to do till the boat went off at full speed, when they returned, after running nearly half a mile. One day shortly after, on taking a walk in the country, a boy was seen approaching, dressed in clothes t’hat I lial seen in the Ragged School; and as he came nearer he began to smile. I was a little surprised to find that it

was C. He had collected his halfpence

till he had raised sixpence, and then set away on the Canal to see his master, with no other prospect than to walk home; of course his return fare was made up for him. C — — is now working to a flesher, and lodging in the same house with a boy who was once his companion in adversity, and a Ragged School class-mate; and that boy being scarcely able to clear his

way, while C has something to spare, he

gives a little, to enable his old fellow-sufferer and scholar to live as comfortably as himself.

In regard to any real saving change being made on these children, I would not like to speak with too much confidence. Any one who knows much about either them or their parents, knows that they are too ready to appear to bear in mind whatever is most likely to benefit their body. One thing, however, is

112 SEED-TIME AND HARVEST; OE,

certain, viz., tliej are a very great deal kinder to each other than they formerly were; and last week I had a visit from all their mothers or landladies that could attend, for the purpose of ascertaining whether any difference, either for better or worse, had been observed in the conduct of any of them since they came to school. Not one of them answered, For the worse. In almost every case the answer was, For the better; and that the childien were more obedient than they used to be. One said her sons were “very much improved, and not like what they were before at all: they are like new weans altogether.” Another said, “They are more kind to each other, and to their sisters; and instead of spending their evenings in running on the streets, as they used to do, they now spend them in singing and reading.” Another, that her son “now works at his slate, and reads his Bible, and sings hymns.” Another, that her son” is a good deal healthier, and a better boy entirely Another (a blind woman) says, she knows not how to express her gratitude to the people

f the Ragged School; for her son is now able to read to her at night, and fells her nice stories about Jesus, and sings sweet hymns, -and so forth. From these and similar facts I have reason to believe that the good already done by means of tlicse schools will tell on generations yet unborn; and that some of these poor outcasts will bless God through all eternity that there was once such a thing as the Ragged School.

Rev. and Dear Sir, I hope you will excuse the somewhat brief and familiar manner in which I have endeavored to give you a few facts as they stand. I thought to have had them forwarded sooner, but the business of the school, and family sickness, prevented.

Rev. Sir,
Your obedient Servant,

GEO. GIBB.

To these cases, furnished by the teachers, I

may add another, told to me by a humble but

honest neighbor of the mother of one of these

boys. Dismissed from a comfortable situation

10* for glaring misconduct, and unable, from bodily infirmity, to earn her bread, the mother betook herself to begging on tlie»streets. This proved a source of gains, which she wasted on habits of drunkenness. The more money to the mother, the more misery to the child. When the mother was intoxicated she was infuriated; and the hapless boy often fled from her cruelty to the common stair, where, with his head pillowed on a step, he lay the long winter night, to sleep, — when the cold would let him. Some kind Samaritan brought the child to our school, ignorant as a heathen; knowing neither his letters nor anything of a God and Saviour. He has now been some twelve months with us; and our humble friend, the tenant of a room five stories up, and living, to use her own expression, hut and hen from them, tells us that she lias often heard him, on his return in the evening, speaking to his mother as if he were an old grey-haired Christian. With more sense than some beyond his years, he has learnt the divine lesson, “Give not that which is holy unto the dogs; neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.” So, when he finds his mother drunk, he is silent; but on her sober evenings he reads the Bible to her, — tells her how the master said this and said that, — and, graciously inverting the order of nature, is the monitor and instructor of his own mother. Through the thin partition which separates these upper rooms of poverty from each other, she has often listened with amazement to this child’s affectionate warnings. Once he said, “Ah I mither, mither, what a dreadful thing, when Jesus Christ comes to judgment, if I, standing at his right hand, should see my mither on the left; and you’re sure to be there if ye live on as you’re doing.” The remarkable demeanor of this boy, and the visible change wrought on his habits and appearance, have recommended our Kagged School to the neighbors round about. He has earned for it and us the kindliest regards of that humble noigliborhood — a name there “above all Greek or Roman fame;” for of how much truer value than the applause of a world is the blessing of those who are ready to perish!

