transcriber's note: | | | | obvious typographical errors have been corrected. for | | a complete list, please see the end of this document. | | | +-----------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * suggestions to the jews, for improvement in reference to their charities, education, and general government. by a jew. london: printed by john wertheimer and co., circus place, finsbury circus and may be had of g. galabin, 91, bartholomew close. 1844. suggestions, etc. "as the twelve tribes had many interests in common, and, in some respects, formed but one political body, the magistrates of all the tribes met in general assemblies to consult for the good of the nation." _jahn's history of the hebrew commonwealth._ whoever regards the state of our community in this country, must come to the conclusion, that we have arrived at an important period, when we can no longer defer the consideration of matters of vital interest, if we would escape the well merited condemnation of the world at large, or the just reproaches of conscience in ourselves. we stand in a position where the past, the present, and the probable future are alike presented to our view; the first to instruct and warn us, and the two latter to furnish us with every motive to exertion which can be gathered from the impulses of hope and fear, from a perception of our own best interests and of those of our posterity. that the honour and reputation of the jewish body are and have been at stake, must be granted by those who admit, as facts, the circumstances to which it is the aim of this pamphlet to draw the public attention. the great majority of our poor are uneducated in the holy tenets of our creed--in their duties as citizens--in the proper arts of life; while poverty and distress abound in the dwellings of vast numbers of our brethren, partially mitigated, indeed, not permanently provided for, by the many excellent and worthy charitable societies which surround us. these are truths which painfully arrest the attention of individuals; and it becomes the duty of the whole, to seek the means of meeting the difficulties of the case. in the ensuing pages i venture to suggest some propositions for the purpose. in all well constituted societies, it has been found necessary to have a head, from which all government, laws and regulations, have emanated. these governments have been formed either of one person or more, the object being, "a means to an end," or more fully speaking, "the production of the greatest possible amount of human happiness." this fact is so universally admitted, that associations for every object, whether religious or political, scientific or trading, have recourse to a governing body for carrying out their particular views; and, perhaps, i am not far wrong in stating, that the only exception in great britain of an extensive religious community being without a government is to be found amongst the jews, not because the exigency is less, but because, from their first establishment in this kingdom, the want was never so much felt as at the present moment; their position has now become matter of inquiry to every enlightened mind, and many circumstances have recently shewn the disadvantages which a want of system has entailed upon those who profess the jewish religion in this country--disadvantages which will be particularised as we proceed. in the peculiar position of the jewish people, i cannot find a term by which to distinguish them, and must therefore apologise for adopting those terms which are already in use. they are called _a nation_; and i avail myself of the word: but in what consists their nationality? they are termed _a body_: in what do they assimilate? they are designated _the british jews_: how are they identified with the title? the phrase, "members of a certain synagogue," conveys to the mind the only idea to which we can find any corresponding reality; for, in truth, beyond what _it_ implies, the jews are _not united_ for any definite design or purpose; and while it would have been reasonable to expect, _à priori_, that the votaries of a faith set apart from all others, should have had some common bond of union in their affairs, we are startled by the consideration that there exist at this moment in london alone, a number of distinct jewish congregations, _independent_ of each other, with separate wants and interests, having nothing in common but their religion: and all the great and noble advantages to be obtained by numbers, having a unity of purpose, are either unrecognised, or merged and lost in that separation of interests which makes the respective pecuniary benefit of each congregation the greatest, if not the only object of its existence. the provincial congregations are precisely in the same injurious position, and sensibly feel the want of a defined and constituted authority--to decide upon many differences that arise--to interfere for the extinction of animosities (trifling in themselves, but made gigantic by continued contest) easy to be reconciled by a power to which all would feel compelled to bow--yet as pregnant with important consequences, if unchecked, as those causes which led for a period to the downfall of monarchy in these realms. the evil appears, so far as regards the metropolitan congregations, to have originated at, and been continued from, the period of the second settlement of the israelites in this country. to the rapid increase of numbers and wealth, during the absence of one efficient regulating power, we can trace the successive formation of so many distinct communities. to those elements which ought to have contributed to our strength, we thus owe our weakness, and that disorganisation and separation of interests which characterises the various proceedings of our body, in the formation of the necessary places of worship, and in other affairs. had our ancestors provided a government at the outset, or placed us under the control of an adequate authority, no material disagreements would have taken place. but the narrow policy which led to the formation of parties, compelled them to _take_ what might have been wisely and nobly given,--created feelings of aversion where the affection of parent and offspring ought to have existed. the wealth of the newer branches generated, on their part, a feeling of pride equally to be deplored; and in losing sight of the necessity for general co-operation, and for one common fund, every kindly feeling gave way to mutual jealousy. the example once set, was soon followed, and continues to be so on every opportunity: we blindly press onward in the same irrational course, without staying to consider that we impoverish the source, by continually increasing the number of the streams. the same spirit of division (it cannot be called independence) enters into the details of all the affairs of the israelites in their respective undertakings: it marks their general social position, and leads to a universal separation of interests. every charity is encountered by another for similar purposes, in the east or west, as the case may be, to be supported by private exertion, and by opposing parties. one counteracts the other; both contend with all the force and feelings of competitors for public favour. the strength which would be tenfold if united, is wasted in petty rivalries, and in endeavours after show, instead of being employed in seeking the advantage of the objects to be benefited. yet views of charity and religion, which the jews entertain in common, and the sympathy that unites them, as it does individuals of every class possessing a similarity of belief or feeling, render it desirable to resort to a plan of centralisation and union, by which not alone the wholesome _regulation_ of _charitable institutions would be effected_, but the _education of the poor_, and the _intellectual advancement_ of the _entire community_, would be accomplished. * * * * * the anxiety of the poor jews for instruction,--of the trading classes for moral improvement,--of the wealthy for a removal of civil disabilities,--of the religious for some _alteration_ in the mode of worship,--in short, of every portion and member of the jewish community, for an amendment of its social position, is so evident, that the following suggestions are put forth in the hope and belief that they contain the elements of a plan, which, if boldly and fully carried out, will tend to elevate the jews from their present degraded and certainly unmerited position; and while it would improve _them_, it would enable the christian world to do that justice to their talents and probity, for which at present, in an ignorance of their true characteristics, little credit is given to them; not because englishmen are _now_ indisposed to act fairly or kindly to their countrymen of a different religion, or from their indifference to the wants of our co-religionists, but because (in the fear of thrusting themselves before the public, where insult and contumely have too frequently awaited them) the jews have not collectively manifested any desire for intellectual culture, nor attempted to disabuse the minds of their neighbours from the prejudices of what, _as towards the jews_, may be termed _an illiberal and bigoted education_. as, however, it forms no part of my plan to recapitulate the oppression of the one party, or the quiet suffering of the other, nor to analyse the causes, but to take the jews as i find them, i will leave to others the task of commenting upon the past, nor will i, by any invidious remarks, prove that they have always been an ill-used body; yet i cannot refrain from stating, that in no similar number of men in great britain, labouring under the same social and political disadvantages with themselves (unprovided for by the government, uninstructed, and with very few attempts made, until recently, by their brethren, to instruct them), will be found more humanity, kindness, honesty, and a disinclination to heinous crimes, than in the body hitherto scornfully designated _jews_. attempts at _extensive improvements_ are always _termed visionary_; and every effort towards advancement has been always met by the clamours of the ignorant and the interested. the general spread of knowledge has had to contend with the opposition of party and personal feelings; but these have never been enabled to stem the onward progress of enlightenment with any strength: i would, therefore, entreat those who with myself are seeking to carry out this scheme, and to arrive at a better state of things, to persevere, nothing daunted at the first repulse, but to continue their course, rising superior to the paltry prejudices that may and will assail them, until they have succeeded in procuring for their brethren, a name and a station worthy of them in the ranks of society- "for freedom's battle once begun, bequeath'd by _suff'ring_ sire to son, though baffl'd oft, is ever won!" let us not forget, therefore, that it is our duty to enlist the earnest co-operation of every individual that is to be benefited, and in that designation is comprised every member of the community. as a crime committed by a jew, an illegal act, even an examination before a magistrate upon suspicion, is made a disgrace to the race, and reflects discredit upon the whole, the entire body--the very religion--suffers from it. every living jew--the very memory of the dead--demands justice; and as _individuals_ have it in their power to contribute to the general _honour_ or _disgrace_, it is our duty to implant the purpose that animates us in the hearts and understandings of all our brethren. in a subsequent part of this pamphlet will be found, in brief detail, a plan, which the necessity of the case itself seems to suggest as the best means for ameliorating the condition of the jewish body; and i only refer to it shortly here, in order to state succinctly the objects to be attained, and previously to an attempt, to show our brethren of all classes and of every grade, how intimately the interest of each is bound up with that of the whole. it is clearly admitted that the children of the poor are not sufficiently educated, or sufficiently instructed in the means of procuring their subsistence, an evil which not only affects the present generation, but spreads its baneful influence wide and deep into the future, and may affect all the interests of our posterity. one great portion of the plan, therefore, is to provide the means of education, to be governed and guided according to rules which experience and observation have proved to be the best, as selected from various institutions and from schools of industry in this country. another principal feature of it is, to enlarge and strengthen the power of the numerous charitable societies in existence, by providing a building adapted to the whole, and which, by creating a unity of purpose and management among the various administrations, will give a much larger scope of action to the respective charities. a third portion of the plan regards an adequate provision for an anglo-jewish press, which will be found not only subsidiary to the objects already alluded to, by publishing to our brethren every thing connected with those objects, but will be seen to be in itself a most powerful instrument for our mental advancement; and as it is requisite that such great and important ends as these should be guided and controlled by one power, so that each portion of this plan should lend to, and receive mutual assistance from, the others, so that no differences of view should intercept or mar the common benefit, it has been considered requisite to provide for the constituting of a supervising committee or central council, who would have the superintendence of all matters not _ecclesiastical_. let us contrast in our minds, for one moment, the present state of things, with what an advantageous position we should hold, as a community, if a plan like the above were in full and fair operation. let us "look upon this picture, and on that;" and who is there among us that will not say, in the communings of his own soul, "this is a concern in which it behoves me to exert every energy and power which the divine author of our faith has bestowed upon me"? and while all can bring their meed of power and energy to the task, to each, according to his views, his feelings, or his rank in life, some peculiar inducement appears for taking part in so laudable an undertaking. i would ask the religious man, be he jew or not, is not a proper observance of religion to be expected rather from the instructed than the debased mind? putting aside every high command to assist the needy, is it not a duty to improve the worldly welfare of your fellow man, giving him, at the same time, means which will develop his mental faculties, and induce him to join you in prayer, and lead him to the better observance of all his religious duties? to you, then, worshipper of the supreme being, i appeal to join in this undertaking: your future hopes, as well as your worldly welfare, are linked with the fate of the poor and unenlightened jews. assist them--instruct them--extend the provision for them in old age--let not the prejudices which spring from worldly differences, or the rancour of sectarian feeling, blind you to the great good you may achieve. join early in the glorious work--come even singly to combat with darkness and disgrace. every man may be the vanquisher of one illiterate spirit, and bear him from ignorance and evil to knowledge and the brightness of everlasting good. it is your duty especially, preachers of the word of truth, to disseminate these principles from your high places; for by opening the minds of the ignorant you teach them to laugh to scorn the sophisms of conversionists, and enable them to judge better of their religion and themselves. unite yourselves then, ye pastors; cry aloud, "there is a feeling of hope stirring among the jews--they seek for instruction, let us help them!" address your exertions to inform those who know less than yourselves--and you will have the inestimable satisfaction of perceiving that the precepts of morality and virtue will make their way with redoubled force to the hearts and understandings of your hearers; that you will be enabled to impart to all, whatever religion affords of hope and consolation and gladness; cheering the afflicted in the hour of his adversity--proving to the doubting spirit that "truth and good are one," and, in the exercise of your sacred functions on _unclouded_ minds, "allure to brighter worlds and lead the way." in the prosecution of this scheme many advantages are offered, which to the trader and mere man of the world are of considerable importance, by bringing all our charities to a focus. setting aside the _great saving that could and would_ be effected _in the management_ by united efforts, a much larger sum might be given to the legitimate object of each charity, and a systematic and efficient check upon each person receiving relief could be accomplished. the vast sums annually given to established charities and benevolent institutions, form but a small item in the sum total of expenditure for charity. tradesmen, and indeed individuals of every class, are in the habit of making continual donations to persons unknown, and frequently unworthy. to those, then, whom these considerations principally affect, i would say,--put all your charities under a salutary control, and, under a united management, sink for once the mere desire to be chairman, committee-men, and managers. act with others, and not as if you only were _patrons_ and _founders_ of the institutions you wish to see flourish. unite for the purpose of doing good, not for granting patronage. assist in educating the poor and needy, whether orphans or otherwise, and in afterwards placing them as apprentices. as the honesty of their character, and the diligence with which they exercise their calling become developed and known, so will your reputation as honourable tradesmen increase. as _they_ will have received the advantage of an education, in which religion and morality will have been combined with whatever is necessary for their support through life, no imputation of chicanery--no supposition of dishonesty will attach itself to them, and _your_ word will be taken. when _their religious_ observances are known, they will be appreciated; and _your_ pledge of _honour_ as a _jew_ will be guarantee for the quality of your commodity. thus everything is to be gained, and the accomplishment is within your own power. will you quietly sit by and hear vituperation heaped upon your creed and upon yourselves, without being roused to the slightest effort? i will readily admit that it is only the prejudices of the ignorant and vulgar which draw the distinction between yourself and the christian: enlighten _him_ therefore where requisite; associate as much as possible with him; let your press address _him_; prove by _your_ acts, _your_ words and dealings, the falseness of his assertions against you, and his sneer loses all its sting from its inapplicability. let the phrase, "_he is a jew in his dealings_," be an _honourable testimonial_, equally as desirable to you as that "_he acts like a christian_," is to our fellow-citizens of the faith alluded to: and let those who think that the only worth of the jewish religion is to be measured by the purchase-money offered for apostasy from it, find that the price they pay is only a bribe for _seeming assent_ from the outcasts of society, and that the very worst and lowest jew is sufficiently informed to know that he will not be raised by becoming a bad christian, or an infidel. it is equally clear that a bad jew will never make a good christian: and i am not quite sure if we ought not to be thankful for the removal of such an excrescence from our body. in turning to those who are sometimes termed our aristocracy, that is to say--the wealthy portion of the jewish community, i would ask, are you contented that the stigma which unjustly presses on the jewish name should longer continue? i am free to admit that the christians rather than the jews require to be enlightened upon this point; but have you attempted this? what has been done by you for the elevation of your brethren? but let all that is practicable in this respect be attained, and you will ascend with them; as the majority become refined in their manners, talented in their professions, known in their dealings, so will you, always the most conspicuous, be exalted with them. honour will emanate from the people and be reflected upon the leaders. every onward movement of the middle and lower orders must press you, the more advanced, into higher eminence: and it is therefore necessary on your parts to procure for the body of which you are a portion, the means of making its members of every class useful and excellent citizens. while the poor are left to obloquy--no matter who the rich may be--all will be designated by one common term of reproach. while the great mass of the population is progressing in intellectual power, the jews cannot stand still and be at the same time respected. the aristocratic class of the jews is formed of men of wealth--of wealth honourably acquired, and thus open to every man: but unless the strictest regard be had to the education of our co-religionists, we shall have that class, noted only for its money and its ignorance, shamed into an unenviable notoriety by an indifference to the wants of the majority, and dragged downwards with them into one general obscurity. as wealth is within the attainment of poorer orders, the requisite education should be at once provided for them--the characters of all formed upon honest principles--the minds of all cultivated and embued with useful knowledge--and the manners, so far as is practicable, trained with a view to what is decorous and proper in social life. punish by your frowns, by public scorn and private avoidance, the wretch who would cast dishonour on you by the dishonesty of his dealings. the poorest youth of character may justly aspire in this country to the honours of every station, and he will be the more honoured and sought as his fair fame expands itself--an example to his fellows--an ornament to his friends--an honour to his country. one false step in early life (which, had he possessed that education we contend for, might have been avoided), and he not only closes the portals of distinction on himself--not to be reopened by golden keys--but he becomes a source of injury to all his race. i should but imperfectly fulfil my task, if i omitted to address the fairer portion of our community for their aid in this noble undertaking. to those who know the deep extent of their influence, although exerted within the limited sphere of the hallowed precincts of home, i need not say one word in vindication of an appeal to them: and who among us, either as husband, son, or brother, does not possess a knowledge of this influence? glorious hereditary traits distinguish, in the eyes of every israelite, the daughters of his race. the pure affection that characterises them inspires all their actions, and repays _him_, in the hours spent in the bosom of his family, for the toils, the trials, and the hardships of the world. from an influence so founded, what may not be expected from her who is entrusted with the formation of the mind at that period when it is susceptible of every impression for good or ill: nearly everything we possess of the better and purer feelings of our nature, we can trace to the hours of childhood, when all is subjected to the maternal sway. even the tales with which she lulls to sleep may lead to pursuits of honour; for as we find a prejudice firmly imprinted on the memory from nursery stories, so may nobler views of men and actions be lessons from the cradle never to be eradicated, but strengthened by subsequent tuition. in after-age, woman controls and influences the stronger passions of our nature: and no shape, no circumstance of life can occur, but where, directly or indirectly, the relation in which she stands to us affects every occurrence, and retards or gives an impulse to the current of our lives; and as surely as her support is sought for by her offspring, and her affection relied upon by her husband, so is she capable of achieving all that is desirable in her family. looking then to each family among us for some support for this undertaking, we may hope to have done something towards its fulfilment, when the mothers and daughters of israel shall become acquainted and penetrated with its aim and tendency. _they_ can improve the condition of their race--to _their_ understandings no suggestion is necessary as to what course to pursue--to their hearts no stimulus required as an inducement to assist in a course which concerns the intellectual advancement and the happiness of their people. where ends like these are to be gained, they will be the first to perceive how much of what is purely domestic, and within their own immediate sphere, may derive advantage from their participation and advocacy. the humbler portion of my brethren, in whose _direct_ and more especial interest a part of this undertaking has been contemplated, will, it is to be hoped and expected, give it that assistance which the case demands from them. their welfare is the great object sought; and i implore them, for whom so much is desired, not to meet with coldness these efforts on their behalf--i implore them to be advised, taught, guided and improved by those who only seek their own advantage in common with that of the poor themselves. to smooth the rugged path of their toils--to elevate them above the occasional frowns and ill-temper of those whom fortune has more highly favoured--to alleviate their misery--to provide for their wants--to recognise their claims--to prove that they are the objects of solicitude to their true friends among the richer jews--will be the great result, as it is the great purpose, of this plan: but how can their condition be improved, unless with an earnest disposition on their own part towards it? is obtaining occasional charity, that relieves them only for a short period, the sole aim of their lives? is not the welfare of their children an all-powerful feeling with them? does the destitution of old age never occur to their thoughts, until the moment that it commences, when helpless infirmity assails them? is not the thought of an hereafter sometimes present to their minds? if their answers, their opinions upon these subjects, are what they should be, and what must naturally be expected, i am sure they will add, that they are prepared to go with me in the scheme for their improvement and welfare; they will remove their children from the contamination of vice--allow them to be taught honest trades as they grow up--let them become men of use to the community, their cheerers and supporters in affliction and age; and when not blessed with offspring, there will still be a reward for the uprightness and integrity of their conduct in that asylum, which i hope we shall soon see erected for their reception, when their strength and powers of exertion shall be exhausted, where their labours shall cease, and where the doors shall be opened for their future ease, without the interference of private friends or their personal solicitations to a patron. * * * * * having somewhat concisely shewn the advantages to be gained by adopting a scheme to be founded on the foregoing hints, i would solicit the co-operation of all friends to my views, to commence forthwith the formation of a general committee or council, consisting, in the _first instance_, of those who are disposed to give their personal or pecuniary assistance; and afterwards, during the operation of the project, also of members selected by the public and popular election of the jews in all parts of great britain. the ultimate aim of this committee or council should be to become (as they would, by their superior knowledge and management) the governing body of the jews in this country in all secular matters. they should possess the confidence of the community from their numbers, education, wealth, and footing in society. from their public elections--from their ready compliance to entertain and adjudicate upon all matters coming before them--from their _public_ deliberations and well-weighed judgments in general assembly from all parts, at stated periods, their position would be independent, yet subject to the wholesome control of the press and the opinions of their constituents. the necessity for such a governing body becomes daily more apparent; and the advantages that would arise from it are incalculable. without giving any opinion on the merits of the question in the recent dispute at liverpool, if a government had been in existence, would the unpleasant result of the establishment of a fresh congregation, another independent and irresponsible party, have arisen, with all its expensive appurtenances and its future jealousies, to say nothing of the fact of another disagreement among the jews, being trumpeted forth by those who watch for opportunities to defame us. the truth is so apparent, that we think it requires little argument to prove to the minds of those who will give the subject some consideration, the propriety of immediately forming a council, vested with powers alike for the control and supervision of old congregations, as for the supporting of new ones--for proposing and carrying out laws and regulations in furtherance of the philanthropic and educational portions of this scheme, and for assimilating all jewish arrangements, either provincial or metropolitan. the society of friends (whose social constitutions and government must be the theme of praise even to the most casual observer) i would in this as in many other details take as my model; for they are spread over as large a surface as the jews--consist, like them, of merchants and traders--similar in numbers--superior in education, (although not in mental capacity)--with a well-ordered and responsible government--and we consequently hear of no distress or disorganization among them; yet it is not to be doubted that as many causes for interference occur in that body as in our own, but education, discipline, and a well-regulated system for their poor enable them to grapple with every question of good or evil, whether of retrogression or advancement as it arises. the same advantages would so soon shew themselves in our own case, that all the jews would gladly accord with the arrangement, and as the council would have an ultimate influence on the management of the funds, and have an opportunity of investigating into and advising upon their distribution, an efficient system of relief would be formed--the aged would be provided for--the ignorant instructed--and, as a general consequence, the character of the jew regarded with the homage that every man pays to excellence under _every denomination_. not to enter fully into further particulars upon the various subjects within the immediate province of the council, there is yet one of _great_ importance, hitherto wholly disregarded, but intimately connected with any extended plan of education and philanthropy, which might be well submitted to their supervision. by a registration of the names of every man, woman, and child of the jewish persuasion, a large amount of statistical information would be obtained, and the concentration of the community facilitated--no claimant for any purpose of education or charity, could or would be recognised, unless upon the register--thus offering an inducement for every member of the jewish body to enter his or her name upon it; for this registration a small charge, say one shilling, should be made, which would produce an annual amount of about £1500 to be added to the general funds, for the benefit of all; affording material assistance to the objects now contemplated; and, while giving an interest to each person in the public concerns, the required sum would be very trifling to the poorest, when considered as giving them defined claims as recognised members of a community. that the various synagogues have the means of largely assisting a liberal and progressive policy, not the most prejudiced upholder of the present state will deny--nor will it be urged that they have contributed to their fullest extent towards the education and enlightenment of the rising generation. in a pecuniary point of view, they could and would gain largely by adopting fully the views now advocated; for they would transfer from their funds to those of the jewish public, all their pensioners: but they ought to be the leaders in encouraging the objects, from a desire of improvement, instead of mere pecuniary gain. in proposing the instruction of all the jewish children, therefore, and in taking charge of all the offspring of the poor, i take from them all the claim generally resorted to for the charitable interference of the synagogues; as the poor will have very little difficulty in maintaining themselves, if we maintain all their children, to do which, it would be necessary to remove them to a suitable establishment, properly provided and superintended, in connection with a school of industry, in which all the trades and useful arts of life should be inculcated. the school (aubin's) at norwood gives the system as far as it can be properly acted upon; or a new system, if necessary, could be arranged, having for its object the instruction of the younger children, and the making artizans of the more advanced in age. the expences of this arrangement would be much less than generally imagined, and a considerable part of them could be defrayed by the industry of the pupils; and the schools of the society of friends at ackworth, sidcoat, &c. should likewise be our examples, but accommodated to the necessary differences of the case. in conjunction with this establishment, i would recommend the formation of a superior school for a limited number of boys in the neighbourhood of the london university, where the most talented of the scholars from the former school should be placed, at the public charge, under the tuition of hebrew, french, and german classical teachers. the expenditure for board and lodging, and for attending the classes during the term at the university school, and at the university, should be defrayed out of the general fund; and some of these youths might and should be trained to all the offices and duties of our clergy, others to the professions of law and medicine, and all other superior attainments of education. accommodation should be afforded at this place for a number of private or paying pupils, to have the advantages of all the means of instruction provided, and of the general management of the house, with the privilege of attending the university, and of having their studies likewise superintended at the house by the professors engaged. the fees for their admission and support would considerably lessen the expences of the whole establishment, and enable the younger branches of the jews to receive a sound, religious, and classical education. this would give an opportunity for the development of all the higher attributes of the mind; and as the youth assembled there would be all of the best instructed of the rising and future generations, every province in england and the colonies would naturally come there for its tutors and clergy. inducements thus held out for the cultivation of talent in all classes, would be gradually to render the whole body of the jews well informed. it is unnecessary to say more here upon this subject. the minor points, being for the consideration of the council, shall be forthcoming at the proper time: but i believe the removal of the young from the old, at an early age, very desirable; for, the contamination of evil example, of vicious and dishonourable pursuits, tends to undo the instruction they receive at present, and is the cause of so small a number attending the places already provided for their instruction. the object must be, therefore, to make the school attractive to the children, and an advantage to the parents. * * * * * by the amalgamation of the jewish charities is not to be understood the depriving of any of the present institutions of their funds, or of their control over them, nor do i wish to divert legacies or the accumulations of years from their legitimate channels, but to secure an efficient centralisation, with wholesome and necessary control; for it must be admitted that, independent of the money so liberally bestowed by the wealthy portion of the jews, the humblest as well as the most distinguished give continually large sums in proportion to their incomes. not a sunday, and scarcely a day, passes, but contributions are solicited from the poorer traders of the jews, to which the most indigent add their pence, with the _true_ feelings of jewish benevolence, in the hope of mitigating the poignant sufferings of the applicants. "the charity which plenty gives to poverty is human and earthly, but it becomes divine and heavenly when poverty gives to want." the great sums distributed in known or public charities are more than doubled by the continual call upon the purses of the donors; and being so well answered, it is impossible to calculate the amount. the wealthy are daily subjected to these visitations, and in few instances is the immediate pecuniary relief refused. it is scarcely necessary to point out the expensiveness of this mode of relief, it being self-evident; but that is a very small portion of the evil it entails. if it ended here, i would say, send not a mendicant, no matter what his creed or country, from you unrelieved; as the very necessity that induces the application is sufficient reason for relief, should even the applicant be thought unworthy: but the mischief stops not here; it is only the _commencement_--it encourages, instead of checking, mendicity--it produces beggars where it should make artizans--it encourages consumers instead of helping producers--it assists idlers when its object is and should be to support the industrious.[a] all indiscriminate charity must therefore be an evil to the body, an injury to the community: it begets a class of persons that spend the easily obtained funds as improperly as they were procured--it degrades the minds of the recipients, while the wealthy donors look more frequently with disgust than compassion on the receiver; in short, no persons can become more debased in mind and body than habitual beggars, of which a very large number exists among the jews--uncontrolled, unchecked, and unprovided for--in spite of all the efforts of the "charities" and synagogue funds, nearly all of which are casual. the sums thus distributed should, and would, suffice to maintain all the paupers of the jews; but the inefficiency of the administration permits them to devote their entire time in successfully preventing one charitable institution from arriving at the knowledge of what they receive from another, and to extort from private sources as much as possible. these are facts known to us all: but, in the charitableness of our hearts, we fear to come boldly forward and provide at once entirely for all these mendicants, who should be properly taken care of, clothed, fed, and housed; and the expenditures of the present day would be sufficient, if carefully arranged. by the withdrawal from the public eye of all these unfortunate beings, a great improvement would appear, and certainly be very soon effected. the pernicious example would be unknown to the young; and the idly disposed would find the fee simple of their present estates devoted to the purchase of useful, industrious, and honest means of procuring them their subsistence. through the want of a well-regulated system of relief, under check and control, every beggar is an independent member of the jewish commonwealth, employed in seeking, the entire day, whom to devour, considering himself entirely at liberty, morally and physically, to devote his entire time to the readiest way of getting money--honestly if he can, that is, by persevering importunity, but frequently by false representations, and other more disreputable means, of which the law takes no immediate cognizance. _we_ continually see the state to which this reduces him, but he feels not the degradation to which he has become familiar, habit reconciling and making attractive his course of life, whatever may have been his feelings at the commencement of it. the persons who condemn are those who have driven him to this base means of existence; the facility with which money is obtained from those who give (through the habit of doing so from having seen their parents do it, or because they believe the distressed is a poor jew and has _no recognised_ refuge), induces an opinion that this is the proper and legitimate mode of jewish charity: but no really laudable feeling enters the mind of either; nor does the giver always think he is conferring a benefit: he treats the applicant for relief generally as "a fugitive and vagabond on the earth," forgetting entirely that the debasement of this mind, the ignorance of this man, the slur that is cast upon the jews by this individual, is entirely their own act. they, the wealthy, the honored, the enlightened, the pride of the people, are the culprits--not the poor, the ignorant, the destitute. cheerfully might these be induced to regard the means of supporting themselves by their own industry. how gladly would they avail themselves of a reputable institution to receive them,--a house to shelter them--a supervision to protect, an asylum to support them! but have the leaders attended to this? it is true, and honourable, and worthy of the highest praise, that many sources of relief exist, founded by the thoughtful, supported by the charitable, governed by the indefatigable; but many of these even, it is reported, have been commenced by those who are but little elevated above poverty in the neighbourhood where the distress has been most evident, and maintained subsequently by the personal interference of individuals, and the stringent appeals of private friends, which could not have been refused if wished, which dared not be neglected. an exception, the jews' hospital, was the emanation of a noble mind, and, backed by disinterested perseverance, induced all to contribute to so bold an undertaking, commencing from the highest: its sphere of benefit is, however, very limited. unfortunately, few among us investigate whether any good, or what, is achieved by other societies to which all are ready and willing contributors. but the time has come, hastened by the anglo-jewish press, when we all see the necessity for action to the purpose, and immediate. we can do it well, at less expense; with less trouble, with more dignity to ourselves, and with more honour to our successors, than any class of conversionists can do it for us; and certainly much more effectually when we commence, as years of ineffectual effort on their part have proved. _our_ motives cannot be impugned; the object being the purest and holiest command "to honour and succour the aged;" persons unknown to us, unconnected in every way with us except by their adoration and worship of the creator by the same means, forms, and language. i would suggest to all the charities as at present constituted, while their usefulness must be admitted, that their government, although it is to a limited extent good, does not answer many of the purposes that are desirable; nor does it prevent an individual obtaining from _all_ sources the donations they distribute; nor do the present methods provide _entirely_ for the object to be benefited. let, then, the present _funds_ of all the charities be united, with grants from the congregations, and gifts or loans from private individuals. these will amount, in a very short time, to a sum sufficiently large to build one house for the reception of the aged decayed, the blind, the deaf and dumb, the idiotic, the helpless, and the temporarily destitute: the really destitute only to be admissible. relief from all other quarters should be withheld, or a proper officer for the distribution of charity appointed; but if the friends of any of the inmates can contribute to their maintenance, they should do so to the general fund. this building should be divided into wards, each separate ward to be under the control, and supplied by the funds of the charity to which it at present approximates nearest: the objects of their solicitude would thus be under their immediate observation, and deriving much greater advantages than it is possible now to give. the existing committees would receive the voluntary subscriptions as at present, and devote them to the same purposes; but the infirm and poor would be entirely provided with every necessary, and a home. the details, however, must be left until the rules for general management are arranged: but it should be a fundamental principle, that every member of each committee should be a member of the general board; and a part of the details, that the beds in wards for the aged should be fitted as those at greenwich hospital; and that every committee man should have the power to inspect _every_ ward. for the purpose of example, let us suppose the ward for the aged destitute established; the society whose object approaches nearest should take the management, and subscribe towards the general fund according to its means, say £1000. their subsequent annual contribution must be arranged in proportion to its revenue: for if their present income is £150 per annum, they can now only disburse £100, the remainder being swallowed up for various expenses. it would be desirable and easy for them to devote the larger sum, or nearly their entire means, to the purposes of the ward. the same system adopted throughout the house would be ample for its support; and each charity would be carrying out to its greatest extent the object of its formation. in every ward there should be a tablet with the names of the founders, committee, and subscribers above a certain sum. a portion of the expences of the establishment would be yielded by itself; the money now expended in managements would be produced by the registration; and any other deficiency, by the general fund. the society of friends have a general register; and every member contributes to the local funds, these again to the general: thus sufficient sums are obtained for all proper and legitimate purposes. a somewhat similar _modus operandi_ i would advocate for our adoption: the country congregations, being relieved from all expences except those of a religious or congregational character, would be enabled to support with more honour and better remuneration the clergy--who, feeling themselves (as their education should command) independent of obligation to their auditory, would preach the noblest and highest precepts of their creed, and urge a better worldly bearing. to this advantage, which would be an indirect although certain result of a proper administration of the funds, would be added a beneficial influence on the head of the clergy--who, being the leader of highly educated gentlemen, would find it impossible to govern, unless possessing the same learning and acquirements; and thus we should ensure an elevated clergy, to which the most wealthy might with honour aspire. in the execution of a scheme which depends greatly upon the majority of the community, for whom it is intended, taking not only a clear and comprehensive view of their present position, but upon their becoming deeply, and daily more deeply, interested in the amelioration of that position--which relies upon extending to all the feelings of a part, and will be successful in the highest degree whenever anything like this unanimity of feeling prevails--the power of a well-directed press must be admitted not only to be great, but the necessity of it in a measure to be indispensable. what has been effected for mankind at all periods, since it has become within possibility to move the springs of feeling and of volition by this more than electric force, after having illuminated the mind by floods of light from the concentration of opinions, the wisest and most just, is matter of notoriety to all: and it cannot be necessary, at this time of day, to enumerate those great events, whose earliest origin being traced to some important want of the human race, or to some one of the great and abiding principles of our nature, yet owe their consummation wholly to the facility by which mind communicates with mind, enabling the truth of those principles to be tested by the universality of their reception, and by which the objections of prejudice and ignorance being destroyed, truth and justice themselves are at last brought into action- "immutable, immaculate, immortal." with an anglo-jewish press devoted to the propositions here advocated, and to the general cause of judaism--prepared to vindicate the jews at all times from the aspersions of interested and prejudiced writers, enabling all of us to understand the wants of our community--capable by the force of its reasoning or the keenness of its satire, of improving the manners, tastes, habits, and pursuits of all--placing us before the eyes of our christian fellow-countrymen in our own just characters, to correct the false impressions they may have received--with a power such as this pressing upon the general consideration, a large and liberal scheme of charity and education, and enforcing the wise decisions of our central council--with such a press might we not reasonably hope that a few short years would behold- "the jew an honored name!" a journal to subserve such purposes ought necessarily to be placed on an independent footing: and it would, therefore, become the immediate duty of the council, on its formation, to look to its establishment or to its support. it is admitted that a journal exists; but the apathy which meets the efforts of individuals among the jews to benefit their brethren, has extended itself to this: but it still might be made available for all the ends we seek, by means within the powers of the council, which would yet leave the press perfectly unfettered. it cannot come within the province of this pamphlet to state at length what the contents of such a journal ought to be; but, besides those general objects already stated, it might be made the vehicle for affording a large amount of statistical information on the numbers, callings, and education of the jews--the incomes and expenditures of charitable societies and synagogues. it should, by extracts from our authentic historians, etc. make us better acquainted with the knowledge of the past, and at all times, by researches into the constitutional principles of this nation, and by asserting the just right of human kind, convince englishmen that we are _their_ countrymen, and that, by birth, we are as much entitled to the privileges of our country as the proudest noble who traces his pedigree from the conquest. * * * * * i cannot conclude without imploring the jews to shake off that terrible apathy and coldness which have from time immemorial grown upon them, which have hitherto depressed their energies, and left them the sport and passive creatures of circumstance. if they have sunk into a state of listlessness, in the first place, from the oppression which their ancestors endured in past times--and if they have continued in that state, from a variety of causes, some of which are faintly shadowed forth in the preceding pages, i yet hope, and most devoutly hope, that the hour and the day are arrived for the first step towards regeneration to be taken. the mists of prejudice, it is indeed evident, are slowly giving way before the power of truth; and it remains for our own exertions, well directed, under the blessing of the deity, to enable us to stand forth before the world at large, in the clear noon-day light, in the possession of intelligence and virtue, and honoured and respected accordingly; demonstrating that in england, integrity, patriotism, and good conduct, meet their reward, when known, under whatever creed they present themselves. * * * * * *** as the object of the writer of this pamphlet is to ensure the co-operation of all those members of the jewish community who agree with him in the desire of attaining the objects suggested, he solicits their communications to be addressed f., at g. galabin's, printer, 91, bartholomew close. _london, march, 29th, 1844._ footnotes: [a] "by false compassion we injure the community: industry will go to ruin; sloth will predominate; men will no longer depend on themselves, but, having from their own conduct nothing to hope or fear, they will look to their neighbours for support; they will first abandon their duty, and then be a burden on the public."--_tacitus._ j. wertheimer & co., printers, circus place, finsbury circus. +-----------------------------------------------------------+ | typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | page 28: supppose replaced with suppose | | | +-----------------------------------------------------------+ the survey volume xxx, number 1, apr 5, 1913 the common welfare response to flood calls for the first time in the history of our great disasters, the country's machinery for relief has been found ready to move with that precision and efficiency which only careful previous organization could make possible. in the flood and tornado stricken regions of the mississippi valley the red cross has given splendid evidence of the effectiveness of its scheme of organization and of its methods as worked out on the basis of experience at san francisco, and as tested by the minnesota and michigan forest fires, the cherry mine disaster, and the mississippi floods of last year. utilizing the largest and ablest charity organization societies which serve as "institutional members," a force of executives and trained workers was instantly deployed. with foreknowledge of just what to do and how to do it, and without friction, these men and women have reinforced the spontaneous response to emergency of citizens and officials in the stricken communities. omaha's tornado had scarcely died down when eugene t. lies of the chicago united charities was on his way to the city. ernest p. bicknell, director of the national red cross, had reached chicago, en route to omaha, when news of the ohio floods turned him back. the same news summoned edward t. devine from new york. it was mr. devine who organized the red cross relief work at san francisco, following the earthquake and fire of 1908. mr. bicknell established headquarters at columbus, itself badly in the grip of the waters. at dayton mr. devine, c. m. hubbard of the st. louis provident association and t. j. edmonds of the cincinnati associated charities concentrated their services. when cincinnati and its vicinity needed help, mr. edmonds returned to his home city. the omaha situation by this time could spare mr. lies for dayton. to piqua, sidney and other ohio and indiana flood points went james f. jackson of the cleveland associated charities and other workers from various organizations. the news from the ohio and other floods almost swamped that of an isolated disaster in alabama where a tornado devastated the town of lower peachtree. to handle the relief at this point the red cross dispatched william m. mcgrath of the birmingham associated charities, who had seen service a year ago in the mississippi floods. to work under the direction of these executives, agents have been drafted from the staffs of charitable organizations scattered throughout the entire middle west, and even as far east as new york. close co-operation was at once established between this force, hastily organized local committees and various branches of federal and state government service. in ohio the resources, equipment and staffs of the army, the public health and marine hospital service, the life-saving service, the militia, the naval militia, and state departments of public health, have all been applied promptly to the problem of emergency relief. governor cox of ohio, as ex-officio chairman of the ohio red cross state commission, did much to assure this early co-operation. following the first work of rescue and relief, sanitation looms up as one of the gravest problems of the indiana and ohio valleys. immediately upon the arrival of the secretary of war at dayton a sanitary officer was appointed, who divided the city into sixteen districts, each in charge of a district sanitary officer. each of these selected his own staff from among local physicians and volunteer physicians from other cities. red cross nurses in considerable numbers were early supplied. instructions in brief form have been sent broadcast over the city giving definite directions to the inhabitants for the safeguarding of health. the sewer and water systems are being reopened as rapidly as possible. early this week the expectation was that, although the dead in the city would not total 200, it would be necessary to feed many thousands of people for a week and several thousand for several weeks. the dayton situation, though more severe, was typical of what was to be found in other stricken towns. the extent of the omaha disaster is already reported in statistics which are said to be complete and accurate. the summary includes: 115 lives lost; 322 seriously injured; at least 1,000 slightly injured; 822 houses destroyed: 2,100 houses partially wrecked; property loss estimated at $7,500,000; 733 families being fed in relief stations (march 30); 59 dead; 150 injured and $1,000,000 property loss in surrounding towns. efforts are being made by the real estate exchange to prevent the raising of rents. the plans suggested for rebuilding include a county bond issue of $1,000,000 and the securing of other money from the packing and railroad companies to be loaned without interest. president wilson's call to the nation for relief, and the quick action of governors and mayors in rallying their states and cities, started emergency supplies and funds for supplementing the tents, blankets and rations which the army and militia had rushed into the field. the national cash register company, whose undamaged factories in dayton were of great value in providing shelter and space for relief administration, secured through its officers in other cities supplies and money which were promptly forwarded. the company officials did much to systematize the local relief, and department heads assumed charge of different divisions of the work. organization charts and diagrams were printed at the factory so that the people of the city could act intelligently. early this week the relief funds were reported to have reached $408,000 in new york, $300,000 in chicago, $105,000 in boston, and varying sums in other cities. most of the money was contributed through the red cross. contributions received at its washington headquarters totalled $816,000, with new york first, massachusetts second and illinois third in size of contributions. some small gifts were as significant as the larger ones. a young man who appeared to be a poorly paid clerk came to the red cross office in new york at the noon hour last friday and pulled from his pocket a five dollar and a one dollar bill. the person in charge asked him if he was not giving more than his share, and suggested that he keep the one dollar hill. "no," said he, "i've kept some small change for carfare and lunch, and tomorrow's pay day." one letter accompanying a small contribution read: "just one short year ago, when the ill-fated titanic deprived me of mine all, the red cross society lost not a moment in coming to my aid. through you i now wish to give my 'widow's mite' to help the stricken ones in the west, and i only wish i could make it a thousand times as much." emergency supplies and funds have been prompt and abundant, but the extensive work ahead of lifting household and community life out of desolation justifies and requires a very large fund. for, as mr. devine, with the san francisco catastrophe in the background of his experience, telegraphed after reaching dayton: "the disaster is appalling even if the loss of life is less than it was feared." spontaneous contributions through a variety of channels are usually sufficient for immediate needs, and the red cross is following its customary policy of reserving as much of its funds as possible for permanent rehabilitation. when a disaster comes in any part of the country the nearest "institutional members" of the red cross at once dispatch trained members of their staffs to the scene. each organization has an "emergency box" containing, convenient for carrying, an equipment including detailed printed instructions, record cards, red cross flag, expense sheets, vouchers, etc. the use of this equipment, especially the uniform record cards, which have been carefully prepared on the basis of the san francisco experience, means that help is not lost or wasted, but gets to the people who need it most. even more important, it means that help is given not merely to keep victims of the disaster from starvation and exposure during the weeks immediately following, but to afford a reasonable lift on the road to the recovery of the standard of living maintained before the disaster. a relief survey by the sage foundation this emphasis on rehabilitation is the message of a report[1] which, by a coincidence, was on the press for the russell sage foundation when news of tornado and flood came from the middle west. it is the first comprehensive review of emergent relief work following great disasters. it is based on the san francisco experience and put forth as a "book of ready reference for use on occasions of special emergency." [1] san francisco relief survey. by charles j. o'connor. francis h. mclean and others. survey associates, inc., for the russell sage foundation. to be published april 18, the seventh anniversary of the san francisco earthquake. price postpaid $3.50. orders for delivery on publication day may be sent to the survey. the volume presents a study of the organization and methods of relief following the san francisco earthquake and fire, made for the foundation by a group of people who held responsible positions in connection with the relief work. it is to appear on april 18, the seventh anniversary of the disaster. for the assistance of those in the middle west upon whom heavy responsibilities came so suddenly, the sage foundation sent out post haste advance copies of the first two sections of the report as a practical handbook to charity organizations in and near the stricken regions. the relief survey is divided into six parts: organization and emergency period; rehabilitation: business rehabilitation; housing rehabilitation; after care; the aged and infirm. some of the prime points emphasized for the "organization and emergency period" are the following: 1. the recognition of the american national red cross, with its permanent organization, its governmental status, and its direct accountability to congress for all expenditures, as the proper national agency through which relief funds for great disasters should be collected and administered; thus securing unity of effort, certainty of policy, and a center about which all local relief agencies may rally. 2. the importance of postponing the appointment of sub-committees until a strong central committee has been able to determine general policies and methods of procedure. the hasty organization of sub-committees at san francisco resulted in much unnecessary overlapping effort and some friction when committees got in each other's way. the relief forces were not united until a whole week after the disaster, and after unfortunate difficulty and bitterness. 3. the desirability of contributions, especially those in kind, being sent without restrictions, as only the local organization is able to measure relative needs at different periods of the work. at san francisco much pitifully needless restrictions imposed by those who sent funds or supplies from distant states. the delays in securing authority for the wise use of these contributions were well-nigh intolerable. the only safe course lies in placing implicit trust in an efficient and recognized director of relief such as the red cross is in a position to furnish. 4. the value of utilizing for emergency administration a body so highly organized and so efficient as the united states army, to take charge of camps, and to bring to points of distribution the supplies required for those in need of food and clothing. 5. the wisdom of reducing the bread line and the camp population as quickly as possible after the disaster so that the relief resources may be conserved to meet the primary need of rehabilitation. the care used in emergency expenditures means much in husbanding resources so that permanent rehabilitation may be efficient and thorough. 6. the need of establishing a central bureau of information to serve from the beginning of the relief work as a clearing house, to prevent confusion and waste through duplication of effort. 7. the necessity of utilizing the centers of emergency distribution for the later rehabilitation work of district communities and corps of visitors. 8. the necessity of incorporation for any relief organization that has to deal with so large a disaster. 9. the possibility of a strict audit of all relief in cash sent to a relief organization. the impossibility of an equally strict accounting for relief in kind, because of the many leaks and the difficulties attendant upon hurried distribution. care in this direction is assured if the red cross is fully utilized. nothing can take the place, the editors of the relief survey testify, of the spirit and devotion of the local committees. at san francisco the citizens showed splendid self-reliance and faith in the future, which enabled them to rebound from fortune's sudden blow, and show what sustained and co-operative effort can achieve. but the most important factor, especially for permanent rehabilitation, in so great and complex a relief problem is a trained staff. this the american red cross, through the co-operation of charity organization societies throughout the country, is constantly prepared to bring together on short notice. mr. bicknell represented the red cross at san francisco after mr. devine's departure, and was thus unusually well equipped to plan the methods which the red cross has devised for emergency use. social legislation and the extra session an open letter was sent to president wilson this week with over forty-five signatures, urging the importance of a group of social measures which were neither voted down nor passed at the last session of congress. in the opinion of the signers, among whom are included some of the democratic leaders who have been foremost in social reform, this overhanging social legislation should be definitely acted upon at the extra session. the movement to this end was encouraged by the positions taken by president wilson in his inaugural address. the letter is the outgrowth of a meeting of men and women interested in social legislation held last week in new york at the call of edward t. devine as associate editor of the survey. the signatures to the document are those of individuals solely. the particular measures will be urged at the forthcoming congress by such national organizations as the american association for labor legislation, national consumers league, national committee for mental hygiene, national child labor committee, the american prison labor association and the gloucester fisherman's institute. while each organization is committed only to the measures in its own field, all of them have a common interest in seeing that the extra session takes up social legislation in addition to the tariff and currency. the letter follows: the president, the white house, washington. d. c. _dear mr. president:_- on the eve of the convening of the sixty-third congress in special session, the undersigned desire to bring to your attention certain bills of importance which have received the favorable consideration of the last congress, but which, owing to various reasons, failed of affirmative action. nothing could set more vividly before the country the urgency of such measures than the words of your inaugural address, in which you pointed out the need for perfecting the means by which the government may be put at the service of humanity in safeguarding the health of the nation, the health of its men and its women and its children, as well as their rights in the struggle for existence. the country has been stirred by your declaration: "this is no sentimental duty. the firm basis of government is justice, not pity. these are matters of justice. there can be no equality of opportunity, the first essential of justice in the body politic, if men and women and children be not shielded in their lives, their very vitality, from the consequences of great industrial and social processes which they cannot alter, control, or singly cope with. society must see to it that it does not itself crush or weaken or damage its own constituent parts." the undersigned are aware that the time and energy of congress will be largely expended upon the revision of the revenue and currency statutes. without in any way meaning to minimize the importance of these subjects, we wish to lay emphasis upon what we believe to be the necessity for the passage of certain other measures directly affecting the health and happiness of hundreds of thousands of citizens. the legislative proposals which we present to you are not new; several of them have met with little open opposition; some have been passed by one house of congress; others by both; all have been prepared by experts and are based upon tried principles already embodied either in the federal laws, in the laws of the various states, or in the laws of other nations. an example is the bill which aims to compensate workingmen employed in interstate commerce for accidents to life and limb. another is the eight-hour bill for women in the district of columbia, which was lost through an accident in the closing hours of the last congress. the measures which had not passed when congress adjourned and which are herewith advocated are as follows. it is the principles underlying these several bills rather than the specific provisions of any measure that we wish to be understood as urging upon the attention of the president and congress: providing compensation for federal employees suffering injury or occupational diseases in the course of their employment. providing compensation for employees in interstate commerce suffering injury in the course of their employment. harmonizing conflicting court decisions in different states by giving the state itself the right of appeal to the supreme court of the united states. establishing the eight-hour day for women employed in certain occupations in the district of columbia. co-ordinating the federal health activities and strengthening the public health service. providing in the immigration act for mental examination of immigrants by alienists; safeguarding the welfare of immigrants at sea by detailing american medical officers and matrons to immigrant-carrying ships. providing a hospital ship for american deep-sea fishermen. providing for the betterment of the conditions of american seamen. establishing a commission to investigate jails and the correction of first offenders. abolishing the contract convict labor system by restricting interstate commerce in prison-made goods. legislation giving effect to the principles underlying such proposals as these would constitute, we believe, an important step in the accomplishment of the forward-looking purposes which you have placed before the american people. caroline b. alexander frederic almy louise de koven bowen louis d. brandeis howard s. braucher allen t. burns charles c. burlingham richard c. cabot richard s. childs john r. commons charles r. crane edward t. devine abram j. elkus h. d. w. english livingston farrand homer folks ernst freund john m. glenn josephine goldmark t. j. keenan florence kelley howard a. kelly arthur p. kellogg paul u. kellogg john a. kingsbury constance d. leupp samuel mccune lindsay charles s. macfarland w. n. mcnair charles e. merriam adelbert moot henry morgenthau frances perkins charles r. richards margaret drier robins w. l. russell thomas w. salmon henry r. seager thomas a. storey graham taylor graham romeyn taylor lillian d. wald james r. west w. f. willoughby stephen s. wise robert a. woods compulsory minimum wage law in oregon oregon's minimum wage law,[2] which was recently signed by governor west, is the first one in america to have a compulsory clause. failure to pay the rate of wages fixed and in the method provided by the law is punishable by fine or imprisonment or both. in massachusetts, the first state to establish minimum wage boards, the only penalty is the publication of the names of offending employers in four newspapers in the county where their industries are located. [2] see minimum wage legislation by florence kelley, on page 9 of this issue. the oregon law applies only to women and children. it prohibits their employment in any occupation in which the sanitary or other conditions are detrimental to health or morals, or for wages "which are inadequate to supply the necessary cost of living and maintain them in health." it likewise forbids the employment of minors "for unreasonable low wages." an industrial welfare commission is created to determine minimum wages, maximum hours and standard conditions of labor. the commission is authorized to call a conference of representatives of the employers, the employees and the general public to investigate and make recommendations as to the minimum wage to be paid in a given industry. if the commission approves these recommendations they become obligatory. the powers of the oregon commission to determine hours and conditions of health and morals are more extensive than those delegated to an industrial commission by the legislature of any other state. the members of the commission are to be appointed by the governor. the successful campaign for this law and the drafting of the bill itself was based upon an extensive investigation conducted by the social survey committee of the oregon consumers' league. wages, work conditions, and cost of living were studied in portland and elsewhere throughout the state. the inquiry was directed by a trained investigator, caroline j. gleason of minneapolis, formerly a student of the chicago school of civics and philanthropy. the work was started in august 1912 and the information covered 7603 women wage earners in portland and 1133 throughout the rest of the state. wage statistics were tabulated for 4523, and are particularly valuable in the cast of the department stores which placed their pay rolls at the disposal of the survey committee. generous co-operation from committees in twenty-five counties of the state was secured. in the drafting of the bill the experience of the massachusetts minimum wage board was studied. legal advice was secured and the constitutionality of the measure is upheld in an opinion by the attorney general of the state. social workers from washington and california have been in touch with the investigation and the preparation of the bill. they have arranged to have bills drawn up on the same lines introduced as soon as the legislatures of their own states convene. the passage of the same measure by the three coast states is regarded by the social workers in each as a desirable and important piece of uniform legislation for an area in which industrial conditions and problems are similar. the social survey committee in its report gives the principles and facts which form the basis of the demand for the legislation as follows: 1. each industry should provide for the livelihood of the workers employed in it. an industry which does not do so is parasitic. the well-being of society demands that wage-earning women shall not be required to subsidize from their earnings the industry in which they are employed. 