Such are the fruits and discipline of our school; and I have not to tell the reader that money spent upon the young is spent with greatest promise. I have not the shadow of a doubt, that by one single pound contril)uted to the Ragged School, you will do more good than by one hundred pounds spent on Penitentiary or Prison; just as by the power of a one-pound weight you can give a bent to the tender branch, which the weight, not of one, but of one thousand pounds, cannot impart to the giant arm of some gnarled hoary tree. That breaks, but refuses to bend.

Growing more and more alive to the prophet’s question, “Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?” our eye turns from other schemes to these schools with the fondest anticipations. They offer to our outcast population “a door of hope in the valley of Achor.” Other plans of benevolence have been tried on the masses. Home and City Missions have had their period of proba-Hon; and they have proved how hard, we dare not say how hopeless, a task it is to turn the river which has cut itself a channel in the rock; to change the character of a population that are hard and set in crime. While we would follow the hoary-headed sinner to the edge of his grave, with calls to repent and offers of mercy, still they are the most promising efforts that take the direction of the young. Therefore, the Ragged School has claims on a humane and Christian public, — we shall not say before all other schemes, — but second to none. When we undertake to supply each child with food and education at an expense of £5 per year, — when, for so small a sum of money, a poor outcast may be saved from present misery and eternal ruin, — surely multitudes will be found, out of their own abundance to give, or by the help of others to raise, this sum. God pity the poor, if, amid the abounding comforts, and wealth, and luxuries of this Christian land, the only doors left open to these outcast children are the dreary portals of the Police Office and the Prison!

The stability of the empire is bound up with such schemes as ours. What Philanthropy prompts to, and Piety recommends, true Patriotism demands. If those elements of corruption and mischief, which we have done so little (Mther to resist or restrain, are allowed to spread for the next half century as they have done during the past, we tremble for the issue. 80 soon as the leaven has leavened the whole lump, what shall the end of these things be?

I believe that the higher, the middle, and some of the humbler classes of society, have not degenerated, but improved, in their moral and religious habits; but there is a class lying beneath these, at the bottom of the social fabric, which, in whatever aspect it be regarded, calls for the serious attention of the country. They have no religion; they instil no moral principles into their offspring; their minds are uncultivated; their habits are brutal, profligate, and licentious. In London, in Glasgow, in Edinburgh, and in other such cities, they are increasing at a most dangerous ratio on the educated and church going popu

PLES FOR RAGGED SCHOOLS. 119
f

lation. Through many districts of the country also, and in a large number of our provincial towns, the same class are springing up and growing with a terrible rapidity. They are mushrooms in growth; but in durability are cedars.

This may be illustrated by the case of Maybole, — a small town, numbering, with the country part of the parish, some five thousand people. It lies in a sweet district in Ayrshire; “beautiful in situation;” surrounded by a fertile country; and hallowed to the memory of Scotchmen as the scene where John Knox and his dexterous antagonist Quentin Kennedy, Abbot of Crossraguel, — the respective champions of Protestantism and Popery, — fought, within a house still standing there, the battle of their respective faiths. From the hill which rises between it and the sea, the shores of Ireland can be discerned; and across the narrow channel hordes of Irish papists have passed to deluge with misery, and beggary, and the lowest habits, that beautiful land. The Scotch have been too ready to receive the virus; and l)ecome centres of infection. A class accordingly has sprung up there, ignorant alike of the decencies of society, and the habits of religion. On week-days the streets and roads swarm with beggars, in rags and wretchedness, nakedness and squalidness, and other repulsive signs both of poverty and of profligacy. On the blessed Sabbath, grown men and women, and young people of all ages, are strolling through the streets; or standing idly in their doors; or roaming over the country, and disturbing its hallowed peace, in their every-day — we suspect with many, their only — attire. My friend Mr. Brown, banker and writer there, with most creditable courage and humanity, is grappling with the evil, and endeavoring to establish a Ragged School. Would all elsewhere do the same, the country might yet be saved. The main cause of the wretchedness there or anywhere else, is not the want of money, but of morality. We have reason to believe that there is as much money spent, and a large portion of it by this very uneducated, poor, and profligate class of people in this parish of

PLEAS FOR RA(;(^.En SCHOOLS. 121

May bole, on spirits and tobacco as equals nearly the whole landed rental. How monstrous that wliiskey and tobacco shops, which find their best customers among the uneducated, the poor, and the profligate, should draw a revenue little short of what the landlords do from their fields and farms! Sixteen thousand pounds, it is said, are yearly wasted on noxious or useless stimulants; while the poor and other rates are advancing with railroad speed. When will the respectable classes of the community awake to the necessity of arming ir defence of the nation’s religion, virtue, and property? Unless means are employed to change the habits, and arrest the formidable advances of this class, the dream of Pharaoh shall be realized in other lands than Egypt, where the lean kine devoured the fat, and were no fatter thereby!