2. owing to the lack of organisation among women workers and the secrecy with which their wage schedules are guarded, there are absolutely no standards of wages among them. their wages are determined for the most part by the will of the employer without reference to efficiency or length of service on the part of the worker. this condition is radically unjust. 3. the wages paid to women workers in most occupations are miserably inadequate to meet the cost of living at the lowest standards consistent with the maintenance of the health and morals of the workers. nearly three-fifths of the women employed in industries in portland receive less than $10 a week, which is the minimum weekly wage that ought to be offered to any self-supporting woman wage-earner in this city. 4. the present conditions of labor for women in many industries are shown by this report to be gravely detrimental to their health; and since most women wage earners are potential mothers, the future health of the race is menaced by these unsanitary conditions. a new federal agency for settling strikes an important power vested in secretary wilson of the new federal department of labor, which has hitherto practically escaped attention, gives to him the right assumed by president roosevelt, when he initiated the machinery for settling the coal strike of 1902. the provision referred to in the law creating the department reads as follows: "that the secretary of labor shall have power to act as mediator and to appoint commissioners of conciliation in labor disputes whenever in his judgment the interests of industrial peace may require it to be done." speaking of this section secretary wilson gave this interview to the _washington post_: "the secretary of labor, by the terms of the act creating the new department, is empowered to act as mediator in disputes between labor and employers. the policy to which i shall adhere during my administration will be to do all i can to bring labor and capital together in mutual conferences, so that they may settle their own differences." it has been pointed out that this power can be invoked at the will of the secretary. in this way he can bring public attention to bear upon any labor dispute which he believes warrants his official notice. mr. wilson has as yet given no indication as to how frequently he expects to use this power. attention has also been called to the fact that this section may have an important effect upon the erdman act for settling transportation strikes. finger prints ten cents katharine anthony it was in a small restaurant in the downtown business district. the girl who came in and sat down opposite me at the "table for ladies" was clearly "office help." she could not have been more than sixteen, and in the boyish-looking brown velvet hat that she wore she appeared scarcely that. her manner had little of the self-assertiveness so commonly seen in the young girl wage-earner. "how much is the veg'tubble soup?" she asked the waiter in a confiding tone. "ten cents," he said. the price appeared satisfactory and the waiter went away with his very brief order. while the young girl waited, she caught my eye. "it's cold today," she remarked, with a winning smile and an air of taking me into her confidence as she had done with the waiter. "a bit chilly, yes." "he don't let me down to dinner till so late," she continued, "sometimes half-past one. you get hungry, and then you get over being hungry, and then you don't want nothing when you do go down. you know?" yes, i recognized the experience. "the office where i used to work, we went out to dinner right at twelve every day." "what keeps you so late now?" "i guess he just forgets to let me down. he forgets to go out himself, i think." the waiter brought the soup, a watery looking fluid in which floated a tomato and an onion in partial dissolution. he placed beside the plate a dingy blue check which bore in large print 10c. "when i'm there a month, i'm going to ask him to let me down every day at a regular hour," she went on. "i'm only there a week now, so i wouldn't ask him yet." she tasted the soup, but it was apparently not to her liking, or else, as she had said, her appetite had gone when the first feeling of hunger had passed. she glanced at the dirty blue check which committed her to her choice for better or worse, and then tried another spoonful of soup. "i used to take a cup of coffee and a charlotte 'roosh' every day, but my mother said i'd starve. she told me i'd got to have soup, it was more stren'thening." "she was quite right, of course." "but what's the use of ordering it if you can't eat it after all?" she regarded the plate disconsolately. a little rallying induced her to make another effort. then she gave it up entirely. "i wonder what my mother would say if she could see me now!" "i wonder!" taking two nickels from her small rusty bag, she rose, leaving the plate of cold soup almost untouched. she said good-by with her peculiarly friendly little smile, deposited the blue check and the two nickels at the cash counter, and went back to her afternoon's work. william, a modern drama[3] [3] drawn from the records of the juvenile protective association, chicago. the curtain is about to fall upon a human drama as full of complicating agencies and dramatic ironies as the most exacting either of greeks or of moderns could require. the dramatis personae are: a colored youth of twenty-two years; his aged mother (the father disappeared while the youth was still a child in kansas); a friend who failed him and then too late repented; a partner; a dishonest clerk; a lawyer of similar type; and a judge according to the letter of the law. the acts are only three and brief. act i shows william at work for a large firm in missouri at $9 a week. he manages to live on $3, sending $6 to his mother. he could not write; she could not read. but the weekly money order became the tryst of mother and son, and by it she knew that all was well with him. among his fellow workmen was one, also a william, who seemed friendly and like william i, anxious to live economically. the two williams shared a room, and all went well for about three months. one pay day, william ii borrowed from william i the $6 that should go to the mother, but only for a day or so, to be returned surely before the end of the week. but the man disappeared, and with him vanished the money. then william i went to the little clothes press, and not having a suit of his own, took one of william ii's, and pawned it for $6, and sent the money to his mother according to his word. that night, repentant but penniless, william ii returned. he expressed himself as well pleased with what had been done with his suit, satisfied to have the money raised by any means possible. so the two, reconciled, slept. but william ii rising early in the morning, went for an officer, and charging his room-mate with theft, had him arrested. "he slep' with me all night there, and in the mawnin he don' have me arrested!"--thus william i mourned his false friend. so act i closes with our hero in the penitentiary, locked in for two years. but william ii's repentance bore a late fruit. during the two years, he sent out of his own money each week the $6 to the mother of his friend, that she might never know the truth. * * * * * act ii shows william working in different places, and for short times, as is the fate of "jail-birds." at last in company with george he opens a restaurant, and prospers, and is popular. then his evil fate overtakes him. invited to be door-keeper at a dance one night, he left george in charge of the restaurant. george apparently went out on business of his own, and presently the clerk followed his example, donning for the time a coat of william's. but the clerk needed money; there was none in the pockets of the coat; and so, at a convenient corner, he waylaid a chinese, relieved him of has funds, and left william's coat by way of compensation. easily identified by the coat and papers in its pockets, william was as easily arrested--and as easily sentenced. the trial was a farce. a lawyer was appointed by the court. this lawyer took his client's indictment papers, ignored his client, called no witnesses, heard the sentence, and drew his fee. william appealed to the pardon board. but at the time of this appeal, neither george nor the other door-keeper at that dance could be found to prove an alibi for william. the board asked: "have you ever been in prison before?" alas for william! he could not say no; the board would not listen to his version and investigate the facts. his own truthfulness condemned him, and he was sent up on a five years' sentence. * * * * * the setting of act iii is the penitentiary. falsely accused, without opportunity to prove his innocence, neglected by the lawyer paid to defend him, william, being only a negro, toiled faithfully in a stone quarry, accumulating a reputation undesirable in the eyes of the world and the law. one day his foot was injured by the crusher. then after months of stone dust, his lungs became infected. but at last word of his case reached the juvenile protective association, and presently successful proof of his innocence of all connection with the attack on the chinese was secured, and william was paroled from prison. how far he may recover from the injuries received during this imprisonment remains to be seen. how much of opportunity to work and support himself and the aged mother society will offer an injured negro with two prison records is a grave question. but the matter may be settled by the quiet falling of the curtain upon the sad little drama of the life of william.--s. editorial grist john pierpont morgan 1837-1913 mr. morgan was for seventeen years treasurer of the charity organization society of the city of new york which founded the survey and under which it was published until the fall of 1912. when, in 1907, the parent society launched charities publication committee in order "to give national scope and breadth" to the magazine, mr. morgan was one of fifteen guarantors who gave $1,000 each the initial year to promote its educational work. last summer he gave $250, the sum asked from him, toward the clearance of an overhanging deficit, in advance of the institution of the survey associates as an independent and co-operative under-taking. the public's chief concern in mr. morgan's great activities has been the play of his powerful individuality in the rapid reconstruction of the "mass of wrecked corporations which blocked the path of american finance" following the panic of 1893, and in "heading the forces of conservatism in the great business emergency" of 1907; his part as the "immense constructive genius" throughout the period of expansion in america's "large creative activities." the "economic necessity or value of the enormous industrial combinations" shaped at his hands will, in the words of the new york _evening post_, "be the crux of later historical controversy over the great career now ended"; and the same is true of the ultimate effects on the working life of the people of his instrumentality in extending the country's railroads, in improving its banking, and in projecting its facilities for the manufacture of large staples. said major henry l. higginson, new england's foremost philanthropist and financier, in commenting on mr. morgan's death: "to make a great fortune is little; to be a great citizen is much." the survey will, in an early issue, publish an appreciation of other phases of mr. morgan's trenchant personality by an associate in the fields of art and philanthropy. here, one circumstance which concerns this magazine closely may be set down. the pittsburgh survey was made at a period of restlessness and irritation in many high quarters, following a succession of investigations and exposures. the period was also one of sensitiveness among every day people lest the organs of publicity might be controlled by invisible influences. _charities and the commons_ (as the survey was then called) bore mr. morgan's name as treasurer on its contents page while its staff was delving into the pittsburgh district. the pittsburgh survey was conceived not for the purpose of internal counsel and report, but for the purpose of spreading before the public the facts as to life and labor in the region, where the two greatest individual fortunes in history had been made by mr. morgan's contemporaries, where he had in turn become the dominant factor, and where social tendencies observable everywhere had "actually, because of the high industrial development and the great industrial activity, had the opportunity to give tangible proof of their real character and their inevitable goal." it must remain for mr. morgan's business associates to say how much affirmative concern he had given or came to give to the working conditions in those industries in which he controlled vast holdings, or to such far-reaching reforms as the safety campaign. but the staff of the pittsburgh survey can bear witness that no word of admonition ever reached them, no trace of pressure to minimize or gloss over or reserve for private consumption the human outcroppings of a thousand million dollar corporation. the situation did not change after our first strictures as to the seven-day week, the twelve-hour day, work accidents and the like had been spread broadcast. if they reached mr. morgan's ears, he was willing to let this left hand of philanthropic inquiry take the exact social measure of what had been done or left undone in the fiscal and industrial enterprises in which he was the master entrepreneur. mr. west's article[4] protested [4] see civil war in the west virginia coal mines on page 37 of this issue. night letter charleston, w. va., march 30, 1912. "owing to delayed trains, did not reach home nor receive your telegram of friday until last night. west manuscript received and read this morning. am directed to renew protest against its publication as contrary to facts in most important particulars and most unfair in attitude and spirit. an article published in your journal on a matter so important should be prepared by one of your own staff from facts gathered by your own investigator. am authorized to place in your hands immediately five hundred dollars, being amount estimated by you as necessary to cover expense of special examination and article, and urge you in justice and fairness to accept and use it for the purpose. it is impossible to prepare an answer to the west article and have it in your hands tomorrow, nor is one-fifth the space given west article sufficient for an adequate reply thereto. if you decline to make your own investigation and report, it is submitted that justice requires that time be given so that west article and reply may appear in same issue and space equal to article be given for reply. if you refuse this i respectfully ask the publication of this protest with mr. west's paper." [signed] neil robinson. [secretary west virginia mining association.] * * * * * in line with the general practice of the survey when an article makes major charges against an institution or industry--a copy of mr. west's manuscript was sent on march 20 to the secretary of the west virginia mining association, with a request that he indicate any points which "seem to you in error." on march 26 the survey received a letter from mr. robinson, who called in person the day following to protest against the publication of the article as unfair, and not of the calibre expected of the survey by the public. he also offered us every facility if we would make an independent staff investigation. we stated that such a staff inquiry in the west virginia field was beyond our means, that we had exercised due care in selecting mr. west as a non-combatant observer, and that the manuscript had stood the test of criticism in various quarters. further, we stated that if mr. robinson could there and then dislodge the major statements of fact in the article, we would surely not publish it; otherwise, we would hold two pages of the same issue of the survey open until monday of this week for a statement in rebuttal. in the interval a galley proof of the article was sent mr. robinson containing revisions to cover minor points of criticism made by him and other critics. later issues of the survey are open to the west virginia operators for a full reply; and the findings of a federal inquiry which would resourcefully and dispassionately cover the ground would, of course, be handled at length. y. m. c. a. growth the young men's christian association began in 1851, sixty-two years ago. the property value in plant and equipment, increased in the first ten years of the twentieth century more than in all the previous fifty years; the membership doubled, a tremendous growth. y. m. c. a. 1900 1910 associations 1,439 2,017 buildings 359 700 property value $20,000,000 $70,000,000 membership 252,000 500,000 annual current outlay $2,900,000 $7,163,000 will the next decade show a like growth for organized charity with proper effort? the town constable j. j. kelso the town constable is one of the most important links in the chain of social service, and yet he is seldom taken into consideration by the active workers for social betterment. a town constable was recently held up to public censure at a church meeting for failure to wipe out certain well-known evils. when asked about it the next day his reply was: "the law is being enforced in this town just as far as the people will stand for." his idea, you see, was that observance of law was a matter of education, of moral backing, and without this strong, sustaining support, one man, even with a badge and a club, could not go beyond a certain point. the idea got into another constable's head once that his duty was to carry out the law, no matter what people thought about it, and to his great surprise it was not long before his resignation was insisted upon. he did splendid service and really frightened law-breakers, so much so that they got busy in bringing about his downfall. where were the good people? entirely missing. here and there a man under his breath would give the official a word of faint praise, but in the council church members allowed themselves to be made the tools for his destruction. "well meaning, but lacking in judgment" was the decision; "rash, hasty, ill-advised," and so he had to go in disgrace, while the law-breakers smiled quietly and continued on in the old way. public meetings in that town still continue to denounce the well-known evils, indifferent to the fate of the officer who thought he had all the forces of good at his back. still another constable, whom i know well, told me privately that he started out in the same way, but got a hint that he could not hold his situation and, having a young family to support, he concluded it would be the part of wisdom to let well enough alone, especially as the men who counselled him were church leaders, who ought to know the sentiment of the town on moral questions. some towns have a high moral tone largely because of the good influence of the head of the police department. others are on a low plane of moral observance because the constable is indifferent, if not indeed hostile, to advance measures. lack of encouragement and appreciation is often the secret of this indifference. visiting a town on one occasion to take part in a meeting on social reform, i asked the constable who happened to be at the station if he knew rev. s. thomas strother. "no." "well, do you know rev. milton smoot?" receiving another negative, i enquired in surprise, "why surely you are acquainted with the preachers of your town?" "no," he said, in a surly tone, "they have no use for the likes of me." here was a man, specially appointed guardian of the town and invested with the high dignity of safeguarding the lives, morals and property of the community, whose mental attitude toward the better element was evidently one of hostility. the explanation given me later was that he was a recent appointee, only there a month, and there was not sufficient time to get acquainted. "well," i replied, "if i had been you people i would have gotten up a banquet and given him such a welcome as would hearten him in his great work for years to come." it is all in the way you look at these things. at a large church gathering on social welfare i took occasion to exalt the office of constable and to praise the man who held that office. he was at the back of the hall and i could see was greatly surprised at this recognition. he came to me afterwards and earnestly expressed his thanks. "no one has given me that much encouragement before," he said, "and it will help me a great deal, especially as i want the young fellows of the town to know i am their friend and not their enemy." social and church workers, let the town constable know that he is appreciated, let him feel that good work is recognized, that if he is attacked because of fearless discharge of his duty, he will have behind him an unflinching body of men who will make his trouble theirs and fight for a righteous cause as well as talk at church meetings. minimum wage legislation florence kelley secretary national consumers' league governor west of oregon has signed a bill creating a minimum wage commission. oregon thus follows massachusetts in this new field of industrial legislation. minimum wage bills have been introduced in the legislatures of california, kansas, ohio, pennsylvania and wisconsin. the new york factory investigating commission will doubtless be continued and empowered to investigate wages. the oregon law and all the pending bills have one characteristic in common: they are alarmingly undemocratic. they fail to afford to american employees in underpaid industries those democratic safeguards which characterize english and australian legislation. they apply to women, oblivious of the fact that wives and daughters work because their man breadwinner does not earn enough to support the family. these laws and bills ignore the youth and shifting nature of the working force in the underpaid industries which is so largely made up of young girls. they need the moral support of their men fellow-workers in negotiating about wages. in america the governor appoints the commission, and the commission selects the wage board. the board determines the lowest wage and the women and girls take what they get. the recipients of the wages are not allowed to elect representatives to the boards. they are, in fact, not represented at all. the kansas bill was killed by the legislature. it substituted "an adjuster" for commission and boards. if these other ill-considered bills become laws, it will be the work of years to remodel them on more democratic lines, and on wise and just principles in the light of the experience of australia and england. "the hand of the potter trembles" solon de leon to lead poisoning among lead smelters, white lead workers and painters, we have grown accustomed. now comes the revelation of wide-spread plumbism, or "potters' palsy," among workers in the potteries. trenton, new jersey, the third largest pottery center in the country, has recently been the scene of a brief study conducted by the american association for labor legislation. brief as was the study it revealed many cases of this disease. one case was that of a fifteen-year-old orphan, as dipper's helper in a pottery. he handles cups and saucers after they have received their coat of glaze and before they are taken to the kiln. he gets his hands covered with glaze. there are no washing facilities at the plant where he works. when visited at home he had spots of white lead over the front of his shirt. after nine months as dipper's helper he began to complain of general ill health, with pains in the stomach. he worked interruptedly for another month, and finally came down with an attack of acute and excruciatingly painful poisoning which required a week's hospital treatment. a young girl, now married and a mother, worked in a tile plant for six years, the last three of which she was a dipper. within three months after starting the latter work she suffered a typical violent lead colic attack, accompanied by nausea and digestive derangements. the attack lasted a week, and was followed by three more at intervals of several months. a former glost kiln-man of forty-five had worked in the trenton potteries continuously for upwards of twenty years. five years ago he was stricken with complete double wrist-drop and for two years was totally incapacitated. another practically useless pair of hands belongs to a workman forty-nine years old. lead poisoning crippled him and deprived him of his trade at the age of thirty-three. he used to be a "ground layer." that is, he rubbed lead colors with a short brush into the surfaces to be decorated. in the course of fifteen years he had eight or ten severe attacks. in the last one, sixteen years ago, both arms were paralyzed. for two years he had to be clothed and fed. now his arms have recovered their flexibility, but his hands still hang shrivelled and powerless to open or straighten themselves. for a livelihood he has been forced to take up an unskilled job requiring no manual work, but seven days' labor a week. a color mixer in a tile works began after ten years to suffer from cramps in the stomach, nausea and biliousness. a number of physicians told him it was lead colic. he grew steadily worse, and four years later he died. the death certificate gives pulmonary tuberculosis as the cause, but the physicians on the case agreed in stating that lead formed at least a considerable complication. so run the records of a few of the cases. there are about 21,000 potters, the makers and enamelers of iron sanitary ware in the united states. of these, 2,500 or over 10 per cent are declared by dr. alice hamilton in her report to the united states government to be exposed in the regular course of their work to the risk of lead poisoning. within two years 510 cases of poisoning were found. it is now generally accepted that the one word "cleanliness" sums up the requirements for the abolition of such occurrences. yet the workshops in the pottery and allied industries are at present almost without exception run with utter disregard of this fundamental consideration. they are as a rule dusty, ill-ventilated and poorly lighted. washing facilities are almost unknown. in new jersey and in seven other states the legislatures have now pending before them the aptly christened "cleanliness bill," drafted by the association for labor legislation after careful study to counteract just these conditions. the proposed measure establishes strict sanitary provisions in potteries and all works making or handling lead salts. it takes a leaf from successful english and german legislation by establishing "duties of employees" as well as "duties of employers," and by fixing a fine for failure to comply. the bill has passed the lower house in missouri, and has been reported favorably by the lower house committee to which it was referred in ohio and in new jersey. a similar law has been in force in illinois for two years with excellent results. many progressive manufacturers admit the wisdom of these regulations and will not oppose them. others are actively in favor. [illustration: why is the pauper] suggestive facts as to causes and prevention of destitution revealed by a study of a mid-western almshouse[5] [5] in taking the rather exhaustive social histories of the 200 inmates of the sangamon county poor farm, i was assisted by mary humphrey and mary johnson, without whose intelligent and enthusiastic co-operation this preliminary study could not have been made. george thomas palmer, m. d. superintendent health department, springfield, ill. drawings by alfred s. harkness poorhouse it was, this mid-western abode of unfortunates, regardless of the resolution of the conference of charities and correction recommending that it and its host of fellows be known as "county homes." [illustration] this particular poorhouse was comfortably perched upon a hill, surrounded by elms and oaks and walnuts, overlooking a land of plenty--a "prosperous-looking" poorhouse it was with well-bred holstein cows wading knee-deep in clover on land worth $250 an acre. the verdant pastures, the fields of grain, the white fences, the silo and the barns, the splendid old brick house, might have belonged to a delightful country estate so apparently did they bespeak good farm management. good order and spick-and-spanness also characterized broad veranda and hall, the living rooms of the superintendent, and almost might the same terms have been applied to the dwelling place of the inmates. this, seemingly, was no place to come for the ugly story of destitution--for the revolting facts which force us, almost against our wills, to paint our picture in glaring yellow. but the destitution was there. you could see it in the expression, the gait and the posture of the inmates; you could smell it in the unmistakable smell of poverty and you could feel it in the indefinable something which grips you and oppresses you in an institution of this kind. it was a poorhouse and nothing but a poorhouse--a good poorhouse, if there is such a thing, but a poorhouse none the less. like thousands of similar institutions, it stood ready to receive the individual when he strikes the very bottom of the toboggan slide of life, to house him and to feed him humanely enough, but with the saving of dimes and nickels regarded as the cardinal virtue of efficient management. it was an "asylum of poverty"--no more what such an institution might be than the lunatic asylum of twenty years ago is like the hospital for the insane of the present day. like thousands of others, it was one of those places where we receive the unfortunate; where we label him a pauper; where we tolerate his presence until death reduces the county expense or until he goes out into the world again not a whit better off, physically, mentally or morally, on account of his association with us. we had come to the place for the purpose of ascertaining to what extent tuberculosis prevailed among the two hundred inmates and to ascertain the degree of protection afforded these unfortunates against infection from the disease. as our work progressed this question came to me more and more insistently: "why are these men and women dependents? what, if anything, could be learned if they were permitted to tell their own stories of misfortune?" [illustration] social history blanks were prepared, and two intelligent young women were set at the task of supplementing physical examinations with a series of questions relative to the past lives of the inmates. due allowance was made for natural exaggeration when a person told of the glories of his past, and like allowance was made for the faulty memory which had lost its record of personal faults, vices and dissipations. as far as possible the reliability of the story was determined by checking up with certain definite and obtainable facts. at the outset of the work, a wave of fear spread over the place born of the belief that we were cataloging the inmates to send them to an "asylum"; but when this was quieted, the history taking was uneventful. eliminating those who were mentally incapable of being interviewed, we were able to prepare 137 quite complete records. of those interviewed, 32 were women and 105 men. practically all the women, incidentally, were there on account of insanity, drug addiction or actual illness. there were 131 white inmates, 5 negroes and one who claimed to be an indian. sixty-nine were single, that is 60 per cent of the males and but 27 per cent of the females. nineteen had living husbands or wives and 47 were widowed. of those who had married, 42 had married once only; 13 stated that they had married twice and 4 that they had married three times or more. [illustration] to the penny-wise county official it is of practical interest to note that 34 of the inmates, or about 25 per cent, had living children and that even casual inquiry showed many instances in which the children were financially able to take care of these unfortunates, as the laws of illinois provide that they shall do. thirty of the inmates were born in illinois; 36 in the united states outside of illinois; while ireland and germany came next with 21 representatives each. there was no jew in the almshouse. three of the inmates admitted that their parents had been dependent upon public charity; 24 admitted alcoholism or drug addiction on the part of their parents; 4 were the children of the insane and one was the daughter of a criminal. the fathers of 106 came from laboring and agricultural classes, while the fathers of 6 were professional men. [illustration] nineteen of the inmates had had no education whatever; 12 claimed to be able to read and write but had never gone to school; 4 had attended school less than one year; 15 had attended less than five years; 71 claimed a complete "common school" education and 7 had gone to high school or college. four had been compelled to earn a living under ten years of age; 12 from ten to twelve years; 41 from twelve to fifteen years and 31 had begun work between the ages of fifteen and twenty-one years. with this showing, the question naturally arises: is there any connection between lack of education, child labor and the poorhouse? one of the male inmates had been a pharmacist, one a civil engineer; 28 had learned trades and 53 were laborers. of the females, 17 were house servants and one a teacher. to ascertain something of the past financial condition, we inquired as to the highest wage each had made, the amount he had inherited and the greatest amount he had ever accumulated. six had never made more than $10 to $20 per month; 21 had made from $20 to $50 per month and 28 claimed to have made over $100 per month. fourteen had inherited property worth less than $500; 11 had inherited from $500 to $1,000; 5 from $1,000 to $5,000, and one had inherited from $5,000 to $10,000. thirty-five of the inmates had never accumulated as much as $500 at any one time; 22 had possessed from $500 to $1,000; 20 had owned from $1,000 to $5,000; 7 from $5,000 to $10,000, and four had had over $10,000. [illustration] as to their habits, vices and dependence, 88 were users of alcohol and 35 of these had been heavy drinkers. four females and one male were addicted to drugs. thirty-nine had been arrested once, and four more than once. the causes of arrest were drunkenness and disorderly conduct 22; vagrancy 10; theft 1; assault 4 and participation in a strike 1. two of the inmates had been in other almshouses; 7 had occupied beds in charity hospitals; 2 had grown up from orphan asylums and 4 had been helped by lodges and unions. many had received county orders before coming to the almshouse. what light such data as the foregoing, if collected in large numbers of similar institutions, would throw upon the underlying causes of destitution, is, of course, speculative. it seems to me, however, that they might give us a more intelligent idea of the connection between pauperism and the marriage of the unfit; lack of education; child labor; lack of trade or definite vocation; poor mentality; lack of religious influence; divorce or failure to marry; alcohol and drugs; vice and preventable disease. if these remote influences lie beyond the imaginative possibilities of the average almshouse superintendent and county official, there were certain other facts brought out in this study which should appeal to the most practical and hard-headed. these facts seem to point the way to the rehabilitation of the unfortunate; the way of placing him on his feet again. they also point directly to the reduction in the almshouse population and the consequent decrease in public expense. getting at the direct causes of dependence, it was found that old age was the chief factor, 47 of the inmates being over 70 years of age. this number of dependents, incidentally, could be materially reduced by tracing out near relatives legally responsible for their care. [illustration] drugs and alcohol were responsible for 25 dependencies--a less encouraging group until we have intelligent public treatment for these cases. twenty-five of the inmates were crippled while 18 were there on account of general illness. doubtless many of these cases would be amenable to treatment if properly studied and diagnosed. six were victims of advanced tuberculosis, and it may be assumed that the nature of the illness was unrecognized as the patients were housed in dormitories with the uninfected. there were unquestionably other tuberculosis cases undiagnosed who were not only losing their chance of cure; but were exposing and infecting others. i am impressed, incidentally, that almshouses, with their armies of transients going to the crowded, unventilated quarters of the poor, are very considerable spreaders of tuberculosis. the insane, feeble-minded and epileptic aggregated perhaps 50--an almshouse population which should be and must be decreased by more adequate state provision for these afflicted. syphilis was responsible for 3 dependencies, and probably many more would respond to the wassermann test and could be restored to health by specific treatment. the 4 blind and aged inmates might be made to see by simple cataract operations. many of the inmates expressed the wish that they might be restored to health that they could go out into the world again upon their own resources. but 58 replied, when asked what they wanted to do in the future, that they wanted to stay where they were, under the friendly roof of the poorhouse. this does not imply hopeless pauperism, however. sick, neglected, weak and despondent--of course, they want to stay in some place, even in the poorhouse, where they are not eternally ordered to move on by the police; viewed with suspicion or fear by self-respecting citizens or in constant danger of arrest for vagrancy. such forlorn men not infrequently commit petty crimes to guarantee their being housed in jail during a cold winter. i am optimistic enough to believe that if the physical conditions of each inmate were studied; if his ills were cured and he was made stronger in body, he would be given courage, more ambition and more purpose in life. to this extent pauperism is directly curable. true, there are among the destitute those who are hopelessly marked--branded by heredity; cursed by environment; wrecked by disease; deficient in body and in mind, with little or nothing to work upon. by the same token there are those in other branches of medicine who are hopelessly sick--those who are beyond the reach of the surgeon's knife or the physician's prescription. there are those among the insane who give no ray of hope to the most enthusiastic alienist. but when we progress to the point of classifying our paupers; of studying intelligently the various causes of destitution; of endeavoring to make our almshouses places of cure rather than mere asylums for the victims of poverty, our percentage of "recoveries" will be surprisingly high. [illustration] the difference in methods between the modern insane hospital and the almshouse is striking. a man is admitted to an institution for the insane in a thoroughly irrational and excitable condition. his case is studied and it is found that he has cerebral syphilis. proper treatment is instituted and, in all probability, the patient is returned to his family cured and a useful member of society. in another case, syphilis has rendered a man physically inefficient, dissipated and despondent. he drifts to the poorhouse where he is catalogued simply as a "pauper." the chances are that the cause of his pauperism is not detected. if he announces it himself, he may receive the hurried, occasional visit of a contract doctor. even the drugs that are given him may be crude and impure, bought by contract from the lowest bidder. little or no provision is made for his intelligent and systematic treatment. he may be drugged with mercury until he is salivated; he may be neglected until his open sores cause him to be housed in the basement away from the other inmates. he is merely a syphilitic pauper and the rough fare of the poorhouse is looked upon as better than he deserves. as a matter of fact, he is a sick man; sick of a curable disease and his cure may restore him to useful citizenship and remove him from the county expense. or again, there comes to the almshouse a man who is tired--a man who will not work. perhaps he is losing a little weight and he is known to have been drinking more whiskey than he did when he worked harder. you are tempted to compel him to work; to drive him to earn his meager board and bed. the superintendent has no time to note that he has a little fever at night or to see that he clears his throat from time to time. without physical examination, we have no way of knowing that we are dealing with an incipient consumptive. the average superintendent knows nothing of the deadly weariness of this disease; the weariness that invades every muscle of the body; which makes work impossible; which prompts men of higher moral fiber to drink whiskey or seek other stimulation. this "lazy devil" is begrudged our poorhouse food, when, as a matter of fact, he ought to have, and at public expense, better food than we have ever thought of giving him. with fresh air, milk, eggs, nourishing food, intelligent treatment and perfect rest, this man can get well and resume a place in the world. with ordinary almshouse care and almshouse fare, we are signing his death warrant while we are guaranteeing his prolonged dependence upon public charity. we receive old men who have worked hard and who have made an honest living before their eyesight failed and they became almost blind. we label these men as paupers and do not stop to question if a simple operation for cataract would not restore them to useful occupation. the spirit of the average almshouse is illustrated in this--one illinois county has a contract with a dentist to pull the teeth of poor farm inmates. there is no provision for saving teeth. if the inmate is writhing with toothache, he must take his choice; lose a good tooth on contract, or grin and bear the pain. the supervisors can see no reason why a pauper should want to save his teeth or why he should be permitted to do so. and yet a cheap filling would cost little more than the primitive and mutilating operation of extraction. these are mere instances of the obvious curative possibilities in the almshouse--instances where the county's duties are so apparent, in which the right and humane way is so clearly the cheap and economical way that the matter should require no discussion. it is the line of direct cure which the county, as a matter of sound administration, should make it possible to carry out. it means first the careful physical examination of every inmate of every almshouse, not by the medical man who bids lowest to get the contract, but by the most capable diagnostician available. [illustration] but this is only the beginning. the big possibility is what the almshouses of the nation can do to ascertain the more remote causes of poverty and destitution, for, as in the case of the insane, when we know the causes of destitution, we can carry out our most effective work before the pauper becomes a pauper--before he comes slinking, wretched and despondent, to the door of the county farm. tuberculosis will never be eradicated by merely treating the sick; yellow fever could not have been stamped out by simply caring for the afflicted; pauperism will never be materially affected by what we do when the pauper has reached his last ditch. we must fight tuberculosis by striking at its causes; we have already eliminated yellow fever by the same sane process. we would have gone further in our battle against pauperism, perhaps, were it not that pauperism is the only disease that has never invaded the home of the rich. no multi-millionaire has ever endowed a research laboratory for the study of destitution in memory of a petted child struck dead by its poisonous fangs. but every almshouse has its clinic in poverty and i am convinced that if every inmate in every poorhouse throughout the nation could be made to tell the story of how he came to be there; if every one could be examined for physical and mental causes, and if all these data could be gathered together in systematic form, a great stride would have been made in formulating an intelligent campaign against dependence. compensation for occupational diseases john b. andrews secretary american association for labor legislation the introduction in congress of a bill which extends the workmen's compensation principle to embrace occupational diseases places before the american people an entirely new range of problems in the field of social insurance. the federal government since 1908, and fifteen states during the past two years, have recognized the wisdom and justice of the compensation principle in dealing with the victims of industrial accidents. now comes the demand that the american people, through congress, adopt exactly the same principle in dealing with federal employees who are incapacitated for work by occupational diseases. what is the present situation? "the government gives no compensation for lead poisoning because, technically, it is not an accident, which is true, for under the circumstances it is a dead certainty." --this quotation from the report of an investigator for the new york state factory investigating commission is neither a playful nor an exaggerated statement. on the contrary, we now have complete confirmation of its truth in the official report and in the sober legal phrase of the solicitor for the department of commerce and labor.[6] [6] opinions of the solicitor for the department of commerce and labor dealing with workmen's compensation. 1912. it all came about in this way. a man named schroeder went to work in the federal navy yard at brooklyn. one of our big war ships, the ohio, came to the dock and schroeder was sent down into the water-tight compartments called "coffer-dams" to burn off the old coat of paint in preparation for a new. as a result of breathing the fumes of the lead paint, schroeder was incapacitated for work by acute lead poisoning. he lost thirty-seven days on this account, and he applied to the government for the payment of compensation equal to the wages he had lost. this statement was made by the attorney for the united states government: "the question in this case is whether acute lead poisoning contracted in the course of employment is an injury within the meaning of the compensation act. if the inhalation of noxious gases is a necessary incident to the workman's employment, there can be nothing accidental in the injury resulting therefrom. this latter consideration disposes of the present case.... "it cannot be said that these fumes were inhaled by accident. the fumes were necessarily produced by the work he was engaged upon. the inhalation of such fumes was to have been expected and probably could not have been avoided. lead poisoning, under the circumstances, was the natural, if not the inevitable, result." schroeder got not one penny. aside from the fact that lead poisoning in this case was really preventable; aside from the fact that several enlightened nations have absolutely prohibited the use of poisonous lead paints for the interior of their war ships, and aside from the fact that there was no one to warn schroeder of the dangerous nature of his occupation, there is one big final reason why this decision of uncle sam's attorney was even more unfortunate than it was necessary. the financial cost of this unnecessary case of acute lead poisoning, in addition to the personal suffering, fell upon poor schroeder. most men will agree that such financial losses should fall upon the employer. in this case the employer was the nation, which means all of us, you and me. we owe schroeder something more than an apology. while the federal government is publishing excellent reports on lead poisoning in the factories of private employers and is translating and distributing in fat volumes the workmen's compensation laws of european countries, can the united states afford to do less than make provision for reasonably safe work places in the government service? and can this country afford to ignore the good example of these european laws which provide compensation for such victims of occupational diseases? a few months after the unfortunate schroeder case a man named hill was employed at placing floor plates in the engine room of the war ship st. louis in the puget sound navy yard. meantime, red and white lead paint was being applied in the bilges of the vessel. "as a result of this exposure to lead fumes, a sufficient amount of lead was taken into claimant's system to produce 'toxic amblyopia, both eyes,'" which means "disease of vision from imperfect sensation of the retina, without organic lesion of the eye." this disease incapacitated hill on the thirteenth day after his first exposure to the poison. the exposure lasted only seven days. said the solicitor: "it is accordingly possible to refer the claimant's injury to an event capable of being fixed in point of time. in the second place, the injury to the claimant's eyes was neither reasonably to be expected, nor the natural or inevitable consequence of the work he personally was engaged upon. the injury must therefore be ascribed to accident. the claimant's particular work had nothing to do with the painting operations going on about him. his work as a ship fitter related to the laying of places in the boiler room; the painting was being done by others." and this claim was approved. but if, instead of hill, one of the painters had been poisoned and incapacitated by the fumes of lead paint, a similar claim would not have been allowed by the solicitor. this is made perfectly clear by his decision in the john freiman case. john was a laborer in the boston navy yard, and it was his duty to scale off lead-painted compartments on ships. he became incapacitated by "lead poisoning contracted in the course of his employment," and his superior officer certified that the injury was not due to negligence or misconduct. after john had suffered several weeks as a result of "painter's colic" and chronic lead poisoning, his claim was submitted. it was necessary to decide whether the law applies to disease due to the occupation. the solicitor declared: "there is no such special provision made, and i can find nothing which would, in my judgment, justify its application to a case of lead poisoning or 'painter's colic.'" the difficulties involved in legal technicalities become apparent. the following story, verbatim from the government report (page 201), about william murray, who suffered with compressed air illness, strikingly illustrates the point: "the claimant in this case is a laborer employed by the reclamation service, at arizona shaft, colorado river siphon. the claimant's duties required him to work in compressed air. in consequence, he was attacked with 'a severe case of bends,' which 'settled in nearly all parts of the body.' when originally presented the claim was disallowed on the ground that the bends is a disease, and diseases contracted in the course of employment as distinguished from injuries of an accidental nature are not within the operation of the compensation act. a reconsideration of this action 'with a view to the allowance of the claim, if the same is deemed to come within the letter of the statute as it seems to come within its spirit,' is now requested by the secretary of the interior, who writes that a refusal to approve this claim may cause a number of men to leave the work, as, on account of the bends, it is generally regarded as very hazardous." and the former decision was reversed! the solicitor has passed upon other cases of occupational disease, with some decidedly interesting results. mary a. crellin was a folder of heavy paper at the government printing office. continuous strain upon her fingers and wrist caused a degeneration of the tendon sheath. a tumor or cystic growth developed. mary was obliged to have it surgically removed. then she thought the government, and not she, ought to stand the loss of wages due to her incapacity. this attracted attention. said the medical officer of the government printing office: "this is the first case that i ever observed or noticed among folders, until i examined a number of skilled female laborers employed in this office upon the same vocation--that of folding sheets of paper--of which five presented a similar condition, but of such size as not to interfere with the manipulation of the hand." the solicitor decided that in this tendon degeneration there was "no accidental element." it was "not due to injury." it was "due to excessive use" in the service of uncle sam. mary's claim was denied. another case--a plate printer, j. b. irving, who was on the night force in the bureau of engraving and printing. in the course of a night he printed 900 sheets, and as he handled each sheet he looked for a few seconds at a bright engraved plate which reflected into his eyes. one night last march the bureau tried out some new electric lights, and their use was continued three successive nights. irving thereupon stopped work, and the doctor diagnosed his case as "retinitis conjunctivitis, both eyes." he was unable to keep his eyes open in a bright light. after investigation, the solicitor decided that in this case compensation should be granted on the ground that the injury was not anticipated, nor was it the result of any slow accumulation of trifling injuries. sunstroke, which is known as a disease, is compensated under the act. the straining of the ligaments about the wrist, known as "synovitis of the wrist" and scheduled as a disease under the british act, has been compensated. "vaccinia" from vaccination is compensated. a long-standing case of flat-foot was compensated, even though the use of a simple wedge made the injured one better than before. john sheeran, who contracted pneumonia due to exposure at the soo canal, was denied compensation. but j. b. atkinson, who fell from a ladder and continued to work 181 days thereafter, until typhoid fever took him off within a week, "died by reason of his injury," because the fall "lowered his vitality, ... which rendered him peculiarly susceptible to typhoid infection, ... which resulted in his death." the question may fairly be raised as to whether it is not a bit unfair to an administrative official to place him under the embarrassment of interpreting a statute so as to cover, for example, some but not all cases of industrial lead poisoning. would it not be much better plainly to include occupational diseases in the law? after more than four years of experience under the present law the government recently published the first official report upon its operation. sixty-six closely printed pages of this report are devoted to embarrassing questions which have arisen because of claims arising out of occupational diseases. the administration in its awards has been as liberal as could be expected under the unfortunate legislative restrictions. the solicitor for the department has taken a keen interest in its operation. he has been faithful and alert. one of his most urgent recommendations for a change in the law is that it be extended to embrace occupational diseases. the present federal law is known as the workmen's compensation act of may 30, 1908, and is america's pioneer compensation law. it was a step forward, but only a step. fortunately, state legislatures have not copied its main provisions, for they are totally inadequate. this federal law applies to only about one-third of our 350,000 civilian employees. it grants no relief for incapacity lasting less than fifteen days, it makes no provision for medical treatment, and one year's wages is the maximum benefit even for total blindness or death. in fact, the present law is so deficient that its original sponsors now waste no words in its defense, but frankly apologize for its shortcomings. "not a revision," says one in a position to know, "but a new law is needed." the draft of a new law, prepared after months of careful investigation of experience of this and all other compensation acts, and drafted with infinite care at the instigation of the association for labor legislation, has been introduced in congress by senator kern. surely the united states should now provide for its own government employees incapacitated by industrial accidents and occupational diseases a system of safety and sanitation coupled with compensation at least equivalent to that furnished by the most progressive nations of the world. the bill now before congress offers this immediate opportunity. nor can the state legislatures longer ignore the injustice of this arbitrary distinction between accidents and diseases due to the peculiar conditions of employment. in a pamphlet on industrial diseases and occupational standards, published in may, 1910, the writer urged immediate consideration of this problem, and said: "no intelligent person can go far in the study of compensation for industrial accidents without realizing that a logical consideration of the facts must lead likewise to compensation for industrial diseases." since then three momentous years have passed. one state after another is preparing to meet this problem, which becomes steadily more pressing. one of the three great national political parties now pledges itself to work unceasingly in state and nation for trade disease compensation. wisconsin has the promise of relief in the political platform of the present administration; ohio, by recent constitutional amendment, is prepared for action; pennsylvania is following this example; several states, including massachusetts and michigan, by a liberal interpretation of present laws, are coquetting with the issue; new hampshire has boldly introduced specific legislation on the subject.[7] [7] in 1912 the association for labor legislation prepared, in co-operation with the united states bureau of labor and the library of congress, a critical bibliography on industrial diseases. fifty printed pages of titles were thus made available on this important subject. european countries have published volumes on compensation for industrial diseases, but, as far as can be learned, this is the first american article under this title. leading countries of europe have already taken this step. great britain in her workmen's compensation act of 1906, in addition to accidents, included in the first schedule six diseases of occupation. that schedule has been extended until it now includes no less than twenty-four distinct maladies due to peculiar conditions of employment. germany, as a result of the experience of a quarter of a century, in her new imperial code expressly has declared for similar action. switzerland, in her system accepted by referendum vote in february, 1912, makes like provision for insurance against occupational diseases. the government of holland, in november, 1912, laid before parliament a bill to regulate the insurance of workmen against industrial diseases in connection with the proposed sickness insurance. [illustration: double wrist-drop hands of workman paralyzed for sixteen years as result of lead poisoning. five of his fellow workmen were killed by lead poisoning before they were forty. victims of lead poisoning are not compensated under american laws because technically an occupational disease is "not an injury."] the arguments used so effectively by advocates of compensation for accidents, and now so generally accepted by all men, apply with even greater force in the consideration of relief for the victims of occupational diseases. no one will doubt, for example, that placing the financial cost of lead poisoning upon the lead industry will promote greater cleanliness in the lead trades. it will pay to clean up. a considerable part of the money now paid to employers' liability companies and to ambulance chasers could, under a just system of compensation, go where it belongs--to the injured workman or his family. expensive, annoying, and unsatisfactory litigation could be reduced to a minimum. information concerning special danger points in industry would be automatically pointed out to the factory inspectors in a manner both prompt and sure. unnecessary occupational diseases would then be prevented, and that is the real problem. the principle is admitted that workmen should be compensated for injuries by accident arising out of their employment. it is only consistent that incapacity caused by diseases due to the employment should also be included. some diseases are, in the ordinary use of the term, accidental. but many people work where trade diseases of an insidious nature are contracted and where there is constant risk of illness on that account. these diseases are as serious as accidents. there is no social justification for drawing an arbitrary line of distinction--the principle of compensation is no longer in an experimental stage. a compensation law should include, says sir thomas oliver, the leading english authority on the subject, "industrial diseases, the consequences of which may be immediate or remote, and which are often more severe than accidents." it must be admitted that even our discredited system of employers' liability has afforded occasional relief to the victims of accidents. but even this uncertain and irregular protection, poor as it is, has in most instances been denied to workers exposed to the creeping horror of industrial disease. the exact occupational cause of the affliction is, of course, more difficult to prove. the employee is thus placed at still greater disadvantage in dealing with his employer. american judges, basing their opinions on outgrown decisions of the british house of lords, have declared that "industrial injuries" include only those afflictions of an accidental nature whose cause can be ascribed to a definite point of time, and have thus almost universally barred even from the occasional and expensive relief of employers' liability the victims of such typical maladies as the match maker's "phossy jaw," the lead worker's "wrist-drop" and painter's colic, the boiler maker's deafness, the glass worker's cataract, the potter's palsy, the hatter's shakes, and the compressed air worker's bends. the public has not yet forgotten pitiful cases where match manufacturers, through the work of their attorneys, were able to deny all financial relief to their victims of "phossy jaw." and there are cases now pending in the courts where men totally blinded by the fumes of wood alcohol have year after year sued in vain for some financial relief from brewery companies which employed them to varnish the inside of beer vats. occasionally, however, large awards have been made. but they, as in the case of damage suits arising out of accidents, encourage further expensive litigation. one case of wood alcohol poisoning in ohio (joseph frank _vs._ the herancourt brewing co., 82 o. s., 424) is now a matter of record. the supreme court compelled the employer to pay $12,500, with interest and costs, aggregating over $15,000. "after five years of litigation, six hearings in three different courts, including two trips to the supreme court, printing of several thousand pages of record testimony and briefs, taking voluminous depositions in different parts of the country involving great expense, during which the injured workman--in this instance rendered blind--was totally unable to support his wife and family, the wife being obliged to work at nights in downtown cafes, scrubbing floors after midnight, in order to provide scant food for herself and babies while the latter slept." this verdict is of peculiar interest, according to the well-known cincinnati law firm which prosecuted the case, because it is the first instance so far as they have been able to ascertain in which there has been a recovery from injuries resulting from the poisonous influence of wood alcohol. but do not be misled by this rare case. and do not hastily conclude that the new state insurance law in ohio has rendered justice in such cases more certain, for the contrary is true. a victim of industrial lead poisoning appealed to the state board under that law, and the attorney general, on october 26, 1912, ruled that disability due to lead poisoning was an occupational disease and "not an injury" under the act. similar decisions have been made by the washington state insurance department. in fact, with the exception of occasional instances in two or three states, where claims have been paid by employers without protest, the victims of occupational diseases in america are still practically without relief. the social aim in government samuel mccune lindsay professor of social legislation, columbia university "this not a day of triumph; it is a day of dedication. here muster, not the forces of party, but the forces of humanity. men's hearts wait upon us; men's lives hang in the balance; men's hopes call upon us to say what we will do. who shall live up to the great trust? who dares fail to try? i summon all honest men, all patriotic, all forward-looking men to my side. god helping me, i will not fail them, if they will but counsel and sustain me!" --thus spoke the president of the united states in his inaugural address. legislation in nation and state, giving expression to the will of the people and often to their aspirations, is supposed, in theory at least, to emanate from the representatives of the people. in european governments there is usually a privileged initiative on the part of the executive branch of the government or the administrative officers who represent the electoral majority, that is, "the government of the day." thus the government bills in the british parliament are the only ones sure of full consideration. in american legislatures a somewhat similar role is played by the president and the governors of the states in their legislative programs as outlined in the messages they send in accordance with constitutional prerogative or command. as party leaders they voice the dominant wishes of the voters and interpret public opinion; as chief executives they exercise great power over the legislatures in compelling compliance with the people's mandates. a comparison and study of the subject-matter of president wilson's inaugural and the inaugurals or messages of thirty-five governors opening legislative sessions since january 1 of this year, shows the great influence of the progressive forces of the nation which were victorious in all parties and in all of the states at the polls in november. a more confident note, new in most cases, is struck in all these pronouncements. it is the social spirit and the social conscience in every community that seeks and demands a new adjustment of law and government to human needs, and for the people, a new freedom. president wilson voices this new feeling best. "nor have we studied and perfected the means by which government may be put at the service of humanity, in safeguarding the health of the nation, the health of its men and its women and its children, as well as their rights in the struggle for existence. this no sentimental duty. the firm basis of government is justice, not pity. these are matters of justice. there can be no equality of opportunity, the first essential of justice in the body politic, if men and women and children be not shielded in their lives, their very vitality, from the consequences of great industrial and social processes which they cannot alter, control, or singly cope with. society must see to it that it does not itself crush or weaken or damage its own constituent parts. the first duty of law is to keep sound the society it serves. sanitary laws, pure food laws, and laws determining conditions of labor which individuals are powerless to determine for themselves are intimate parts of the very business of justice and legal efficiency. "these are some of the things we ought to do, and not leave the others undone, the old-fashioned, never-to-be-neglected, fundamental safeguarding of property and of individual right. this is the high enterprise of the new day; to lift everything that concerns our life as a nation to the light that shines from the hearth-fire of every man's conscience and vision of the right. it is inconceivable that we should do this as partisans; it is inconceivable that we should do it in ignorance of the facts as they are or in blind haste. we shall restore, not destroy. we shall deal with our economic system as it is and as it may be modified, not as it might be if we had a clean sheet of paper to write upon; and step by step we shall make it what it should be, in the spirit of those who question their own wisdom and seek counsel and knowledge, not shallow self-satisfaction or the excitement of excursions whither they cannot tell. justice, and only justice, shall always be our motto. "and yet it will be no cool process of mere science. the nation has been