Improvidence and dissipation create that class which threaten the welfare of our country, and multiply the objects of our Ragged Schools. I know that Acts of Parliament can neither make men moral nor religious; yet 11 much can be done by Government to remove sources of temptations from the people, and foster habits of thrift and sobriety. The children of our manufacturing districts being able, by means of the wages they earn, to cast off the parental yoke at too early an age, there is the more need to teach them habits of prudence and foresight. The earnings of the father exceeding but by little those of his child, and inadequate, without these, to feed the unproductive members of the family, parents are afraid to correct and curb their children; while headstrong youth is ready to resent the interference, and abandon the parental roof. Nor is this all the evil. In some cases the parent wastes on vice the wages of his children; while in all cases he lies under a powerful temptation to withdraw them from school before they have received an adeguate education. Imperfectly educated, ancrodependent, at an age too early, of parental authority, it becomes the more necessary to guard our manufacturing youth from temptations to evil, and to compass them round with inducements to thrift and economy. The earlier the plant is drawn from the nursery-bed, the more need there is to plant it in some sheltered and sunny nook.

Now, how are our manufacturing and handicraft youth situated? By public-houses and spirit-shops they are surrounded with innumerable temptations; while to many of them Savings Banks are hardly known by name. Dissipation has her nets drawn across every street. In many of our towns, sobriety has to run the gauntlet of half a dozen spirit-shops in the space of a bow-shot. These are near at hand — open by day and blazing by night, both on Sabbath and Saturday. Drunkenness finds immediate gratification; while economy has to travel a mile, it may be, for her Savings Bank; and that opens its doors to thrift but once oi twice a week perhaps.

The consequences of these temptations, and this neglect, are becoming so formidable, and, it would appear, by all existing means so incurable, that some wise and sagacious men are disposed to ask the interference of the Government. They could compel all under a certain age who receive wages, to deposit a proportion of them in bank. It may be said that this is an interference with man’s natural liberty. But they answer, that that has been already encroached on by various Acts of Parliament. The hours of work, both in mills and collieries, are regulated by law; and the seamen of some, if not all of our harbors, are compelled by Act of Parliament to invest a proportion of their wages to maintain themselves and families, when disabled from labor by accident, or by the infirmities of a premature old age. Such a proposal may be impracticable; but this admits of no doubt, that it is vain to deal with disease as with health; and if it be granted that God never fitted the child for circumstances where, ere it has reached the age of puberty, it becomes independent of parental support, and can defy parental authority, such an abnormal condition justifies and demands extraordinary remedies. This at least the law can, and ought to do, — it should put down nine out of ten of these drinkingsliops; and grant no man a license to deal in spirits whose character does not furnish good security that he will not trade in crime, and make his house a centre of drunkenness, and a curse to the neighborhood — raising a house to himself out of the wreck and ruin of other men’s homes and characters, bodies and souls. While trusting to the gospel of Jesus Christ as the only efficient regeneration of our fallen race, it is well to avail ourselves of every check to this damnable and destructive vice. The requiring of certificates by applicants for license, the discipline of the Church, and last, though not least, Temperance and Total Abstinence Societies, are all commendable. ‘They have accomplished much good: still they hav€ not eradicated the evil. Why, as an additional check, should not the masters of these public-houses, and other venders of ardent spirits, be compelled to bear the burden of the poverty which their trade is the means of producing? How many families do they reduce to poverty, beggary, and want? It were but justice, that the man who knowingly, and for 11* his own gain, supplies the poor drunkard with the means of destruction, should be compelled to maintain his family. Should a man be allowed to trade in crime, and not only go scatheless of the consequences, but get the public to bear them? Are there not thousands of the venders of spirits who supply the stimulant where they know that it goes to destroy the drinker’s health, and beggar his family? Instead of ardent spirits, let a man, knowing that the ])urc]iaser buys the article for purposes of suicide, sell arsenic or prussic acid; and the very least that justice requires in such a case is, that he shall maintain the family of him in whose death he was art and part. Why should not the innocent sufferers of a parent or husband’s dissipation obtain such recourse in law against those who, for their own gain, tempted him to ruin, and involved them in poverty? This would close, within another week, nine-tenths of those low drinking-shops. Never, in the most frightful panic, had the banks such a run for money as these would have for damages.