deeply stirred, stirred by a solemn passion, stirred by the knowledge of wrong, of ideals lost, of government too often debauched and made an instrument of evil. the feelings with which we face this new age of right and opportunity sweep across our heartstrings like some air out of god's own presence, where justice and mercy are reconciled and the judge and the brother are one. we know our task to be no mere task of politics, but a task which shall search us through and through, whether we be able to understand our time and the need of our people, whether we be indeed their spokesmen and interpreters, whether we have the pure heart to comprehend and the rectified will to choose our high course of action." governor cox of ohio, speaking for a state that had just made many fundamental changes in its organic law by adopting the recommendations, almost in their entirety, of a constitutional convention, says: "progressive government, so called, which means in its correct understanding, constructive work, along the lines pointed out by the lamps of experience and the higher moral vision of advanced civilization, is now on trial in our state. every constitutional facility has been provided for an upward step and ohio, because of the useful part it has played in the affairs of the country, is at this hour in the eye of the nation. "the state has the resources, human and material, to make a thorough test of the principle of an enlarged social justice, through government, and the results of our labors will extend beyond state borders. a thorough appreciation, therefore, of the stupendous responsibility before you, and full recognition of the probable insidious resistance to be encountered, will add immeasurably to your equipment to meet the emergency. if i sense with any degree of accuracy the state of public mind, i am correct in the belief that a vast preponderance of the people of all classes have faith both in the wisdom and the certain results of a constructive progressive program of government. let us in full understanding of the consequences of our acts maintain this measure of public confidence and encourage the faith of those who are honestly skeptical because of the apprehension generated in their minds by a third class, which may be unconsciously prompted by sordid impulses developed by unbroken preferences of government. "no fair-minded person will dispute the logic nor question the equity of any plan which contemplates legislative action entirely within the limitations of suffrage endorsement. if the legislature, in the passage of a single law, runs counter to public desire or interest, the people through the referendum have the means to undo it. no greater safeguard can be devised by the genius of man, and to question either the moral or practical phase of this arrangement, is to admit unsoundness in the theory of a republic. in other days changes in government such as are made necessary everywhere by our industrial and social conditions, would have been wrought by riot and revolution. now they are accomplished through peaceful evolution. he must be indeed a man of unfortunate temperamental qualities who does not find in this a circumstance that thrills every patriotic fiber in his being." governor sulzer of new york, in similar vein, says, speaking of the proposed amendment to the constitution of the united states, providing for the popular election of senators: "i favor this change in the federal constitution, as i shall every other change that will restore the government to the control of the people. i want the people, in fact as well as in theory, to rule this great republic and the government at all times to be responsive to their just demands." again, in speaking of the value of human life and its conservation, governor sulzer says: "if americans would excel other nations in commerce, in manufacture, in science, in intellectual growth, and in all other humane attainments, we must first possess a people physically and mentally sound. any achievement that is purchased at the continued sacrifice of human life does not advance our material resources, but detracts from the wealth of the state. the leaders of our civilization now realize these fundamental truths, and the statesmen, the scientists, and the humanitarians are endeavoring more and more to protect human life and to secure to each individual not only the right to life, but the right to decent standards of living. "we have had to change old customs and repeal antiquated laws. we must now convince employers that any industry that saps the vitality and destroys the initiative of the workers is detrimental to the interests of the state and menaces the general welfare of the government. we must try to work out practical legislation that will apply our social ideals and our views of industrial progress to secure for our men, women and children the greatest possible reserve of physical and mental force. "i hold it to be self-evident that no industry has the right to sacrifice human life for its profit, but that just as each industry must reckon in its cost of production the material waste, so it should also count as a part of the cost of production the human waste which it employs.... no business has an inalienable right to child labor. no industry has a right to rob the state of that which constitutes its greatest wealth. no commerce that depends on child labor for its success has a right to exist. let us do what we can to protect the children of the state and preserve their fundamental rights.... human life is infinitely more valuable than the profit of material things. the state for its own preservation has the right to demand the use of safer and more hygienic methods, even if at greater cost of production to the employer. occupational diseases should be studied, and the results of careful investigation embodied in laws to safeguard the health and lives of the workers." governor craig of north carolina, another democrat, but from the more conservative southland, strikes the same note, when he says: "we have not realized the moral benefits that should have resulted from modern progress. avarice has been stimulated; hope and opportunity have been denied; antagonism and resentment have been generated. all classes have suffered. we realize the conditions; the injustice has been uncovered. it cannot stand in the clear, calm and resolute gaze of the american people. they are determined that our law shall be based upon a higher conception of social obligation and that our civilization shall mean a higher social life. they have put their hands to the plow and will not look back." let me quote from one more democratic governor, this time a voice from the far west. governor hunt of arizona says: "recent political events of national magnitude and world-wide importance clearly prove the people's awakening to their necessities, their duties and responsibilities. the overwhelming triumph of militant progressive democracy and the simultaneous springing into prominent existence of another great party founded upon and professing the championship of those cardinal principles of popular government which have long been synonymous with progressive democracy, discloses a miraculous growth of progressive conviction, a well-nigh unanimous determination on the part of the people to assume full control of the government which, while over them, is rightfully of and for them, marks a leading epoch in the history of the world's advancement." the national progressive party could scarcely have hoped to accomplish more than to bring such sentiments and these high aims to the fore, in the officially announced purposes of their late antagonists who were the victors in the recent elections. when we remember, however, the initiative and responsibility in legislation which the chief executive in nation and state has come to have in our system, the fact that the above quoted passages are typical of all the governors' messages is doubly significant. it warrants us in believing that the hour has struck when the things for which the social workers of the country have striven will become vital in the organization of american society. more detailed examination of the recommendations of the governors shows some interesting tendencies. if the advice of the governors is followed some system of workmen's compensation will supplement or supersede our antiquated and unsocial system of employers' liability. this is the subject upon which public opinion seems to have most definitely crystallized. no less than twenty-one governors make definite favorable recommendations, and in three cases (arizona, california and oregon) a state system of insurance is advocated. if all of these states were added to those that already have passed adequate compensation laws, the system of workmen's compensation would be extended practically over all of the industrial area of the united states. this result seems inevitable, although the work may not be completed in this legislative year. next to workmen's compensation in point of popularity seems to be the necessity for a public utilities law, or a public service commission, or the extension of the powers of state supervisory authorities over public service corporations. this is a subject of positive recommendation on the part of fourteen governors. in an equal number of states the pending amendment to the united states constitution providing for the popular or direct election of senators receives a favorable recommendation, while in the other states the governors transmit the amendment without comment for appropriate action by the legislature. the kentucky blue sky law, or some similar provision for state supervision of investment proposals and securities offered for public subscription, is the subject of comment and positive recommendation in eleven states. in an equal number of commonwealths important recommendations are made with respect to increasing the powers of their labor departments, including factory inspection and other provisions for the enforcement of the labor laws. several governors express a desire for a much more serious recognition of the state's duties in its relations to labor, especially that of women and children. in some instances--notably ohio, where an industrial commission is proposed, wisconsin, whose industrial commission, already the model for several other states, is to have increased powers, and new york, for which an industrial commission is also proposed--such recommendations are far-reaching and would mean a practical reorganization of this department of state activity. the governor of rhode island recommends the adoption of a fifty-four hour law to harmonize with recent legislation in new york and massachusetts. in north carolina a stronger child labor law is urged, and in wyoming the prohibition of the employment of boys under sixteen in mines. this would bring wyoming up to the standard already adopted in the leading mining states. popular government still has need of better agencies for expression, and numerous reforms in the organization of state governments are proposed. restlessness under antiquated constitutional limitations is manifest everywhere. president wilson in his last message as governor of new jersey, voiced this feeling in strong language. he said: "i urge upon you very earnestly indeed the need and demand for a constitutional convention. the powers of corrupt control have a numerous and abiding advantage under our constitutional arrangements as they stand. we shall not be free from them until we get a different system of representation and a different system of official responsibility. i hope that this question will be taken up by the legislature at once and a constitutional convention arranged for without delay, in which the new forces of our day may speak and may have a chance to establish their ascendancy over the rule of machines and bosses." similarly a constitutional convention is urged or numerous constitutional amendments are proposed in six other states. the short ballot is advocated in six; the initiative, referendum and recall as a means of extending the control of the people over their legislation is recommended in nine states, in most of which a constitutional amendment would be necessary; and the adoption of rules to carry out a constitutional amendment already passed is recommended in idaho. a larger measure of home rule for cities is urged by the governors of six states (new york, new jersey, pennsylvania, ohio, michigan and missouri). the united states constitutional amendment providing for the income tax is urged for favorable adoption in three states. an amendment to the state constitution providing for woman suffrage is favorably recommended in five states (new york, pennsylvania, montana, nevada and iowa), and the immediate extension of suffrage to women in municipal affairs by the governor of connecticut. direct primaries are still an issue in two states (new york and tennessee). the need for stronger corrupt practices acts is presented in three states. three governors also declare for a direct presidential preference primary (iowa, minnesota and wyoming), while ballot reform is advocated in three states (maine, michigan and wyoming). better legislative methods and the establishment of a legislative reference, research and drafting bureau are proposed in four states (arizona, minnesota, ohio and oklahoma). the governor of arizona asks for an anti-lobbying statute. the fiscal policy of the state is a matter of some comment in practically every message, and in five states measures for taxation reform are proposed. in five states, including one of the previous group, the governors recommend an increase of inheritance taxes or the establishment of an inheritance tax where it does not already exist. constructive and far-reaching measures are suggested pertaining to public health. a decided awakening is noticeable in this field. eight governors recommend more or less definite reorganization of the public health service and an extension of the powers of the public health authorities, state and local. in one additional state (new york) the governor has appointed an important commission. the results of its labors will probably be enacted into law at this session of the legislature. pure food legislation and better protection of weights and measures receive attention in two states each, as does the greater restriction of the liquor traffic in two states. special provision for the care of tuberculous persons is mentioned in five states. another important and popular subject of recommendation, in which the results of the last annual conference of governors are noticeable, concerns the better care of prisoners--their employment in outdoor work and opportunities for earning wages, part of which shall go to reimburse the state for the cost of their maintenance and part to the support of their dependent families. these matters are subjects of favorable recommendation in nine states. the general reform of the criminal law, especially the shortening of legal processes and the restriction of the right to appeal, is urged in four states, including iowa, in which the governor recommends the abolition of grand juries. a direct tax in support of higher education is urged in three states, and provision for the wider use of school buildings as social centers in the same number. even more significant, the governors of two states (north carolina and tennessee) urge state-wide compulsory education. in four commonwealths co-operation with other states is proposed in accordance with the recent recommendation of president taft addressed to the governors of several states. this urged an extension of rural credits and the provision of some plan similar to the land banks in foreign countries, to help the farmer get the necessary capital for a better system of agriculture. minimum wage laws are proposed in five states. in two of these and one additional state public aid to dependent widows and mothers with children is recommended. curiously enough, the reform of marriage laws and of those providing a remedy for desertion and non-support, a subject reported upon by the uniform law commissioners, does not figure so largely in the governors' recommendations as would be supposed. the uniform law commissioners have proposed an excellent and very carefully worked out statute for uniform marriage and marriage license laws. this receives only partial endorsement at the hands of three governors, while stricter desertion and non-support laws also have the endorsement of three governors. guarantee of bank deposits is proposed in three states and three of the western states (arizona, missouri and tennessee) have recommendations for an extension of state authority, or the establishment of a state department, to induce immigrants to settle within their borders. a better regulation of prize-fighting is being agitated in nevada. its prohibition, along with that of gambling, is strongly urged by the governors of new mexico and oklahoma. the governor of arizona asks for a statute prohibiting the carrying of concealed weapons, while the governor of south carolina asks the legislature to repeal the present statute on this subject in that state. non-partisan election of judges is recommended in idaho and pennsylvania, and the kansas legislature is asked to petition for an amendment to the constitution of the united states to provide for the election of federal judges. better care of juvenile delinquents, state-wide supervision of moving picture shows, stricter regulation of loan sharks, better inspection of mines, and compulsory arbitration of labor disputes are each recommended in at least one state. thirty-nine legislatures have already met this year, and some of them have completed their legislative sessions. two more will convene within the next three months, making forty-one in all which will play a part this year in the formulation of the statute law of the country. our statute law is already increasing in volume at a rate that has caused some alarm. it is sorely in need of revision in many important particulars. statesmen and reformers alike desire earnestly that it be undertaken with greater care and more painstaking labor in order that our state laws may give better expression to the present standards of conduct and to the needs of our own times. the sand bed charles w. jerome i have a sand bed, and i play there in the sand for half the day. and mother comes, and sits by me; and little sister likes to see the many things i make of sand. but she's too young to understand about the houses and the hills the mines and stores and flouring mills and then i make believe, and say my sand bed is the sunny bay; these blocks are boats, and far away they sail all night and sail all day, and carry iron. when they return they bring us coal that we may burn. and now my sand bed is a farm. this is the barn. here, safe from harm, my horses and my cows i keep. these sheds are for the wooly sheep. and there you see my piggies's pens. this yard holds in the lively hens. this is the garden, where i hoe my plants; and here the flowers grow. these sticks are pines, so straight, so tall and dark. but these aren't half of all the things i make each pleasant day out in the sand bed where i play. [illustration: monterey, california, in 1842 a view of the town as it was before the "gringo" came. four years later during the mexican war commodore stockton captured monterey and left walter colton, a naval chaplain, in charge as alcalde.] a judge lindsey of the "idle forties" laura b. everett under the colorless title three years in california was published in 1850 the diary of walter colton, elected alcalde of monterey in 1846, who, during his term of office presented what was, for that day, a singular spectacle of tolerance, humanity and purity of administration. he can, indeed, be reasonably compared with judge lindsey in the courage and originality displayed in his dealings with the criminal cases brought before him. colton's work in monterey succeeded a period spent as editor of the philadelphia _north american_, and he established later _the californian_, the first newspaper published in california. the office of the alcalde combined administrative and judicial functions and, not seldom, even legislative ones. colton was oppressed by his power and its responsibility. "such absolute disposal of questions affecting property and personal liberty," he observes, "never ought to be confided to one man. there is not a judge on any bench in england or the united states whose power is so absolute as that of the alcalde of monterey." but he brought to his work in all its details an unflagging zeal and constant personal attention which made his administration unique in the history of the time. in minor matters, where, as he says, "the alcalde is himself the law," colton devised methods of appealing to the better instincts of the wrongdoer. "there is a string in every man's breast," he writes, "which, if you can rightly touch, will 'discourse music.'" colton, we see from his diary, put a sensitive finger on this string in many a heart. his ideas of punishment belong to the present. "it is difficult," he says, "to discriminate between offences which flow from moral hardihood and those which result in a measure from untoward circumstances. there is a wide difference between the two; and an alcalde under the mexican law has a large scope in which to exercise his sense of moral justice. better to err a furlong with mercy than a fathom with cruelty. unmerited punishment never yet reformed its subject; to suppose it is a libel on the human soul." the following extracts from his account of cases brought before him are representative: "a lad of fourteen years was brought before me today charged with stealing a horse. the evidence of the larceny was conclusive, but what punishment to inflict was the question. we have no house of correction, and to sentence him to the ball and chain on the public works, among hardened culprits, was to cut off all hope of amendment and inflict an indelible stigma on the youth; so i sent for the father, who had no good reputation himself, and placing a riata in his hand, directed him to inflict twenty-four lashes on his thieving boy. he proceeded as far as twelve, when i stopped him; they were enough. they seemed inflicted by one attempting to atone in this form for his own transgressions. 'inflict the rest, soto, on your own evil example; if you had been upright yourself, you might expect truth and honesty in your boy. you are more responsible than this lad for his crime; you can never chastise him into the right path, and continue yourself to travel in the wrong.'" "today i remitted the sentence of my prison cook. he is a mulatto, a native of san domingo; had drifted into california, was attached in a subordinate capacity to colonel fremont's battalion; and while the troops were quartered in town had robbed the drawer of a liquor shop of two hundred dollars. for this offence i had sentenced him to two years on the public works. discovering early some reliable traits about the fellow, ... i soon made him cook to the rest of the prisoners, and allowed him the privilege of the town, so far as his duties in that capacity were required.... i have trusted him with money to purchase provisions, and he has faithfully accounted for every shilling. he has always been kind and attentive to the sick. for these faithful services i have remitted the remainder of his sentence, which would have confined him nine months longer, and have put him on a pay of thirty dollars per month as cook." the alcalde settled family difficulties of all varieties, from the case of the grown son who struck his mother to that of the man who wanted a divorce because of suspicions he entertained of his wife's conduct during his absence in mexico. the judge questioned the plaintiff severely as to his own behavior during the stay in mexico, and convinced him that the wife, though indiscreet, was too good for him. [illustration: from "_sea and shore_" walter colton alcalde of monterey in 1846. the position combined administrative, judicial and even legislative duties.] after nearly six months as alcalde, colton writes: "of the women i have had to deal with here the washerwomen are the most unmanageable. two of them entered my office today as full of fight as the feline antagonists of kilkenny. it seems they had been washing in one of the pools created by the recent showers, when one had taken that part of the margin previously occupied by the other. war offensive and defensive immediately commenced. one drew a knife which had a blade two mortal inches in length, and the other a sharp ivory bodkin. but what their weapons wanted in terror, their ungentle anger supplied. "at last one cried out: 'the alcalde'; the other echoed it, and both rushed to the office to have their difficulties settled. their stories ran together like two conflicting rivulets forced into the same channel. when the tumult and bubble had a little subsided, i began cautiously to angle for the truth--a difficult trout to catch in such waters. but one darter after another was captured, till i had enough to form some opinion of those that had escaped. these we discussed till bitter feeling, like biting hunger, became appeased. both went away declaring either margin of the pool good enough, and each urging on the other the first choice." one deficiency which colton had to supply was the absence of a penitentiary system. to quote: "there are no workhouses here, no buildings adapted to the purpose, no tools and no trades. the custom has been to fine spaniards and whip indians. the discrimination is unjust, and the punishment ill-suited to the ends proposed. i have substituted labor, and now have eight indians, three californians, and one englishman at work making adobes [sun-dried bricks]. they have all been sentenced for stealing horses or bullocks. i have given them their task; each is to make fifty adobes a day, and for all over this they are paid. they make seventy-five, and for the additional twenty-five each one gets as many cents. this is paid to them every saturday night, and they are allowed to get with it anything but rum. they are comfortably lodged and fed by the government. i have appointed one of their number captain. they work in the field; require no other guard; not one of them has attempted to run away." later, colton had to deal with runaways; two mexicans each telling him that the devil incited their flight, while one fellow who stayed behind in a jail delivery explained that he would not be seen running from tophet in such company. of a convict who escaped and was brought back colton says: "if he will only stop stealing he may run to earth's utmost verge. he is rather a hardened character, but if he has a good vein in him i will try to find it. i always like to see a fellow get out of trouble, and sometimes i half forget his crimes in his misfortunes. this is not right, perhaps, in one situated as i am; but i cannot help it." [illustration: the first paper published in california it measured only about 8x12 inches. the paper was established by walter colton who had had journalistic experience as editor of the philadelphia _north american_. this issue was published scarcely a month after the american occupation.] colton decided that a new school house was necessary--"to be sixty feet by thirty, two stories, with a handsome portico. the labor of the convicts, the taxes on rum, and the banks of the gamblers must put it up," he writes. "some think my project impracticable; we shall see,"--and he gives the following account of how some gamblers were made to contribute to this enterprise: "a nest of gamblers arrived in town yesterday, and last evening, opened a monte at the hotel." after stationing a file of soldiers at the outer doors, colton entered to find no one, "save one sonoranian, composedly smoking his cigarito. i desired the honor of an introduction to his companions. at this moment a feigned snore broke on my ear from a bed in the corner of the apartment." "'ha! dutre, is that you? come, tumble up, and aid me in stirring out the rest.' he pointed under the bed, where i discovered a multitude of feet and legs radiating as from a common center." "'hallo there, friends--turn out.'... their plight and discovery threw them into a laugh at each other." he and his secretary found others "in every imaginable position--some in the beds, some under them, several in the closets, two in a hogshead, and one up a chimney. mr. r---from missouri--known here as the 'prairie-wolf'--i found between two bed-ticks, half smothered with the feathers. he was the ringleader, and raises a monte table wherever he goes, as regularly as a whale comes to the surface to blow. all shouted as he tumbled out from his ticks. among the rest i found the alcalde of san francisco, a gentleman of education and refinement, who never plays himself, but who, on this occasion, had come to witness the excitement. i gathered them all, some fifty in number, into the large saloon, and told them the only speech i had to make was in the shape of a fine of twenty dollars each. the more astute began to demur on the plea of not guilty, as no cards and no money had been discovered, and as for beds, a man had as good a right to sleep under one as in it. i told them that was a matter of taste, misfortune often made strange bedfellows, and the only way to get out of the scrape was to pay up. dr. w---was the first to plank down. "'come, my good fellows,' said the doctor, 'pay up, and no grumbling: this money goes to build a school house, where i hope our children will be taught better principles than they gather from the examples of their fathers.'" of how the labor of the prisoners united with the money of gamblers to build the needed school, he writes: "one of the prisoners, an englishman, ventured a criticism of the stonework of another prisoner, which revealed the fact of his being a stonecutter himself. i immediately set him at work at his old trade. but he feigned utter ignorance of it, and spoiled several blocks in making his feint good. i then ordered him into a deep well where the water had given out, to drill and blast rocks.... finding that the well was to be sunk some twenty feet deeper, ... he requested that he might be permitted to try his chisel again. permission was given, and he is now shaping stones fit to be laid in the walls of a cathedral. he was taken up for disorderly conduct, and he is now at work on a school house, where the principles of good order are the first things to be taught." colton gives an instance of trust justified on an occasion when, pressed for funds, he created a "trusty." "the most faithful and reliable guard that i have ever had over the prisoners is himself a prisoner. he had been a lieutenant in the mexican army, and was sentenced, for a flagrant breach of the peace, to the public works for one year. i determined to make an experiment with this lieutenant; had him brought before me; ordered the ball and chain to be taken from his leg, and placed a double-barrelled gun, loaded and primed, in his hands. "'take that musket and proceed with the prisoners to the stone quarry; return them to their cells before sunset, and report to me.' "'your order, seã±or alcalde, shall be faithfully obeyed.' "a constable reconnoitered and found all well. at sunset the lieutenant entered the office, and reported the prisoners in their cells, and all safe. "'very well, josã©, now make yourself safe, and that will do.' he accordingly returned to his prison, and from that day to this has been my most faithful and reliable guard." "if there is anything on earth besides religion for which i would die," colton declares, "it is the right of trial by jury." and he impanelled the first jury ever summoned in california. one-third were mexicans, one-third californians, and the other third americans. the plaintiff spoke in english, the defendant in french, the jury, save the americans, spanish--"and the witnesses all the languages known to california." "the inhabitants said it was what they liked--that there could be no bribery in it--that the opinion of twelve honest men should set the case forever at rest. and so it did, though neither party completely triumphed." he gives the credit for the satisfactory termination of this polyglot case to "the tact of mr. hartnell, the interpreter, and the absence of young lawyers." when colton hall, the first state capitol and the pride to this hour of old monterey, was completed, colton writes: "the town hall on which i have been at work for more than a year is at last finished. it is built of a white stone"--now a beautiful deep cream--"quarried from a neighboring hill, and easily shaped. the lower apartments are for schools, the hall over them--seventy feet by thirty--is for public assemblies. it is not an edifice that would attract any attention among public buildings in the united states; but in california it is without a rival. it has been erected out of the slender proceeds of town lots, the labor of convicts, taxes on liquor shops, and fines on gamblers. the scheme was regarded with incredulity by many; but the building is finished, and the citizens have assembled in it and christened it with my name, which will go down to posterity with the odor of gamblers, convicts and tipplers. i leave it as an humble evidence of what may be accomplished by rigidly adhering to one purpose, and shrinking from no personal efforts necessary to its achievements. a prison has also been built, and mainly through the labor of convicts. many a joke the rogues have cracked while constructing their own cage; but have worked so diligently i shall feel constrained to pardon out the less incorrigible." [illustration: colton hall the capitol of california in 1849.] [illustration: the river road, keene valley, new york] neighborliness and a country community sarah lowrie with the growth of large cities in our country and the desertion of the farms for the town, there has been a less observable but quite as remarkable desertion of the city in favor of the country. one would suppose that these two migrations would so balance each other that neither the town nor the country would suffer by the exchange of citizens. it would be reasonable to hope that going to the country would bring just the right impetus needed by the stay-at-homes of each community to brace them into new life. but the thing has not worked out that way. however much the shops and offices of the cities may have benefited by the advent of the farmers' sons and daughters, and however much the real estate agents and provision merchants of the country may have benefited by the advent of the well-to-do towns-folk, the morale of the country town, the ideals of the country people and the amalgamation of the native men with their new neighbors into a better citizenship have not prospered. nor have the city institutions been able to replace the men of affairs who, having ceased to use the city except as a means for carrying on their business, have transferred their family and their leisure interests into the country. the city churches, the city philanthropies, and the civic improvement organizations all tell the same tale: the rich men, the special executive men, the professional men, once their actual business engagements are over, turn their backs on the city with a sigh of relief and depart country-wards for rest and enjoyment for the night, for the week-end, and for the summer vacation. the city loses them, and they gain the country. but it must not be supposed that the country in any vital sense gains them. a man who has professedly moved from the town to the country for rest and pleasure, and who observably needs both, feels as free as a debutante to enjoy what is set before him in the way of diversion, with no moral obligation toward his neighbors but that of paying with a wry grin the outrageous prices levied upon all outsiders by the genial natives. without quite meaning to, without indeed quite realizing it, the richer men and women of this country, especially in our eastern states, have so shifted the obligation of neighborliness that they have the air of being transients everywhere and neighbors nowhere. even their country places are not theirs year