I venture, while on this subject, to suggest a question. When, in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred, the drunkard becomes not only a disgrace to his friends, but often also, in some shape or other, a burden on the community, destroying the happiness, if not the lives, of his family, dissipating their substance, and reducing them to want, why should we stand by, without interfering between his madness and his offspring? Were the man insane, in the common sense of the term, the law allows our interference. It steps in; takes his keys; and manages the property for the benefit of his household, — shutting him up within the walls of an asylum. While the fumes are in his brain, the drunk man is a madman if the temptation comes in his way, and the habitual slave of this vice is as incapable of controlling his appetite by his reason, or conquering his passions by his judgment, as the inmate of a lunatic asylum. It becomes one species, and the worst species, of monomania. Account for it as physicians or metaphysicans may, the man is as unable to resist the attractions of the spirit-bottle, as a piece of iron those of the magnet, or a stone that of the earth. Accusing himself, and often cursing the day he was born, — bitterly mourning his disgrace, and the fate which he sees impending over a happy home, — knowing, as well as others do, that he is ruining both body and soul, — yet he yields to the temptation; and is swept along, spell-bound, impotent to resist. It were the kindest thing to them, and best for all dependent on them, that the slaves of this horrible vice should be dealt with as lunatics. Left at large, they waste their property, and health, and life. They die at a premature age. They burden the sober and industrious with the support of innumerable widows and children. But let them be confined to the walls of an asylum, let them be compelled to engage there in regular and industrial employments, and perfectly isolated from all intoxicating liquors, the old cravings and habits would die out. In course of time, many, most of them, with body and mind restored to a healthy tone, would return to the bosom of their families and the business of life, in a sense, new creatures. Why should not their friends, any party having an interest, or the public officers of justice, have power to cognosce every man or woman who could be convicted, before a competent tribunal, of being an habitual drunkard? By every possible means we ought to protect the helpless ofispring of the drunkard, and brand his crime with infamy. Surely it is high time that our country be delivered from the taunt of being, while claiming to be the most devout, actually the most drunken beneath the sun. The charge is not true; yet how great is our shame, and how enormous are the burdens entailed on us by the ignorance, indolence, diseases, poverty, and crimes, of which this national vice is the prolific parent!

If it is the duty of Government to remove as far as possible temptations to crime, it is no less their duty to employ all legitimate means of amendment and cure; and none present stronger claims on the support of the country, and the countenance of the State, than Ragged Schools. Standing apart from all questions about State endowments for ordinary education, they fall properly under the nead of Police; and, under a Government sufficiently enlightened to foster them, would prove one of its best institutions. The results of education as given without, in contrast to that given within prison walls, are not less certain than the results of those laws which govern the march of seasons or the tides of ocean. The excellent men who teach within the jail would do ten times more good without it. For every one they turn out of prison a reformed criminal, they would keep ten out of it, — were their labors bestowed in Ragged Schools, on the class that furnish its tenants to the jail. When the day comes, that our legislators shall direct a larger portion of their time to matters of moral reform, and those social evils which have been allowed too long to eat like a cancer into the heart of our population, justice will be done in Parliament to the cause of Ragged Schools. Supposing, what here we neither affirm nor denv, that it is the duty of the State to sup-PLEAS Foil hA(;GED SCHOOLS. 131

port all the educational institutions of the country, — in such a case it is clear as noonday, that among the claimants for public aid, the first to be heard with a liberality co-extensive with their necessities, are these uncared-for, unhappy children. To support in part or in whole educational institutions for the children of land-owners, or merchants, or tradesmen, or well-paid workmen out of the public funds, and stint or starve Ragged Schools, is a monstrous abuse. In a procession of beggars the rags should flutter in the van; and from the public treasury others should be supplied only after we are served. In other words, let our universities, colleges, and academies, and parochial or congregational schools, give place to those which cannot live on fees, nor exist without external aid. Our object is, not to form accomplished scholars and a highly cultivated nation, but to save poor wretches from the gallows, the prison, or the penal settlement.