in and year out for as long as a single generation. we americans like to change our minds and there is no telling what kind of scenery or what style of architecture we may fancy next. one hears a great deal about the unfaithfulness of the irish cook who may "up and leave" any day that she hears of a chance of "bettering herself" elsewhere; but the mistress's unrest is nothing to the plight of the farmer when one considers the lottery of the city folks. the gamble of his crops and the weather is nothing to this other gamble. for the farmer knows that no power under heaven can keep the city man satisfied with his site, his house with five bathrooms, his fancy chicken run, and his concrete garage if the whim should take his wife that the environment was no longer a suitable one for the children. there is no romance, therefore, to the farmer about either his potato crop or his city neighbor. he knows it is not philanthropy that led the city man to buy five acres of poor farm land at the highest notch price, and that no desire for his company has urged the new comer to plant his house on the other side of the back pasture. being a sensible farmer he makes what profit he can out of his potatoes and his city neighbor before either crop has time to depreciate in value. [illustration: quarters of visiting nurse] "what are you city people for, but to be skinned?" was the frank remark of one of my nearest country neighbors one day, apropos of an outrageous bit of sharp dealing on his part as property appraiser for that district. it was not a flattering summing up of a relationship, nor did its grim humor hide any more indulgent version of our economic value as neighbors. in fact we were not, nor ever had been accepted by him and his kind as neighbors. we were a crop. a crop more lucrative than his potatoes, but from our arbitrary and unexpected demands, and the shortness of our seasons, and the variation of our types a much more "pernickery" crop to deal with. perhaps i should have been flattered by his frankness, but i was not! for the moment indeed, i even resolved to deal no more with him or his, but on second thought i concluded that, although he would be the loser of some $200, i would be out a wash-woman, a chore boy, many dozens of fresh eggs, many quarts of milk, a care-taker for the house during the winter, and an immunity from his cows in my garden in the summer. in fact, i stood to lose double as much as he, if peace of mind and leisure to enjoy my home could be computed in hard cash. i concluded therefore that it would not pay to get mad. but the remark rankled and in the end set this and that motive to work in my mind until my brain and heart became fallow ground for the cultivation of another sort of relationship than that of city folk and native, buyer and seller, employer and employed, or even giver and receiver. in the end we learned to be neighbors--he and i--not because his ground adjoined mine, but because we both began to feel a common civic interest in the same village and in the same country side, and because in a very particular and picturesque sense we both shared in an enterprise from which we both derived comfort and pleasure. the change in me was greater than the change in him for he had always been interested in the village life apart from his property, and apart from his comfort, and during all the year. the bond that brought us together was not the church, nor the library, nor the base-ball field--all donations in times past of the summer people to the natives, but it was the neighborhood house, a donation from the country people and the summer people alike, not to any particular class but to all the dwellers in that mountain valley. of course, i realize that the particular neighborhood house, which fits so well the need of our valley, might not do for just any valley. for instance, our valley in the adirondacks has a scattered population of nearly a thousand people with two villages about five miles apart, and several little settlements here and there among the hills. in the larger village there are perhaps one hundred children in the school. the nearest hospital lies twenty-four miles across a mountain road, and several hours by boat across lake champlain at burlington, vt. an infirmary that could be used by the natives for long illnesses, and by the city cottagers for emergency operations was vitally needed; so our neighborhood house has a sunny airy infirmary and a perfectly equipped little operating room. our village and the country people and the lumber camps back in the mountains can only depend on the services of two physicians, one of them an old and feeble man. to supplement their visits and for emergency calls for the summer visitors a district nurse was needed, so a bed-room, bath-room, and pleasant sitting-room for such a nurse were planned in the neighborhood house to connect with the infirmary. to supplement the somewhat limited primary grades in the village schools and to provide occupation for restless little city children, a summer kindergarten had been established and proved most successful, so on the lower floor of the neighborhood house a large, many-windowed room was set apart to be used, not only for this purpose, but for adult classes in domestic science, sewing, embroidery and dancing. there was no proper room in the village for fairs, church suppers, glee clubs, rehearsals, informal village meetings, etc. there was added, therefore, to this large room a kitchen to be used in connection with it for such entertainments and for cooking classes. there had been a successful men's club in the village for years, but the women and girls had no common meeting place and indeed no real center of interest outside their homes. a woman's club room therefore was made an important part of our neighborhood house. it has an open fireplace, a store closet and cupboards, a writing table, tea and game tables, comfortable chairs, and a pretty color scheme, with prints and water colors on the wall, oriental rugs on the hardwood floors, pleasant chintzes, books, and flower bowls. [illustration: corner of women's club] though the village women had been long accustomed to make extra pin-money by selling eggs, maple sugar, balsam pillows, bread and cake, and rag-carpet rugs, there has been no store where these things could be ordered. we set apart one room in our neighborhood house, therefore, for a village exchange, which was open for three months in the summer. during the winter months this pleasant little room was used by the boys for a game room. there was no hotel or even boarding house in the village for transient guests, which remained open throughout the winter; so two guest rooms were set aside in our neighborhood house to be used by the strangers, lecturers, clergymen, visiting surgeons, and city visitors who might pass that way during the late autumn and the winter months. neither the village people nor the summer cottagers were well supplied with sick room appliances, and among the poorer citizens of the valley there was even a lack of necessary articles for confinement cases, while crutches, invalid chairs, and wheel chairs were difficult to procure in an emergency by rich and poor alike. so an emergency closet, stocked with such things was set aside for general use in the neighborhood house. the rooms in the rest of the house were the house dining-room and kitchen, the pantry, cool room, linen and store closet, the stewardess's bed-room, and an up-stairs sleeping porch for the infirmary, and a splendid attic. outside the house were the wood shed, earth closet, tool shed and ice house, an ample vegetable and fruit garden, a lawn space for croquet and tether ball, a small flower and shrub garden, and wide verandas. the house was originally a boarding house, and the only additions which had to be made to the original structure were the cellar, summer kitchen and the sleeping porch. the total cost of these additions and of the equipment and alterations including all gifts came to about $3,000. the original purchase price of the property was $2500. the cost of maintaining the house including the salary of the visiting nurse, the wages of the stewardess, and all household expenses, as well as the expenses of the summer school, extra service, etc., amount to about $2,500 yearly. the income derived from patients in the infirmary, transients boarding in the house, and out-patients' fees, exchange dues, etc., amount to about $700 a year. i suppose in different localities expenses of such an enterprise as the neighborhood house would be dealt with in a variety of ways. in our valley a number of men and women bought the property and made the fundamental improvements. an association was then formed comprising as many of the citizens of the valley as cared to join. the annual dues for each associate member were fixed at one dollar. to this association the owners of the property leased the house and grounds for a period of several years. the duties of the association were to pay the taxes and maintain the property in good condition, and their privileges were to use the property for the benefit of the members of the association and, as they saw fit, for the general good of the community. there were three kinds of memberships in the association: active members $ 1 contributing members 10 sustaining members 50 through this means the annual income of the neighborhood house association amounts to about $1,800, irrespective of the income derived from the fees, etc., mentioned above. without any great strain on any one's purse, therefore, the house has been maintained by the association without a deficit. [illustration: a homelike corner] [illustration: looking into the school room] towards the equipment of the house gifts were received to the amount of $2,635.82. but besides these gifts of money, the village people themselves donated both labor and building materials and furniture and rugs. the summer kitchen, so far as labor was concerned, was the gift of the village carpenters. the infirmary was furnished principally by the women and the girls of the village who raised the money among themselves. the farmers of the neighborhood donated wood, potatoes, apples, etc., to the store closet. one man donated his weekly sunday paper, another the vines for the porches. one new york physician, whose child had profited by the care of the visiting nurse, gave the sleeping porch, three or four of the other physicians who had summer cottages gave the surgical instruments for the operating room, the children of the village brought plants for the garden, one old lady knitted washcloths for the bath-room, the village house painter helped hang all the pictures and the bracket-lamps, and the village artist helped raise the money for the emergency closet by painting the scenery for the benefit play. there was really a chance for every one to give to that house, and with but few exceptions, every one did give, not only willingly and generously, but eagerly and joyfully. and because each in his or her way had had a share in making that house a neighborhood house, the valley people, natives and cottagers alike, promptly and without any self-consciousness turned heartily in and used the house. it had never occurred to most of us that the village had needed such a house, indeed the woman whose beautiful thought it was, had died a year before the neighborhood house association was so much as spoken of; but once it stood there, warm and glowing with its happy life that winter night of its opening, there was no question as to its usefulness all day long, summer and winter, in most of our minds. during the past year the visiting nurse has been occupied in and out of the house over 2,600 hours and has treated fifty-four cases; the infirmary has had seven patients with 160 hospital days; from the emergency cupboard 300 loans have been made. the women's club has eighty-two members and has met weekly for lectures and socials. the girls' club with twenty-seven members has met once and sometimes twice weekly. the glee club has held many rehearsals and gave a concert in may. the sales from the exchange, open only in the summer, in two years have amounted to about $900.00. the village improvement committee has held two farmers' institutes, has made progress in securing good side walks, has planned for improved roads and tree planting, and has arranged for a prize essay and oratorical contest by pupils of the public school. during the past year there were about 5400 visits to the house; the largest number of visits in one month was 1064 in december. the question may well be asked, however: who guides these clubs and classes, who arranges for these parties, who welcomes these guests, who sees to it that the house is clean and orderly, that the meals are properly served, that the patients are well looked after, that the stewardess is up to her work? who is the hostess, and who, at the close of the house's festivities, speeds the parting guest? it would have to be a woman of tact and gentle blood, for the village people would not brook so much power lodged in any one who was less or even quite one of themselves. it would have to be a person who lived in the valley both winter and summer and who thus understood the conditions of both the summer and winter life. it would also require one who understood the care of an infirmary, as well as the care of the house, who could devise sick room diet, as well as substantial meals for transient guests. fortunately for our neighborhood house we found such a woman in our visiting nurse and after some experimenting on other lines, she was made the head of the house. she is a social worker when she is not required in the infirmary or for out-patients, and when these last demand all or more than all of one nurse's time, an emergency nurse is procured who works under the head of the house. the fact that this head is a nurse has made our social worker the confidant of many families to which another outsider would find but a coolly polite welcome. the fact that she is a social worker makes her interest in her cases widen to their families and remain after her professional duties are no longer needed. being the head of the house, she can dictate as to the time of meals and the activities of the house for the good of the infirmary patients, yet being the social worker, the interest of the clubs and classes in the house are not needlessly sacrificed to the whims of her patients. her training as a nurse and her experience has made her more executive than the ordinary young social worker, but her authority as head of a house of so many interests and as executive for so active and powerful an association, gives her prestige, and with that prestige a power for self-development which utilizes the best qualities she possesses. moreover, in a country district such as our valley, where sickness is the exception, a nurse who was confined to her profession would have much idle time on her hands, and a social worker who was solely a social worker might be discouraged as to the slowness of the growth of her ideals in the minds of those about her. for where people live twenty-five miles from the railroad, tomorrow is always as good as today for beginning a new work. the women are, to say the least, conservative, and the girls are shy about showing enthusiasm for a new idea. the audiences for lectures arrive with sublime dilatoriness, and the boys stay outside until they are quite sure that what is going on inside is a roaring success. of course, the head of the house has a comprehending executive committee behind her. of course, too, each department of the neighborhood house, infirmary, summer school, exchange, clubs, etc., has its own committee and chairman. her responsibilities, also, are only those of a trusted agent and all her reports are filed for the benefit of the association, so that while each department depends practically upon her, she in her turn depends upon each committee and upon the executive committee and above all upon the able president of that committee for her inspiration and encouragement in carrying out her share of the usefulness of the house. all these good things did not come the first night the house was open. they are fruits of a happy growth. there have been many minor difficulties and prejudices and some evils to overcome. the prejudices died easiest, one of them, the fear that neighborhood house provided for needs that did not exist, went most quickly of all. last summer when an army officer from west point lay convalescing in one room, sharing his nurse with a little blind pauper baby, there was no doubt as to the need of an infirmary for rich and poor. when the exchange, which sold impartially the rag rug made by a guide's wife, the oil painting of an artist, and the home-made candy of a school child, and turned in $500 profits to its members, there was no doubt as to the democratic practicability of the exchange. when the women came from the adirondack club, and from the summer cottages to debate with the women of the village on domestic science, there was no question as to the success of the woman's club. and when the women of the church sewing society came to count their gains from the country supper, and the village glee club met to rehearse for its great concert, and the boys invited the girls to their birthday suppers and the girls invited the boys to their dancing classes, and the young married people of the village invited last year's debutantes of far away cities to teach them new figures and steps, and the clergymen who supplied the village church and the lecturers sent by the government to answer the farmers' questions about agriculture, all shared the hospitality of the house, there remained no doubt in any one's mind as to its great usefulness to the entire community. as to whether it has made neighbors of us all in the spiritual sense--as loving one another as we love ourselves--that has not become noticeable to a degree which has affected the price of eggs! and yet i noticed with a pleasant thrill at my heart last summer that when a woman, quite two miles away from my cottage, came down from her porch with a loaf of bread which she insisted upon my taking as a gift from her baking because she knew the bakery was shut and that i was in a sudden stress, she called me: "neighbor!" "for goodness' sake!" said she. "don't you dare to pay me. you'd do the same for me, i just guess! aren't we neighbors?" yes, surely we are neighbors--we city folk and country folk! but it took the neighborhood house to teach us as a community the beginnings of the art of neighborliness. [illustration: the neighborhood house in winter] a new minister to minds diseased michael m. davis, jr. director boston dispensary and mabel r. wilson social worker, mental clinic, boston dispensary early last june mrs. r., a rosy-cheeked, attractive irish-american woman of thirty years, came to the mental clinic of the boston dispensary in a depressed and emotional condition. she was obsessed by the idea that every one in the world had syphilis, and that she in particular was a menace to her husband and their three young children. so firm was this conviction that she had seriously contemplated suicide. four years previously mrs. r. had shown distinct manifestations of syphilis, and had received medical treatment. the infection the physicians believed was accidental, and the husband and children had proved, upon examination, to be free from any symptoms. for over a year in mrs. r.'s case wassermann tests had indicated that the disease had been cured; but the doctor's assurances were of no avail. the blackness of this patient's depression had almost wrecked her home. for months she had not prepared a single meal. the patience of her relatives and friends and of the priest of her church--who considered her what she looked, the picture of health--was entirely exhausted. ordinarily the income of the family was sufficient for self-support. mr. r., a bright, clean-looking young bar-tender, who was well thought of by his employers, earned $18 a week. he had been making a desperate effort to meet the extra expenses due to his wife's illness. the strain was beginning to tell upon him, however, and the health of the children was also falling below normal. the family lived in a five-room tenement in a congested and undesirable neighborhood. mrs. r. for this reason worried constantly about the possible bad influences upon her two elder children, who were just beginning to go to school. thus the mental clinic faced an acute situation. if it were not effectively dealt with it would, at worst, terminate in suicide, and, at best, in breaking up a promising family. the facts just recited were, of course, not secured at the physician's first interview with mrs. r., but were in part gained by the social worker in the clinic and at the home. it was apparent that the home situation must be considered as well as the medical problem. there was clearly a joint task for the social worker and the mental specialist. consultation led to the conclusion that the home arrangements would have to be changed until mrs. r. was able to undertake housekeeping again. a long month of explanation and persuasion passed before the family, friends, and priest were converted to a plan which involved the temporary dissolution of the home. consent was finally obtained, and the children were placed by a children's agency. probably most important of all, the earnest co-operation of the patient herself was won. for four months she reported at the clinic two or three times a week. after the many interviews held with her by doctor and social worker, her depression gradually cleared up, and she became ready to take up the battle of life again. as improvement grew more marked, the doctor advised that she should work three hours each day outside her home. three hours' work every day in a good restaurant was secured. the benefit was so marked that after a month the doctor suggested that the working time be doubled. mrs. r. now reports weekly to the clinic, but her depression has disappeared. she is cheerful, interested in life, and is looking forward to the re-establishment of her home this spring. recent conferences on mental hygiene have emphasized the fact that the traditional conception of mental disease, raving insanity, is far behind the times. we recognize today that there are in the community all classes of mental disorders, from the maniac or imbecile to persons who are "just a little queer," or who, like mrs. r., have a definite and curable obsession. the time has also gone by when we associated the treatment of mental disease with the straight-jacket. the hopelessly defective and insane must indeed be segregated in institutions. but it is public economy to diagnose and treat the great mass of incipient and curable cases of mental disorder, since these, if uncared for, mean the wrecking of lives, the breaking up of families, and material loss to the community. the psychopathic clinic, or clinic for mental diseases, is an agency the importance of which is now recognized by all who have given attention to this field. such clinics have usually been conducted in hospitals or institutions which specialized in mental disorders. they have rarely been managed as adjuncts of general hospitals or dispensaries. there is a distinct place for them in this connection, however, for in this way they catch patients who do not know that their troubles are really symptoms of mental disease. mrs. r.'s case illustrates not only the service of such a mental clinic, but also the two chief agents in achieving the service, the physician--specialist in mental diseases--and his aide, the social worker. mrs. r.'s case belongs to one of three classes of mental disease which such a clinic can benefit--the incipient type. the second class comprises cases of mental defect which require diagnosis and institutional care. for example. mrs. b., a middle-aged irish woman, came to the clinic much excited, fancying that people were locking her into her rooms. among other delusions she feared that she might injure her two children. the doctor diagnosed her case as involutional insanity, and thought that immediate arrangements were desirable for her entrance into an insane hospital as a voluntary patient. mrs. b. did not remember her street number, and undoubtedly she would have been a "lost" patient if the social worker had not taken her home. arrangements were made and carried out for a transfer to the insane hospital that same afternoon, and a children's agency agreed to assume supervision of the children during mrs. b.'s absence. the help of a friendly landlady was also enlisted. within three months mrs. b. was discharged from the insane hospital in excellent condition, with the understanding that she should report regularly at the clinic. her improvement continues. she is at present earning good wages as a housekeeper and looks forward in the future to a little store and the re-establishment of a home for her children. another illustration of this type is mr. d., a german forty-eight years old, who has been in the united states twenty years. * * * * * mr. d. became known at the dispensary through his wife, who had been a patient. the man went on periodic "sprees" at this time, apparently because his work as an order clerk had occasioned considerable nervous strain. temporary financial assistance and a new job outside of boston, seemed to put the man on his feet again; and, with a happier home life, his wife's health improved. in a short time, however, distinct symptoms of mental disorder began to manifest themselves. mr. d. talked much to himself, and was haunted by doubt in everything that he did. if he put on his hat he was forced to step in front of the mirror several times to be sure that the hat was really on his head. after completing a piece of work, he returned many times to make sure that it was really done. occasionally he remained at home in bed, because his fellow workmen, noting his peculiar actions, had laughed at him. upon this basis a fear of meeting people grew up, and he shunned every one. once or twice he approached his wife threateningly. the superintendent feared to keep him at the factory any longer, and discharged him. after a careful medical examination, the prognosis for the patient was not very favorable. a possible outcome was an active and incurable form of insanity. it seemed necessary, in order to have a reasonable hope of cure, that a radical change of life be made. therefore, mr. d. was induced to go as a volunteer patient to a hospital for the insane. there he remained six months, during which time, with the assistance of the associated charities, suitable quarters and light work were found for his wife. mr. d. was allowed to visit her weekly, until she became ill with an attack of bright's disease, which, complicated by cardiac symptoms, occasioned her death. this loss retarded mr. d's. recovery; but, at the end of six months the hospital considered him sufficiently improved to be discharged to the dispensary for continued observation. at present, six months after his discharge, the situation is very encouraging. mr. d. is working most satisfactorily as a porter for a large department store. he has secured an excellent room with some old friends, has given up drinking, and, from his twelve dollars a week, is paying back the advances made by the associated charities. his "insanity of doubt" seems to have vanished, and his outlook upon life is once more interested and hopeful. still another case is that of r., a boy of eleven years. he was born in russia, of russian jewish parentage and has been in the united states six years:- r.'s own story of his first visit to the mental clinic, was in a manic condition and talked incoherently. a week before his appearance at the dispensary the child had returned from school in a much disturbed state. since that day he had not been able to sleep, and had manifested great nervous depression with hallucinations and had attempted several times to jump from the window. r.'s own story to the physician was broken and confused. he talked much of having been forced by his teacher to go down on his knees, and insisted that his hair was on fire. he appeared a sensitive and intelligent child. investigation revealed no history of mental disease throughout the families of both father and mother. a home visit by the social worker showed that the family of seven lived in a four room tenement in a congested and noisy jewish section. the father was a tailor with an irregular income. the boy was immediately sent to the psychopathic ward of the boston state hospital, where the diagnosis of acute insanity was confirmed and a week later r. was committed to the danvers state hospital. a co-operative connection was established between the social worker and the hospital physicians at danvers who were in charge of the case. after he had sufficiently recovered, the plan was made that r. was to be placed in the country under the supervision of one of the children's societies for a period of at least six months. dr. mitchell, superintendent of the danvers state hospital, wrote in approval of this arrangement. the plan was carried out with most successful results. at the end of six months he was released from the parole of danvers state hospital and returned to his home to report once a month to the mental clinic at the dispensary. the social work in this case was not confined entirely to arrangements for the boy, but extended to the preparation of the family for his return, which involved moving to a less congested neighborhood in a jewish section of a boston suburb. it was also necessary to arrange for his attendance in an open air class, win his teacher's interest and co-operation, and educate the father to a realization of the need of discipline, the value of regular hours for eating and sleeping, the desirability that the boy should sleep alone, and the danger of exciting recreations. r. has now been at his own home for twelve months. a recent entry on the medical record states: "patient in excellent physical and mental condition." the third class includes patients who have been discharged from insane hospitals as cured, or as so much improved that they should be able to maintain themselves and take part in family life again. this work of after-care is extremely important. many cases of mental disease can be safely discharged from an insane hospital if there is assurance that they will be properly followed up in their homes. such supervision requires the joint efforts of the physician and the social worker. miss c., for instance, a woman of thirty-three years, was sent to the clinic for after-care, by arrangement with the superintendent of the insane hospital to which she had twice been sent for maniac-depressive insanity. her mother had also been a patient for years in the same hospital. during the first weeks of her treatment at the clinic, she was still nervous, complained of gnawing sensations in the back of her head, and dreaded to ride in the street cars. when sitting, she constantly pulled and twitched different parts of her clothing, beat upon the floor with one foot, and kept one hand on her head, using the other one alone. she lived with a married sister who was in comfortable circumstances, and worked for her brother in an unprofitable little plumber's shop, which he apparently kept mainly to afford employment for miss c. and a younger brother. with this history it was plain that careful oversight and regular clinical visits were necessary to prevent future attacks. advice and encouragement were given with the object of stimulating miss c.'s normal interests and of persuading her to return to wholesome companionship. during the summer of 1912 it was decided to remove miss c. entirely from home associations, and a desirable position as housekeeper was secured in the country. there she gained in weight and spirits, and acquired valuable experience. she still comes regularly to the clinic, and the medical and social prognosis seems favorable. the value of organized social service in connection with the clinic for mental diseases has been strikingly shown since its recent establishment at the boston dispensary. in the department for mental diseases in this institution, which is a large and long-established dispensary taking all classes of diseases, a trained social worker was set at work in january, 1912. at the expiration of a year an efficiency test was made, comparing the clinic during 1911, when the medical staff had no social worker to assist them, with 1912, when she was at their service. the following table summarizes this test: increase 1911 1912 per cent new patients 125 213 70 old patients no record 100 - visits by new patients 388 909 134 visits by all patients 516 1568 203 cured or substantially improved 19% 22% 16 cases pending at end of year[8] 2% 22% 1000 transferred to other agencies 16% 49% 206 patients lost 27% 5.6% 90[9] relative efficiency 43% 94% 118 [8] the increase of "cases pending" is due to the organized medical and social follow-up work, whereby the patients are held at the clinic until the physician feels that they may safely be discharged. without this service the cases do not "pend" because they are lost. [9] decrease. the gist of these statistics is that, with the aid of a trained social worker, it is possible to treat certain forms of mental disease effectively in an out-patient clinic. the physician becomes able to keep a grip upon all patients that he wants to hold. there is practically a closed circle, and the results of treatment bear favorable comparison with private work. it is not too much to say that such a clinic, provided with a staff of interested mental specialists and with trained social workers, can perform an important function in treating mental disease and preventing its spread in the community.[10] [10] the preventive work of the clinic takes place in two ways: first, by diagnosing cases of mental defect that ought to have institutional care, and in securing this care for them by placing them or inducing their families to consent to place them in the proper institution; second, by the education of patients and their families in habits of life and principles of mental hygiene which establish a home environment favorable to the preservation of mental health. the social worker at the boston dispensary works actually in the clinic. here she meets each new patient and takes a careful social history, usually before the patient sees the physician. often she is present when the doctor interviews the patient, and always, after this interview, the physician consults with the social worker. then a plan of treatment is made which includes the social as well as the medical factors of the case. in a certain proportion of cases, home visits are not necessary. the efforts of the social worker in the clinic itself are sufficient to secure adequate treatment. thus there appears a very important classification of the kinds of social work required: 1. patients presenting acute family problems of poverty, ignorance, or undesirable home conditions and associations. these patients require home visits and intensive social work. in the mental clinic of the dispensary they constituted 48 per cent of the 141 patients. 