They who would move the Government mlust first move themselves; and through schools sustained by our exertions, we must, meanwhile, prove that the scheme is not only plausible, but practicable; every way worthy of the nation’s adoption. It is not commonly the duty of a Government to precede, but to follow the country. Its movements should embody and express the mind of the nation. Nor can we expect the Government to take action in this matter till the steam is up, and pressing on its wheels. The sooner the better. Not only the well-being, but the very being of our country is bound up with this and other kindred schemes. With these it sinks or swims, — survives or dies. Political freedom and commercial prosperity are inseparably connected with the social state of nations. They wax or wane with it. “Righteousness exalteth a nation; but sin is a reproach to any people.”

Let it be borne in mind, that men form good members of society, yielding obedience to the laws, and respecting the property, life and liberty of others, under the influence of two, or one of two, principles. Obedience to the law springs from regard either to God, or man, or to both; and therefore true freedom cannot permanently stand on any other foundations than those of morality and religion. With these beneath her, Liberty has a solid pedestal; without them, she is raised only to fall. Look at the experience of France! Since she lost so much of her best blood in the massacre of the Huguenots, her head has never been steady. As a nation, — great in many respects as they are, — our neighbors across the Channel want the elements of moral and religious principle; hence they have oscillated, and till delivered from the baneful and disturbing influences of Popery and Infidelity, they will continue to oscillate, like a pendulum, between Despotism on this hand, and Licentiousness on that.

Unless restrained by the love and fear of God, there is nothing to hedge men in within the boundaries of law, save attachment to country, the love or fear of man. But, left to grow up without any knowledge of God, or regard to his law, what do they owe the country who furnish the material of our Ragged Schools? What has the country done for hem to attach them to it? It has left them o be tempted to crime, and then punished them for its commission. They see thousands, day by day, passing them without so much as a look of pity. Their sorrows all unheeded, how often are they denied the cheapest compassion, and bidden begone, with the tone and gesture that drive away a troublesome cur? By some sudden change of fortune, let us taste their bitter cup, — let us find ourselves standing in the open street, in a cold winter day, — our naked feet upon the icy pavement, — the babe in our arms, half clad and half frozen to death, — a weary wife, with wan and shivering children cowering beneath poverty’s threadbare cloak, — and, when stores, filled with every luxury, stand open around us, and savory smells of food are steaming on the frosty air, and mothers, with groups of rosy, laughing children, furred and flannelled against the winter, pass by regardless of our pitiful sorrows, we should find it hard to be honest, hard to believe that it is right that we should die of hunger, while the cup of others is overflowing with comforts. If the thought of God came across us, we might fancy him looking down with indignation on the scene; and that a Father who regarded all his children with equal affection, never intended that a few should monopolize the comforts which he meant for all. Luther says, that “there is no rebellion like that of the belly;” and how ea- -.ily could we persuade ourselves, that poverty as well as property has its rights, and that we might employ force to compel what kindness should have spontaneously granted. The world has no such security against Socialism, Communism, and such dangerous doctrines, ai. our Holy Faith. It calls us to recognize in the different orders and lots of men, the providence of God; it fills us with aspirations after a better world; it supports us by the hope if it; and it teaches us, in whatsoever state we are, therewith to be content. But the class whose miseries we pity, and whose wrongs we seek to remedy, are moved only by other considerations. It would be hard to convince them that they have any earthly interest in maintaining the present order of society. Their place is the mire and mud. They lie at the bottom of the wheel. A revolution may improve their position: as one said, they may be better, — they cannot be worse. So argues Despair. And let a storm arise, that, reaching the depths of society, shall agitate this lowest class, and the country will learn that it was a miserable economy which left millions of uneducated, irreligious, and desperate men, to form at once the tools, and the victims of revolution. Politicians may rest assured, that when this rapidly-growing body of ignorance and crime has reached its full strength, they will have a giant to contend with. Events have proved that fighting is a game which other parties than soldiers can play at. Government by bayonets and batons is as uncertain as it is expensive; and the world is learning to its cost that the Bible, while the cheapest, is in every way the best instrument of Government. It teaches man how to bear his wrongs till he find a right way to remedy them. It teaches the slave to break his chain, without breaking it on the head of his oppressor; and that he ceases to be a slave, not to become a despot, but to be a freeman.