2. patients requiring a home visit simply for the purpose of insuring the patient's return to the clinic--that is, cases in which there were no complex home problems but in which it was necessary to go to the home once in order to persuade the patient to come back for treatment. this class at the dispensary constituted 20 per cent. 3. patients to whom it was possible to give effective treatment by clinical interviews only, without home visits. this class constituted 32 per cent. inasmuch as the cost of the service per patient (estimating the time taken by the social worker) is enormously greater in class one than it is in class three, it is highly important to make this classification, and to keep a close watch upon the proportion of the different types, so that the cost of the work as a whole, with reference to its efficiency, can be accurately estimated. an efficiency study from this standpoint during 1912 leads to the conclusion that the average cost per patient (the complete treatment of a case) in class three is sixty cents; in class two, a dollar; in class one, four dollars. the medical service is given gratuitously by the physician. more extended studies in this and in other mental clinics should be made in order to work out the cost figures more accurately. there can be no doubt, however, that even if the cost of medical service were added, it is cheaper to treat mental diseases in the early stages, when patients can retain their places in the community, wholly or partly self-supporting, than to let the disease reach a point where permanent damage is done, and the insane hospital is the only resource. that out-patient clinics should fill an important place in the new nation-wide campaign for mental hygiene, there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who has given attention to the matter. that organized social service is not only a desirable accompaniment of such clinics, but an essential condition of their efficiency, is a demonstrable and measurable fact. civil war in the west virginia coal mines harold e. west [_the survey has not had staff or means to send a special representative to the west virginia coal fields to make an intensive investigation of the conditions in the strike area. that is the sort of social interpretation we shall hope to perform with the growth of the slender resources of the survey associates. we have done the next best thing--viz., turned to the most promising newspaper source._ _it has been current gossip among journalists that the press of west virginia could not be relied upon to tell the truth about the situation in the kanawha valley. of the metropolitan newspapers which up to march had had staff representatives in the field, the accounts of the baltimore sun stood out. they did not mince matters in telling of the brutal murder by the strikers of the mine guard stringer; nor did they hedge in publishing what was done by the cabin creek and paint creek colliery companies. mr. west was the representative the sun had sent into the field, and from him the survey requested an article, only stipulating that it be fair to both sides and tell not only the events of the strike but the conditions back of them._ _"the article may seem unduly to favor the miners," wrote the baltimore sun man in sending it in. "i went to west virginia absolutely unprejudiced, with the idea of telling the truth about the situation. i found conditions i did not believe could exist in america, and i am no novice in the newspaper game, having seen some pretty raw things in my time. i told the truth about them, and am afraid i have gotten myself disliked."_ _the fairness of the article is disputed by neil robinson, secretary of the west virginia mining association. his protest is published in the forepart of the magazine._--ed.] for nearly a year a state of turmoil amounting in practical effects to a civil war has existed in the coal fields of west virginia. the situation centers in the kanawha valley, hardly more than twenty miles from charleston, the capital of the state. the military power of the state has been used with only temporary effect; martial law has been declared and continues in force; the governor of the state has been defied and denounced from the state house steps and within his hearing; men and women have been thrown into prison and are still there for espousing the cause of the miners, and the grim hillsides of the canons in which the mines are situated are dotted with the graves of men who have been arrayed against one another in this conflict between capital and labor. of course, there have been errors and excesses on both sides. the men in the mines are not angels by any means, and neither are the men for whose profit they work. but there has been no profit on either side for the last year and it looks as if there would be none for a long time to come. the men of both sides are pretty good fellows away from the mines and the subject of mining; on the matter of mining, they show the obstinacy of men who look at a proposition from but one point of view, who see no justification of the position of those who oppose them and who seem to have lost absolutely the sense of proportion. if the efforts made by william b. wilson, former congressman from pennsylvania and former secretary-treasurer of the united mine workers of america, to have a federal investigation of the situation early in the struggle, had been successful, the whole matter might have been settled long since. but his resolution calling for a congressional investigation was buried at the last session of congress and was never resurrected. wilson charged that a condition of peonage existed in the mines and that men were held there by force and compelled to work against their will. the coal operators denied this vehemently, at the same time fighting bitterly a federal inquiry. evidence i was able to gather on a trip of investigation to the mines convinced me that a form of peonage does, or did, exist; that the miners were oppressed; that the rights guaranteed under the constitution were denied them; that the protection of the law of the state was withheld from them and the law openly defied and ignored by the coal operators. these things were done, apparently, not because the operators were cruel, but--the old story of dividends--because they thought it necessary that a balance be shown on the right side of the ledger, and because competitive conditions in the coal fields were such that more of this balance had to be produced from the men themselves than from the bleak hills in which they toil. the investigation is bound to come. wilson is a cabinet member in the new administration, and could of his own volition carry it on under the broad terms of the act creating the new federal department of labor. but there is another agency which may look into the situation. when fellow members of the lower house balked congressman wilson's proposal, he interested senator borah of idaho and the latter promised to introduce into the senate, at the coming special session, a resolution calling for a full and complete investigation, by a committee of the senate, of the whole situation in the west virginia coal mines, including the question of peonage, the use of mine guards and other means of oppression. this would be a senate resolution, it would not have to be concurred in by the house of representatives, and it is understood that secretary wilson has votes enough pledged to pass it. even the close of the strike which has been rumored the past fortnight would not make such a fundamental inquiry during the spring and summer inopportune, but rather a measure of precaution in anticipation of future labor conflicts in the region. the fact that such an inquiry has been actively contemplated is not generally known; information about it has not been published in the newspapers, but has been given me for use in the survey. _backward view of the trouble_ the kanawha trouble dates back about ten years. at that time the miners' condition was good, as things go for men in the coal fields, and the miners along cabin creek were organized. an ill-advised strike was called then, and it resulted in a disastrous defeat for the miners. this strike was ordered by officials of the union against the desire of the miners directly affected and it is charged by cabin creek miners that it was declared in the interest of the ohio operators who desired to cripple their west virginia competitors. some of these operators have since admitted that they helped finance the strike. as long as the trouble lasted, operators in competitive fields could gobble the business of operators whose plants were shut down. of course, after the men had been beaten and the strike broken and non-union conditions and wage scales went into effect, the competition was more bitter than it had been before, yet the pickings were good while they lasted. that, however, is all ancient history. ever since the strike of a decade ago the men on cabin creek have been restless. conditions were burdensome although they were not so bad on paint creek which was organized. the operators were out after business and they cut prices on coal to the limit in order to meet the competition of illinois, ohio and western pennsylvania operators and get a share of the "lake trade." for the driving force behind this civil war in the hills of west virginia is to be found in the coal bins of 10,000 factories of the middle west and beyond whose managers and workmen know little or nothing of the struggle. by "lake trade" is meant the coal that goes to ports on lake erie for transportation by steamer and barge to detroit and as far as duluth and superior for distribution throughout the northwest. all the trade that passes over the lakes, no matter what its ultimate destination, is known as the "lake trade." the pittsburgh operators have held that the opening of the west virginia fields was an economic blunder, that the lake demand was no greater than pittsburgh and ohio could supply, and that it was a mistake for the west virginia operators to enter that field. the latter took the position that they had the coal, and did not propose to let it remain undeveloped because it would interfere with the market of the operators of other fields. they would mine their coal and would sell it wherever they could, and if they could grab a big share of the lake trade they proposed to do it. it has been a battle of millions. to strengthen their position the pennsylvania operators have bought large blocks of west virginia coal lands. the lackawanna coal company has, for example, secured control of the principal operations on paint creek. the operators in the ohio, illinois, and most of the pennsylvania fields, get out their coal under terms as to hours and wages imposed by their agreements with the united mine workers. in order to be in a position to meet the growing competition of the west virginia fields on an even footing in the matter of labor, it is an open secret, that they have given aid and comfort to the union in the effort to organize the west virginia field. they have been fighting on the other hand for a reduction in their own freight rates or an increase in those of their west virginia competitors, they did not care which, as the consumer finally pays the bill. until a comparatively recent time, the rate from the pittsburgh district to ashtabula and cleveland has been 88 cents a ton, while to toledo and sandusky, the rates from the west virginia field have been 97 cents and $1.12 a ton. something more than a year ago the pressure on the railroads became so great that a meeting of the officers of the coal carrying roads and the operators from the pittsburgh and the west virginia districts was held in new york in an effort to settle the difficulty. no agreement could be reached and the roads, unable to resist the pressure of the pittsburgh operators advanced the rate from the west virginia fields 9-1/4 cents, making the differential in favor of the pittsburgh field 18-1/4 instead of 9 cents. [illustration: _copyright by underwood and underwood._ confiscated arms and ammunition the revolvers and rifles were taken from both mine guards and strikers] the west virginia operators appealed to the interstate commerce commission for an investigation, and an order suspending the rate was granted. then john w. boilleau, a big operator in pennsylvania, demanded a reduction of 50 or 55 cents a ton from the pittsburgh district, further complicating the situation. early last year, the interstate commerce commission handed down a decision reducing the rate from the pittsburgh district 10 cents and held that the chesapeake and ohio and the kanawha and michigan rates should remain as they had been but that the norfolk and western rate might be increased. this decision resulted in increasing the differential in favor of pittsburgh to 19 cents. with this handicap in freight rates, the operators on paint and cabin creeks say that it is impossible for them to pay the union scale and submit to union conditions and keep going. it is a fact that although the average price of coal in west virginia for 1911 was a cent above the price in 1910, many coal companies failed. some mines have been operated by receivers while others have been closed down on the ground that coal cannot be produced at the mouth of the mines and put on the cars at the price it brings in the market. others are just about coming out even while some are making money. _profits from mine or men?_ the strikers answer by charging that the losses and difficulties incident to competition are many of them paper losses and paper difficulties, that the mines would pay well under union conditions and rates of pay if the mines were not working on an inflated capitalization and were not endeavoring to earn money on a lot of watered stock. in one of the talks which i had with neil robinson, secretary of the west virginia mining association, he went into the cost of production and told of the efforts of the pittsburgh operators to shut the west virginia coals out of the lake trade. he produced the calculations of g. w. schleuderberg, general manager of the pittsburgh coal company, which were given in the lake rate cases before the interstate commerce commission, showing that the average cost of production in 52 mines, including general office expenses, depreciation, royalty, fuel, supplies, and labor, was 99.09 cents per ton of coal on cars. as against this, he showed a generalized statement, which he said was based on actual working conditions in the kanawha splint coal mines indicating a cost of 99.11 cents on cars, a difference of two hundredths of a cent in favor of the pittsburgh operators. the schleuderberg figures showed a total labor cost of 72.16 cents a ton while mr. robinson's figures showed for the kanawha fields a labor cost of 65.66 cents a ton, a difference in favor of the kanawha fields of 6.5 cents, and if superintendence and certain other costs be included, a cost of 63.78 cents, which is a per ton difference in favor of the kanawha fields of 3.38 cents. this would more than cover the increase asked by the miners which is half of the cleveland compromise scale or approximately 2-1/2 cents a ton. [illustration: _courtesy of the coal age_ on guard a cabin creek rifle-woman before her tent.] of course, there is the railroad differential in favor of pittsburgh to be considered. in spite of the differential of 9 cents against the west virginia field, which existed up to the time of the settlement of the lake trade cases by the interstate commerce commission, the west virginia operators shipped in 1910 to lake ports more than six million tons of coal, a growth of over four million tons since 1906; or 125 per cent and even with the differential spread to 19 cents, they are shipping coal as rapidly as they can mine it. the explanation of the kanawa valley miners is that in their efforts to capture the lake trade the west virginia operators in competing with the pittsburgh district operators have been selling coal at less than cost and making their profits out of their men. the miners told me that ever since the fight began their condition has been becoming harder and harder to bear. one of the men, answering my statement that the operators said they were barely meeting expenses said: "damn it, i know there is no money in coal at 80 cents at the tipple; any fool knows that, but by god, they've got no right to take it out of us." and that in my judgment is about the truth of the situation. or, as neil robinson explained to me in all seriousness: "labor is simply a pawn in the game." yet the game has cost the state, the operators and the miners millions of dollars and many lives, has caused untold hardship to women and their children, has engendered a bitterness that a generation in time will not heal and hatreds that will last a lifetime. in making that statement, i am convinced that mr. robinson did not know how it would sound to one who puts the well-being of men, women and children above the necessity of capital for dividends. he was simply stating a business fact. i had several talks with him in the course of my stay in the mine region and found him a cultivated, courteous man. i think i got his point of view which coincides with that of the operators generally. they seem to look upon labor as material, to be bought as cheaply as possible and to be utilized in the manner which will be most profitable to the mine investments. whenever i went in to see him to discuss the situation he immediately produced account books, and books of statistics and began giving me figures. the whole case of the operators, he seemed to think, could be shown by the books and the balance sheet. he told me of tonnage, cost of production, railroad freight rates, yield on investment, the yield of competitive fields and the cost of operation in those fields, capitalization and rates of dividends. but of the human side, he had substantially nothing to say. of the outrages of the miners--and they have been numerous--he spoke with bitterness, but of the outrages committed upon them he was silent. of course, figures such as mr. robinson produced are important but they are not everything. the trouble is that the operators do not seem to be able to see beyond them into those desolate little cabins under the everlasting hills, to the rights of men, to the causes that make for anarchy--that have made for anarchy, in this very region. _the state at stake_ it is hard to tell just how many men have been out in recent months. five thousand would be a fair estimate. and remarkable as it is, these men have been able to hold out through a winter--and winters are severe in those west virginia mountains--and they enter the spring and the long season, when cold does not fight them from the ranks of their opponents, full of cheer and determined to continue the industrial war in which they have engaged. it must be remembered that this fight is not simply one between miners and operators on paint and cabin creeks. it is localized there, but every miner and every operator in the state is involved more or less directly. it is really a fight for the unionizing of the entire coal fields of west virginia, now largely non union. if the operators stamp out the effort to restore unionism on paint and cabin creeks and prevent its going further than it has already gone on coal river it will mean the checkmating of unionism in the coal fields of the state. fights will be made, one after another, in places where the united mine workers have organizations and they will be broken up as they were broken up on cabin creek ten years ago. once broken, they will not be permitted to be formed again. if, on the other hand, the miners win, their organization will be pushed first into one field, then into another, until the whole state shall have been unionized. it will take them years to do this. this explains the extreme bitterness of the present fight, each side practically staking its all on this one throw. of course, the operators do not admit that they are battling to crush out unionism in the state and the officials of the mine workers' organization do not talk much about extending the fight to other fields if they win in this. that is their purpose, nevertheless. the miners are receiving assistance from other operators in non-union parts of the state. all the resources of the united mine workers of america are being thrown behind the miners. as explained to me by perhaps the most prominent man in the organization a few days ago, there is now no big fight on hand anywhere else in the country, and there has been none for a year. this has enabled the mine workers to collect a big fund and they are still collecting. the organization's war chest is kept in good shape by contributions from every mining district in the nation and all this will be poured into the kanawha field if necessary. in addition to this, the miners again have the sympathy, if not the active co-operation, of the operators in the pennsylvania, illinois and ohio fields where the union scale is paid. in fact, the operators in the fields which are organized look upon their brothers who have been able to prevent the union getting a hold in their operations very much as the union laborer looks upon the non-union laborer, although the operator is not so frank in expressing his opinion. he is perfectly willing to upset the labor conditions in his competitors' operations and aid the laborers in making their fights. and the operator in the unorganized field is perfectly willing to see his competitors' fields organized to the limit. the country in which this war between the miners and the coal companies is taking place is as wild as any that lies out of doors. cabin creek junction is sixteen miles east of charleston and paint creek junction is seven miles further east. on cabin creek the railroad runs south along the bed of the creek sixteen miles to kayford while on paint creek the road extends for twenty-two miles. these creeks are little streams, ordinarily, which sometimes reach the proportions of torrents, flowing along the bases of the mountains. the elevation of the creek beds above tide ranges from 800 to 1,000 feet, while the tops of the hills which rise abruptly on both sides of each creek are from 1,000 to 1,500 feet higher. the sides of these hills are so steep that only an experienced mountaineer can climb them, yet here and there near the creek beds the miners have raised little patches of corn and vegetables. [illustration: mother jones] the workable veins of coal lie high up on the sides of these hills, and from each mine mouth a track leads to the coal tipple below from which the coal is dumped from the mine cars to the cars of the railroad which runs beneath the tipple. here and there at the base of either of these ravines is a narrow strip of flat land, and on these flats, the mining villages are located. at places the bottom of the ravine is so narrow that there is not room for the railroad track, the creek bed and the county road, so the road runs along the bed of the creek and is impassable at times of high water and oftentimes in the winter. it is estimated that before the strike began, there were approximately 10,000 men, women and children living along cabin creek and somewhat more than half that number along paint creek. a train runs up each creek in the morning and there is another in the afternoon and if you happen to miss the afternoon train out there is no way out except to walk, and walking is very difficult in that country. [illustration: miners' homes leased from mine owners _courtesy of the new york sun_] for that reason little real news of the exact condition of affairs has reached the outside world. newspaper men are decidedly unwelcome along the creeks; that is, their presence is distasteful to the mine owners. few strangers had been allowed to enter the creeks for a long time prior to the entry of the militia last summer, without explaining their business to some man, and usually a man with a gun. ordinarily a stranger would not get beyond the junction of the main line and the branch road. if the explanation of his business did not happen to be satisfactory, he was told to get out. if he demurred or showed a disposition to argue he was frequently beaten up. if he got up the line, his chances of getting beaten up were largely increased. one labor organizer told me that a couple of years ago he was pulled off a train and kicked into insensibility by the mine guards and when he recovered was made to "walk the creek" in water up to his waist because he had gone up cabin creek to see what the labor conditions were. _the mine guards_ these mine guards are an institution all along the creeks in the non-union sections of the state. they are as a rule supplied by the baldwin-felts detective agency of roanoke and bluefield. it is said the total number in the mining regions of west virginia reaches well up to 2,500. ordinarily they are recruited from the country towns of virginia and west virginia, preferably the towns in the hill country, and frequently have been the "bad men" of the towns from which they came. and these towns have produced some pretty hard characters. the ruffian of the west virginia town would not take off his hat to the desperado of the wildest town of the wildest west. these baldwin guards who are engaged by the mining companies to do their "rough work" take the place of the pinkertons who formerly were used for such work by the coal companies. since the homestead strike in the steel mills years ago when the pinkertons fired into the strikers and killed a number of them, this class of business has gradually drifted away from the pinkertons and much of it has been acquired by the baldwin-felts agency. in explanation of the employment of these guards, the operators say that their property must be guarded, that the state does not give them sufficient protection. men who do service as mine guards cannot be expected to be "ladylike." they deal with desperate characters and are constantly in peril. the guards act on the principle that they must strike first if they are to strike at all, and evidence shows that they have not the slightest hesitancy about striking first. the operators also say that it is necessary to require explanations of strangers in order to keep out labor agitators and to prevent the miners from being annoyed and threatened by them. no class of men on earth are more cordially hated by the miners than these same mine guards who are engaged to "protect" them from annoyance by outsiders. before the state troops went into the region and took their rifles away from them, the mine guards went about everywhere, gun in hand, searching trains, halting strangers, ejecting undesirables, turning miners out of their houses and doing whatever "rough work" the companies felt they needed to have done. stories of their brutality are told on every hand along the creeks. some are unquestionably exaggerated, but the truth of many can be proved and has been proved. in spite of the work they do some of these baldwin men seem to be decent enough chaps to those who are not "undesirable," and they are, for the most part, intelligent. but they are in the mines for a definite purpose. they understand what that purpose is and they have no hesitancy about "delivering the goods." they seem to have no illusions about their work. it pays well and if brutality is required, why, brutality "goes." whenever possible they are clothed with some semblance of the authority of the law, either by being sworn in as railroad detectives, as constables or deputy sheriffs. but for all that a number have been indicted for offenses ranging from common assault to murder. in every case, however, bail has been ready and it is rare that charges against them have been brought to trial. some of the assault cases in which they have figured have been of great brutality, yet rarely has any serious trouble resulted for the guards. they go about their work in a purely impersonal way. if a worker becomes too inquisitive, if he shows too much independence, or complains too much about his condition, he is beaten up some night as he passes under a coal tipple, but the man who does the beating has no feeling against him personally; it is simply a matter of business to him. just what the services of the guards cost the coal companies is difficult to learn. the companies contract with the baldwin-felts agency for them and the sum they pay is kept a secret. it is generally understood that the guards get about $5 a day, or between $100 and $125 a month. a man in the mines who knows one of them intimately told me he "picked up his gun" for $105 a month. when a man joins the baldwins he "picks up his gun," and that stamps him forevermore with his former associates if they were of the laboring class as an enemy and a man who has turned his back on his class and his kind. [illustration: _courtesy of the united mine workers' journal_ a group of strikers' children] unless the miners are beaten in this fight, and utterly and completely beaten, there will never be a settlement of the difficulty here until the mine guards are driven from the region. "the mine guards must go," is the slogan of the striking miner everywhere. his going is of more importance than an increase in pay. there will be no lasting peace in the region until they are gone. all over the state when the situation in the kanawha valley comes up for discussion you are told that the mine guards are at the bottom of the trouble. they are the ishmaelites of the coal regions for their hands are supposed to be against every miner, and every miner's hand is raised against them. they go about in constant peril--they are paid to face danger and they face it all the time. but they are afraid, for they never know when they may get a charge of buckshot or a bullet from an old springfield army rifle that will make a hole in a man's body big enough for you to put your fist in. a number of guards have been killed since the trouble began, and it is generally understood that some of these were buried by their fellows and nothing said about it, there being a disposition down in the mines not to let the other side know when either side scores and gets a man. _beginning of hostilities_ preparations for the warfare, which began in april of last year, had been going on for months before the actual opening of hostilities. the miners on paint creek began buying old springfield rifles which the government had discarded and which were offered in quantities by junk dealers and department stores in charleston. there had been rumors of trouble, and the paint creek miners who were organized had received intimations that cabin creek conditions would be established in their operations. there had been no mine guards on paint creek for they are seldom seen in union operations. the miners had received information that the operators would not sign the scale for the new year but would repudiate the union and bring in the guards. their information proved correct. when the kanawha operators' association met to consider the scale, the paint creek operators declined to sign it and withdrew from the association. the miners struck and the guards appeared over night. a big fight took place at mucklow when the first blood was spilled in the trouble. it has been spilled in quantities since with more or less regularity. the companies immediately prepared for a long fight. miners were evicted from their homes and many of them have since been living in tents furnished by the united mine workers. machine guns were imported and mounted in concrete fortifications that were hurriedly built on the roofs of the company stores and mounted in positions of vantage in the hills. whisky, cartridges, rifles and machine gun ammunition were brought in in large quantities. the strike spread at once to cabin creek and from the beginning the warfare has been more serious on cabin creek than it has been on paint creek. more machine guns were established on cabin creek than had been planted in paint creek. the situation grew so threatening that governor glasscock ordered out the militia early last august at the solicitation of the mine owners. by that time almost every man on cabin creek had his rifle and ammunition, hidden but where he could get at it without trouble. for the most part the arms were smuggled in over the hills. the mine owners informed governor glasscock that the miners were armed and were threatening to wipe out the mine guards, one of the guards, william stringer, having been slain in a most brutal manner. the miners did not ask for protection, saying they could protect themselves. it is generally believed that they were waiting for some particularly bad move on the part of the guards, when they proposed to exterminate them if possible. the mine owners expected that when the troops came they would disarm the miners but allow the guards to retain their rifles, in other words, and to put it very plainly, they expected that the militia would be used as an additional force against the miners. but when the troops began disarming the guards as well as the miners they protested most vigorously. but for every rifle taken away from a guard in the early days of the trouble, dozens of new ones were brought in. [illustration: _courtesy of the united mine workers' journal_ a tent village of strikers the deserted town is in the background] _martial law_ governor glasscock's attitude pleased neither the operators nor the strikers. the miners at the outset wanted him to proclaim martial law, to search the whole place, run out the guards, take their arms away from them and take the machine guns out of the improvised forts. they received the soldiers with open arms--no set of soldiers ever went into a strike region and received a heartier welcome. in the presence of the troops, the guards had no terrors for the miners, and even the children were unafraid. when martial law was really proclaimed, however, the strikers did not like it. the law was enforced with vigor and a number of the strikers were put in prison for violating the law against unlawful assemblages. the shoe had begun to pinch and it pinched pretty hard before the soldiers were withdrawn. it was a mistake to take away the troops before the strike had been definitely settled. it would have cost the state a good deal to have retained them after things quieted down, but if a comparatively small force had been kept, it is hardly likely that the recent trouble would have occurred, and it would not have been necessary to send the soldiers back and proclaim martial law a second time. then many lives would have been saved. the trouble that followed the withdrawal of the troops could have been, it seems, foreseen by almost any one. one of the miners said when i was in the mines: "hell is going to break loose here as soon as the troops are recalled unless the mine guards go out at the same time. they have it in for us and we have it in for them. as soon as the troops go out, we fellows who have been working to unionize this region are going to catch it. but when they start something the fun will begin. "if you want to see some hot doings just wait around until the troops go. conditions such as prevail here are a disgrace. the like of them does not prevail in any civilized country on the globe. and we are not going to stand them any longer. i have never had to kill a man and hope never to be compelled to kill one, but i would kill a dozen of these guards as i would kill so many rats if they should attempt to lord it over us as they have been accustomed to do. and i would do it with a perfectly clear conscience." the man who made this statement was killed in one of the recent fights in the valley. i saw his name in the list of the dead. one of the things that give the coal operators such complete control of the men who work for them is the ownership of great tracts of land. everywhere you are confronted with a notice that you are on private property. _landlordism_ because the west virginia mining villages are nearly all on private property, the operators owning the highways as well as the houses of the miners, they can control their going and coming and determine who may or may not visit them and talk with them. it is idle to say that the men can come and go as they please, as the operators claim. each individual among them has the right to go from his home to the mine and back again and to travel on the county road, which is merely an excuse for a highway. but he has not the _right_ to go from his own home to that of a fellow workman nor has his wife and children. when they do so, it is by the sufferance of the mine owner, unless they go by the county road and then half the houses cannot be reached. it is idle to say that this power is not exercised by the operators. it is. i have seen it exercised, and this very fact contains a serious menace to the country. i talked it over one day with governor glasscock in the early days of the trouble. "how can it be remedied?" he asked. "the whole situation bristles with problems like this. in this case you are up against a man's constitutional right to control his property as he sees fit and to keep trespassers off it." such a situation offers a serious problem in