Like some who ceased their alarm at the consumption of coal, on learning that the fields of Newcastle would keep our engines going and chimneys smoking so long as they were likely to live to travel, or roast to eat, there be base people, content to sit still without sacrifice or self-denial, if assured that the evils we dread will not happen in their time. All that they care for is that the ship swim so long as they are aboard. They are content if there be peace in their day. But what, with the water steadily rising, if a storm should rise? It would precipitate the fate of the sinking vessel, and, throwing her on her beam ends, send her lurching to the bottom. A tree, decayed at the roots and loosened in the soil, may stand so long as the atmosphere is calm; but let a gale of wind spring up, and, with a crash corresponding to its magnitude, it falls to the ground.

We are no timid alarmists. I would adopt the brave words of the French general, who, arriving on the field where his gallant countrymen had sustained a defeat, pulled out his watch, and, glancing at the sinking sun, exclaimed, “There is time enough yet to fight another battle, and win it!” With our unexampled means, with our national energy, and, notwithstanding all our defects, with the amount of true Christianity in this land, I believe there is yet time enough to break up these formidable masses, and arrest the progress of ignorance and corruption. The foundations of society are not irremediably decayed. But if the causes which are now undermining the social fabric are left in active operation, this empire shall sooner or later fall, like some majestic and splendid iceberg, whose foundations, hidden in the deep, have been worn by the water, hollowed by the waves, till on some tempestuous day the glittering edifice begins to rock, and, toppling over, buries, amid the foaming surge and swell it raises, the unfortunate ships which had been moored to its sides, the

unhappy mariners who had sought safety in its shelter.

To attempt to avert such a fate is every man’s duty; and, more than he dreams of, is within every man’s doing. This is no idle saying. Were we to make a pilgrimage, as soon as to the lonely lieath where martyrs repose, we would direct our steps to the busy streets of Portsmouth; and would turn from the proud array of Old England’s floating bulwarks to seek out the humble shop where John Pounds achieved works of mercy, and earned an imperishable fame. There is no poetry in his name, and none in his profession; but there was more than poetry in his life, — the noblest benevolence. Within the shop where he cobbled shoes he might be seen surrounded by some score or two of ragged urchins, whom he was educating and converting into valuable members of society. Honor to the memory of him, beneath whose leathern apron there beat the kindest heart, — tlicre glowed a bosom fired with the noblest ambition. Witlioutfee or reward from man, while he toiled for his hard-

140 ^EED-TIME AND HARVEST J OR,’

earned bread with the sweat of his brow, this poor cobbler educated not less than five hundred outcasts before they laid him in his lowly grave! Honor, we may say again, to the memory of this illustrious patriot! Nor is there any sight we would have travelled so far to see as that self-same man, when he followed some ragged boy along the quays of Portsmouth, keeping his kind, keen eye upon him and tempting the young savage to his school with the bribe of a smoking potato. Princes and peers, judges and divines, might have stood uncovered in his presence; and marble monuments might be removed from the venerable walls of Westminster to make room for his.

His history proves what a single-handed but right-hearted man may do; what — would the reader address himself in earnest to the work — he himself might do. Animated by his example, and encouraged by his success, we entreat you to turn an eye of piety and of pity on these unhappy children. These are the children of our common Father. Man, they are thy brothers and sisters, — bone of thy bone,

PLEAS FOR RA(jr.El) SCHOOLS. 141

and flesh of thy flesh: their hard and melancholy lot may be thy crime, — it cannot be their own. Sinner, they are thy fellows: in them see an emblem of thy state when thou wast an outcast, too, lying in thy blood, when a God of mercy passing by, looked on thee and said, “Live.” Christian, they were pitied by thy dying Lord: for them, as well as thee, He bled, and groaned, and breathed his last on Calvary; and of such He said, “Suffer little children to come unto me.”

Parents, you who know a father’s and a mother’s heart! look on them; and thank God, who maketh one to differ from another, that their miserable lot is not that of your more fortunate offspring. As you smile on them, and see their bright, pleasant faces beaming round your board or cheerful fire, — as you bless their heads, and hear their hymns, and kiss them in their warm couch, — refuse not a tear, a prayer, a contribution, for many who often know a parent’s curses, but never a Christian parent’s care.

To God, in whose hands are the hearts of all men, we commend this cause. May He, who out of the mouth of babes and sucklings ordaineth strength, give effect to this appeal, and crown our labors with success. Thus shall these schools be instrumental, not only in saving many now lost to society, but in bringing in any to Jesus. In their best, highest, and holiest sense, they shall realize the saying, —” This, my son, was dead, and is alive again;

HE was lost, and IS FOUND.”