government. take cabin creek alone, with its branches to kayford and decota. there are more than twenty square miles of territory in which live ordinarily about 12,000 persons. in all that territory there is scarcely a place in which a man may go without being under surveillance, and except at the little "free" or incorporated town of eskdale, hardly a house into which a friend may be invited for a drink of water except by the grace of the coal companies. the miners say that such a condition is un-american. they want it solved and they do not care how it is to be solved. while this matter is not put in the list of their demands, it is one of their serious grievances. here are the things they are demanding: abolition of the mine guard system. a reform in the system of docking. the employment of check-weighmen on the tipples to represent the miners and to be paid by the miners. the law provides for these check-weighmen, but this law is ignored by the coal companies. permission for the men to trade where they please without discrimination against them for so doing. the payment of wages in cash every two weeks and not in script or credit cards. improved sanitary conditions, with the requirement that the companies remove garbage and keep the houses in condition. payment for mining coal on the basis of the short ton on which the coal is sold and not on the basis of the long ton, on which it is at present mined. rentals of houses based on a fair return on their cost with allowance for upkeep and electric lights on the same basis. the nine hour day--the men now work ten hours. recognition of the union. this implies, in the bituminous districts of the middle west, the check-off system by which the companies deduct from the pay envelopes of individual miners not only the charges for powder, rent, medical attention, store accounts, etc., but also for union dues which are turned over to the union treasuries direct. this method of recognizing the union has been most vigorously opposed by the operators in the anthracite district. an increase in pay. this last the miners regard as the least vital of all their demands as a present issue. _charges as to peonage_ it has been charged that a condition of peonage exists in some of the mining districts of the state. this is a subject on which the operators are very sensitive. they deny vehemently that such a thing is possible. peonage, as it is usually understood, means compelling men to work under duress until debts they may owe are paid. it is a violation of state and federal laws. men who come into the mines usually have little or no money. sometimes their transportation into the mines is paid and they are charged with the cost of it on the books of the companies employing them. they are given a cabin to live in and if they have no money when they start and seem to want to go to work in good faith they are given credit for small amounts at the company stores. accordingly, unless the miner is an unusually thrifty fellow, he is usually in debt at the start. miners have told me that in the cabin creek region they are paid only once a month, but when they start in, they are not paid any cash for sixty days, the first month's pay being held back. in the meantime, however, after they have earned sufficient money to pay the rent and other charges in connection with their cabins, their school tax, burial tax of twenty-five cents a month, their assessment for the maintenance of the mine physician, and sometimes an item for "protection" which is an assessment for the pay of the mine guards they will, "on application" be given a "script card" entitling them to purchase from the company store goods to the amount indicated on the card. on the edges of the card are figures and the amounts purchased are punched out very much as the waiters in a quick lunch restaurant punch out the amount of a customers order on his check. [illustration: _courtesy of the new york sun_ soldiers in camp at cabin creek junction] these script cards will not, it is said, be given to a miner for the total amount which stands to his credit on the books of the mine company, but is usually for $2 or $3 if the man has that amount due him after deductions are made for rent in advance and other charges. if a man is very anxious however, to have some cash, a clerk in the store, will, it is said, discount his script card, charging him 25 per cent. for the first two months, then, the miner, who starts out in debt, has to get everything he needs from the company stores. the prices at these stores are high, much higher than the miner would have to pay elsewhere for exactly the same grade of stuff. for the most part, the grade of goods sold at the company stores is much higher than is usually purchased by laboring men and their wives when they buy where they please. here are some of the prices i found prevailing at stores along cabin creek: eggs 35 cents a dozen; "white bacon," pure fat and popularly known as "sow belly" 18 cents a pound; smoked bacon 22 cents a pound; white sugar 20 cents for a two pound bag; lard 15 cents a pound; brown sugar 15 cents a pound; coffee 30 cents a pound; tomatoes 15 cents a can; peas 15 cents a can; corn two cans for 25 cents; cheese 30 cents a pound; bread 5 cents a loaf; flour $7 a barrel, and salt 5 cents for a two pound bag. salt is not sold in bulk. compelled to buy at high prices, it can be readily seen that a man cannot save much money, although it is a fact that a few of the very thrifty ones have rather respectable bank accounts. so when the average fellow starts out in debt, he usually stays in debt. his work is hard and he eats heartily when he can. then the miners' wives have never been taught how to make much out of little or to conserve their resources, so there is naturally much waste in cooking, much is spoiled and much is poorly prepared. all this tends to keep the man in debt. at the end of his two month's work he may have couple of dollars coming to him or he may be still in debt and if he is in his house a day over the first of the month, rent in advance is charged against the first money he earns even though he and his family may be in need of food. sometimes he does not get any cash for months, and you have to have cash to get out of the mines for the railroads will not permit the miners and their families to travel without paying fare. most of these people have no one outside on whom they may call for help in leaving the district, and without money, they must stay in the mines and work. heretofore their best means of getting out was to develop strong union tendencies and to talk about the necessity of organizing. then, if they were not beaten up, their fare was sometimes paid, and their furniture and families moved to some other point. once out, however, it would be unpleasant for them to try to get back. a point is made by the operators that they have offered to pay the fares of any of their men and of their families, including transportation charges on their household goods, to charleston or to fields operating under union conditions. it is a fact that such offers have been made and because the miners did not avail themselves of the offer, it is cited against them as unreasonable, and that they did not care so much about bettering their condition as about harassing the operators. as a matter of fact the men do not care to leave the region. they are engaged in a fight to unionize it and are as anxious to succeed as are the operators to prevent them from doing so. "stay where you are and unionize your district but do not crowd into organized operations," is the advice given by the union organizers. that is why the unions in the other districts are supporting the strikers and have been doing so for a year. _the glasscock commission_ last summer after the mine companies refused point blank to be a party to the appointment of a commission by the governor for the investigation of the situation in the mines, governor glasscock appointed one anyway. bishop donahue, the catholic bishop of wheeling, s. l. walker, and fred o. blue were appointed as commissioners. extracts from the report of this commission are interesting: "from the cloud of witnesses and mass of testimony figuring in the hearings, there emerges clearly and unmistakably the fact that these guards [the mine guards referred to heretofore] recklessly and flagrantly violated in respect to the miners on paint creek and cabin creek, the rights guaranteed by natural justice and the constitution to every citizen howsoever lowly his condition and state.... many crimes and outrages laid to their charge were found upon careful sifting to have no foundation in fact, but the denial of the right of peaceable assembly and of freedom of speech, many and grievous assaults on unarmed miners show that their main purpose was to overawe the miners and their adherents and, if necessary to beat and cudgel them into submission. we find that the system employed was vicious, strife prompting and un-american. no man, worthy of the name, likes to be guarded by others, armed with black jacks, revolvers and winchesters whilst he is endeavoring to earn his daily bread.... we are unanimously of the opinion that the guard system as at present constituted should be abolished forthwith." the commission also found that the company stores overcharged the miners, that the system of docking was unfair to the miner, and that a system of blacklisting of miners prevailed. on the other hand the commission found that in a general way, the miners in the paint and cabin creek districts were fairly well off, that their wages were above the average prevailing in the organized fields, that their cabins were above the average, and that the rent, while "slightly excessive" was not exorbitant, and that the sanitation was "as good as can be expected." on the question of wages, the commission found that the annual wage of miners in west virginia for the years 1905-1911 was $554.26 while the average annual wage of miners on paint and cabin creeks "is from $600 to $700." it will be noticed that in the first instance a definite, fixed figure is given for the average. in the other the statement is a general one "between $600 and $700." the statement is also made that "a minute examination of the pay rolls discloses the fact that 16 or 17 days' work a month constitutes a high average and that many engaged in the mines _decline_ (the italics are mine) to labor more than 12 or 14 days." there are two sides to this. the "unwillingness" of the miners to work more than a certain number of days a month is proved to the satisfaction of the commission by an "examination of the pay roll." as a matter of fact in most instances the reason the men do not work more days in a month is due to the system of "crowding" which prevails all over the non-union districts of west virginia. this is one of the things the miner complains about most bitterly. it is worked in this way: an operation has, say a capacity of 200 men. on the pay roll of that operation may be anywhere from 300 to 400 men. all these men cannot work in the mine at one time, but the company always wants to have plenty of men on hand. so the men are allowed to make but little more than half time. the advantage to the operators is that the more men they have the more cottages they will rent, the more mouths there will be to feed from the company stores, and the more money collected for physicians' fees, insurance and other things for which the miners have to pay. it is absolutely true that the men do not work more than from 12 to 17 days a month, but the pay roll will never tell you the real reason. the men want to work, but they are not permitted to do so. as to the cabins being above the average--they may be. i went into some of them. i would want a more comfortable stable for my horses. the greater number of the cabins contain four rooms each and are absolutely without any sanitary or other arrangements for the convenience of the occupants. some few are larger and some are smaller but the four room cabin is the type. they are nearly all alike, built of rough lumber and roofed with a composition roofing such as is bought by the roll. the rental is on the basis of $1.50 per room per month. a four room cabin costs $6 a month, a six room cabin costs $8 or $9. but take the average four room cabin at $6, the yearly rate is $72. that is interest at 6 per cent on $1,200. the labor cost on these houses was not more than $40 each on the average. including the land on which the houses stand they did not cost the companies more than $300 each. six per cent on $300 is $18. now, the houses are put up as much for the convenience of the companies as for the miners. there would be no coal mined unless the miners had houses in which to live, so a 6 per cent rate on the houses would seem fair. but even allowing 10 per cent, the rate would be $30 instead of $72. at the rentals charged these houses have paid for themselves over and over again and everything the companies get out of them now is pure "velvet." i would call the rental charges exorbitant rather than "slightly excessive" as the commission finds. as a matter of fact, that glasscock commission report will not bear close analysis. it is a straddle, made so perhaps in order to protect "the good name of the state." i do not believe that it is accurate in a number of particulars. i do not believe that the average wage of the miners on paint and cabin creeks is between $600 and $700. a good miner will average $2.50 to $3 a day for the days he works. the impression is sought to be created that many of the miners have money in bank. some of them have, undoubtedly, but they form an exceedingly small percentage of the whole number. i know that as soon as the strike was called the vast majority of the miners and their families had to be supported by the union. i saw wagon loads of provisions sent up to the head of cabin creek to feed those who were hungry and who had nothing coming to them according to the books of the companies and who could get nothing at the stores. as a matter of fact the whole truth has never been told of the real conditions existing in the mines of west virginia. one of the most illuminating pieces of testimony available to the non-partisan investigator is that of former governor w. m. o. dawson. governor dawson sent a special message--a rare document and hard to find now--to the legislature of 1907. three cases of peonage in lumber camps had been called to his attention by secretary of state elihu root at the request of the italian ambassador. in his message governor dawson declared without equivocation that a system of peonage existed under the guard system. one of these cases resulted in what he called a "wanton murder" as a result of a controversy as to whether the murdered man owed $1.50 for the railway fare of his son. the man was killed by a guard. the governor goes on: "the use of guards in this state is not restricted to cases like these under investigation. they are used at some of the collieries to protect the property of owners, to prevent trespassing, and especially to prevent labor agitators and organizers of the miners' union from gaining access to the miners.... many outrages have been committed by these guards, many of whom appear to be vicious and dare devil men who seem to aim to add to their viciousness by bulldozing and terrorizing people. it is submitted in all candor that it is not to the best interests of the owners of these collieries to employ such lawless men or to justify the outrageous acts committed by them. "in certain parts of the state miners are oppressed and wronged. they are compelled to work in ill-ventilated and otherwise unfit mines. they are cheated in the payment of the compensation for their labor. they work on the condition that they receive so much per ton for the coal mined by them, the coal is not weighed but is calculated by the mine car. these cars, at least in some of the collieries, are rated at a capacity of two and one half tons, whereas they often have a capacity of four tons and in some cases even up to six tons, but the miner is paid for only two and a half tons, for all above that he mines, he gets no pay whatever. this is robbery of the poor and oppression of the weak. at some of the stores conducted by the collieries the miners are charged extortionate prices for merchandise. this is likewise robbery of the poor and oppression of the weak." _mother jones_ the developments of the winter have been under the regime of a third governor, who came to the state house at a season when part of the commonwealth was under martial law. in march came the trials of a number of the strikers and their sympathizers--approximately fifty--by a military court on charges of inciting to riot, conspiracy to murder and conspiracy to destroy property. among those in prison is mother jones, the "stormy petrel of labor" who is always present in big labor disturbances, especially those of the miners and the railroad men. she has given the best part of her life to the cause of laboring men and they adore her. this old woman, more than 80 years of age, was in the mines when i went there and i got to know her well. she passed the word along to the men that i was "all right" and reticent as they are to strangers, they told me their side of the case without reservation. i have been with mother jones when she was compelled "to walk the creek," having been forbidden to go upon the footpaths that happened to be upon the property of the companies and denied even the privilege of walking along the railroad track although hundreds of miners and others were walking on it at the time. she was compelled to keep to the county road although it was in the bed of the creek and the water was over her ankles. i protested to the chief of the guards saying that no matter what her attitude might be, no matter how much she might be hated, that she was an old woman and common humanity would dictate that she be not ill treated. i was told that she was an old "she-devil" and that she would receive no "courtesies" there, that she was responsible for all the trouble that had occurred and that she would receive no consideration from the companies. i was with her when she was denied "the privilege" of going up the foot-way to the house of one of the miners in order to get a cup of tea. it was then afternoon, she had walked several miles and was faint, having had nothing to eat since an early breakfast. but that did not shut her mouth. she made the speech she had arranged to make to the men who had gathered to hear her although they had to line up on each side of the roadway to avoid "obstructing the highway," a highway that was almost impassable to a wheeled vehicle and on which there was no travel. and in that speech she counseled moderation, told the men to keep strictly within the law and to protect the company's property instead of doing anything to injure it. i had several long talks with her. when she speaks to the miners she talks in their own vernacular and occasionally swears. she was a normal school teacher in her early days, and in her talks with me in the home of one of her friends in the "free town" of eskdale, she used the language of the cultured woman. and this is the old woman whom nearly all the operators in the non-union fields fear, and whose coming among their workers they dread more than the coming of a pestilence. they now have her safely in jail. when i left the field[11] the conflict was still on. it seemed likely to continue until one side or the other gave in. the presence of the military could only bring about a peace that is temporary. having held out through the winter, the miners were preparing to hold out through the spring and summer and autumn if necessary, and the united mine workers of america were preparing to back them up with all the resources of the national organization. [11] since the writer left the district an unavailing effort was made to secure from the civil courts an order restraining the military commission from conducting the trials of those held on charges of participation in various deeds of violence in connection with the strike. later, however, governor hatfield who, as head of the military forces of the state, has the power to review the acts of the military commission, discharged from custody a majority of those held. recently negotiations have been carried on between the miners' union and one of the large companies involved in the strike with the result that there is a possibility of a settlement being effected in that quarter, though the matter remains _in statu quo_ until the return from the tropics of the president of the company. recently some of the troops have been withdrawn from the strike zone, though martial law is still in force. [illustration: _courtesy of the coal age_ militiamen escorting prisoners to court martial] social forces by edward t. devine constructive religion greed, selfishness, privilege, injustice, exploitation, ignorance, and neglect are the seven deadly sins of modern civilization. these evils are alike in this, that they all have their roots in defective or abnormally developed character. weakness and pathological strength are their opposite but closely related and interdependent poles. revolution will not exterminate them, except that revolution within the soul of man which transforms weakness and moral disease into health and normal vigor; which eats away the abnormal excrescence of harmful qualities and transforms the monster into a sane and self-controlled individual. laws will not of themselves exterminate the least of the social evils, save as they correspond to a previous clear recognition of their wisdom and justice in the free minds of citizens. if graft and privilege express the habitual manner of doing business, the natural mental reaction of the average man of the community, then it will be true, as an investigating committee has said, that there is no virtue in the legislative printing press. philanthropy is no cure for the evils which cause crime, poverty, squalor, and degeneracy. it is a necessary means of dealing with certain definite conditions, but those conditions are symptoms of ulterior maladies which the charitable relation does not reach. neither alms-giving nor preventive measures touch the real sources of regeneration and health. education, in the specific sense of preparation for efficient work and the development of the mental powers, such education as by mutual consent we expect from our public schools, does not begin early enough, or last long enough, or go far enough into the fields of personal habits, ideals, and motives to guard even against ignorance, at least that kind of wilful and appalling ignorance which prevents half the world from knowing how the other half lives, even when the facts are spread abroad equally in official reports and in popular literature; that kind of ignorance which blinds the eyes of the more favored of fortune and blasts the tender shoots of altruism which their hearts here and there put forth. if education cannot prevent even ignorance of this kind how much less can it be regarded as a remedy for deliberate exploitation and conscienceless greed. if neither revolution nor laws nor yet formal education can cure these root evils, is there no cure? there is one potent, wholly efficacious cure, and that is such teaching and such an experience as will supplant selfishness and greed by generosity and compassion, the desire for privilege by the desire for equal opportunity, the instinct of injustice by the passion for justice, the tendency to exploit by the tendency to nobly serve, ignorance and neglect by a clear-eyed and persistent determination to know and understand and to act on that knowledge and understanding. this teaching, wherever it is carried on and in whatever name, is essentially religious teaching, and this experience, seizing upon the individual, is nothing else than a religious conversion. this is not to distort words from their established and usual meaning but only to apply them as they must be applied. no rich and educated jew can justly claim a share in the glorious traditions of his religious faith if he oppresses the poor and crushes the needy; if, lying upon beds of ivory, inventing instruments of music, drinking wine in bowls, and anointing himself with the chief ointments, he is not grieved for the afflictions of joseph, if he afflicts the just, or takes a bribe, or turns aside the poor in the gate from their right. the afflictions of joseph are different in these days, the form of bribery has changed, the rights of the poor from which they are turned aside are not precisely those which the prophet amos had in mind; but the teachings remain, and the curse upon those who "rejoice in a thing of nought" may not unprofitably ring in the ears of jews and christians with all the old time authority and effect. but how about the position of the prosperous and influential christians professing a law of love, the son-ship of all men to a common father, a gospel of good will embracing justice and implying obligations stretching in all directions infinitely beyond justice, but never denying it in the least iota? if this profession is not arrant hypocrisy or pure self-delusion, the faith which he holds will instantly expel the very evils from which we suffer, and nothing else except such faith will expel them. religion goes to the very roots of character, cleansing the evil nature, revealing new motives, illuminating the mind, trans-valuing values, strengthening the will, lessening the power of temptations, setting the feet on safe paths, giving a new meaning to common experiences and a new zest to life. the question remains whether this kind of constructive religion, this vital, living and vibrant faith, is to be found today in the churches and synagogues, or whether it has departed from its ancient altars, perhaps to reappear in strange disguises in the labor movement, in art or poetry or philosophy, or among humble people who do not have the means as yet of expressing the new impulses. it is a grave question--for the churches. one interesting indication that it is to be answered in favor of the continued claim of the existing religious bodies to represent the main current of flowing religious faith, work, and thought is to be found in a new journal which appeared on the news-stands in march with the captivating title _the constructive quarterly_. silas mcbee, former editor of the _churchman_, is its editor, but it is to have no "editorial pronouncements." what is distinctive about this new periodical is that it is to work for a better understanding among the various communions of christendom, building on what the churches are actually believing, doing, and thinking. it is not seeking neutral territory where courtesy and diplomacy would tend to avoid issues and round off the sharp edges of truth and conviction, but rather common ground where loyalty to conviction will be secure from the tendency to mere compromise and to superficial and artificial comprehension. in the first number there is a striking array of able articles from roman catholic, greek orthodox, evangelical protestants, from europeans and americans, clergymen and laymen. it will be difficult to maintain so high a standard; but the idea is an inspiring one and deserves to succeed. the tragedy of ecclesiastical history in all ages is the spilling of blood and treasure by the churches in warfare against other forms of faith. it is true that the decay of religious controversy has usually meant a decay of interest in religion. a writer in the _quarterly_ quotes tennyson as having said, "you must choose in religion between bigotry and flabbiness." what the present venture is in some measure to test is the possibility of laying aside hostility while yet maintaining _esprit de corps_, to act in the spirit of von moltke's dictum, "march apart, strike together!" the success of the effort will depend on the clear perception of the enemies against which the allied forces of religion are to strike, or dropping the figure, on the concentration of effort on the positive results which the forces of organized religion are to seek to secure in the social order. these lie partly at least, avoiding dogmatic exaggeration, in those social relations in which the evil tendencies to which we have referred are so apparent. the religion which is constructive is one which makes men unwilling to exploit the vices or weaknesses of their fellow men, and at the same time makes the other men unexploitable, which destroys privilege through just laws, impartially enforced, and upheld by enlightened public opinion, which dispels ignorance by full and exact knowledge bearing fruit in sound measures of social reform, which protects the sub-normal and emancipates the handicapped from their limitations, which permeates education, business, politics, and eventually the entire social life. there may be other tests of true religion, but these are concrete, easy to understand and to apply. they have ancient and sufficient sanction. they are unsectarian and non-controversial. strange incense cary f. jacob _a tiny, tangled head bent down within a city's gutter- a laughing face of tan and brown amid the rubbish of the town._ _mud-pies and broken glass all day bring fairyland from far away to thee, sweet innocence, at play._ _but mud-pies blacken; glass gives pain, and laughing eyes are turned to gain 'mid cold and hunger, snow and rain._ _god shield thee, tangled head bent down within a city's gutter! poor lily of the noisome town! strange incense, shed o'er stranger ground!_ * * * * * transcriber's notes: simple typographical and spelling errors were corrected. punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this work; otherwise they were not changed. crimes of charity [illustration] the newest borzoi books asphalt _by orrick johns_ backwater _by dorothy richardson_ central europe _by friedrich naumann_ russia's message _by william english walling_ the book of self _by james oppenheim_ the book of camping _by a. hyatt verrill_ the echo of voices _by richard curle_ modern russian history _by alexander kornilov_ the russian school of painting _by alexandre benois_ the journal of leo tolstoi (1895-1899) the autobiography of a super-tramp _by william h. davies_ _preface by bernard shaw_ crimes _of_ charity by konrad bercovici with an introduction by john reed [illustration: decoration] new york alfred a. knopf mcmxvii copyright, 1917, by alfred a. knopf printed in the united states of america _to my naomi_ introduction there is a literary power which might be called russian--a style of bald narration which carries absolute conviction of human character, in simple words packed with atmosphere. only the best writers have it; this book is full of it. i read the manuscript more than a year ago, and i remember it chiefly as a series of vivid pictures--a sort of epic of our city of dreadful day. here we see and smell and hear the east side; its crowded, gasping filth, the sour stench of its grinding poverty, the cries and groans and lamentations in many alien tongues of the hopeful peoples whose hope is broken in the promised land. pale, undersized, violent children at play in the iron street; the brown, steamy warmth of jewish coffee-houses on grand street; sick tenement rooms quivering and breathless in summer heat--starkly hungry with the december wind cutting through broken windows; poets, musicians, men and women with the blood of heroes and martyrs, babies who might grow up to be the world's great--stunted, weakened, murdered by the unfair struggle for bread. what human stories are in this book! what tremendous dramas of the soul! it is as if we were under water, looking at the hidden hull of this civilization. evil growths cling to it--houses of prostitution, sweat-shops which employ the poor in their bitter need at less than living wages, stores that sell them rotten food and shabby clothing at exorbitant prices, horrible rents, and all the tragi-comic manifestations of organised charity. every person of intelligence and humanity who has seen the workings of organised charity, knows what a deadening and life-sapping thing it is, how unnecessarily cruel, how uncomprehending. yet it must not be criticised, investigated or attacked. like patriotism, charity is respectable, an institution of the rich and great--like the high tariff, the open shop, wall street, and trinity church. white slavery recruits itself from charity, industry grows bloated with it, landlords live off it; and it supports an army of officers, investigators, clerks and collectors, whom it systematically debauches. its giving is made the excuse for lowering the recipients' standard of living, of depriving them of privacy and independence, or subjecting them to the cruelest mental and physical torture, of making them liars, cringers, thieves. the law, the police, the church are the accomplices of charity. and how could it be otherwise, considering those who give, how they give, and the terrible doctrine of "the deserving poor"? there is nothing of christ the compassionate in the immense business of organised charity; its object is to get efficient results--and that means, in practise, to just keep alive vast numbers of servile, broken-spirited people. i know of publishers who refused this book, not because it was untrue, or badly written; but because they themselves "believed in organised charity." one of them wrote that "there must be a bright side." i have never heard the "bright side." to those of us who know, even the charity organisation reports--when they do not refuse to publish them--are unspeakably terrible. to them, poverty is a crime, to be punished; to us, organised charity is a worse one. john reed. contents the stove--a parable 3 my first impression 6 the second day 20 at work 26 watch their mail 49 the roller skates 59 the test 69 scabs 80 saving him 86 "too good to them" 90 robbers of the peace 101 the sign at the door 106 what is done in his name? 118 the picture 121 the price of life 131 air--from fifth floor to basement 139 the investigators 145 the children of the poor 150 mother and son 161 clipping wings of little birds 167 the orphan home 174 why they give 185 the kitchen 192 chocolate 196 out of their clutches 199 "the home" 202 "bismarck" 209 twenty-one cents and a quarter 213 visiting day 223 employment agencies 225 my last week in the waiting room 231 tuesday 244 wednesday 253 at night 258 thursday 264 crimes of charity the stove--a parable there was once a man with a merciful heart who had a large fortune, and when he died he left much gold to his brother to use as he wished, and an additional amount in trust, to succour the poor. in his will he wrote: "build a big house and put therein a big stove and heat the stove well. on the door thou shalt put a sign in red letters that shall read: 'ye poor of the land, come in and warm your bodies; ye hungry of the land, come and get a bowl of warm wine and a loaf of bread.' this will be my monument. i want no tombstone on the grave wherein my body will lie. dust unto dust descends, but my soul will be alive in the blessings of the poor." peacefully the man died. they buried him in a lonely place under a tree. then the brother brought masons and carpenters and built a big house of stone, as was written in the will, and when the house was finished he called a painter and had painted in letters, red and big, so they could be seen from very far, the words his brother had written: "ye poor of the land, come in and warm your bodies; ye hungry of the land, come and get a bowl of warm wine and a loaf of bread." and every one admired the good deed and many other rich men prepared their wills so as to provide help for the poor, that they might live eternally in their blessings. the next day, when the stove, the big stove, was put in, the brother of the dead threw the doors open for a feast to the rich. and they all blessed the dead because of his goodness to the poor. on the third day the doors were opened to the poor, and it so happened that the locusts had eaten up the wheat on the fields that year, so that there were many without bread and who had to seek shelter in other places. they passed by the red sign and came in to warm themselves and eat, and though busy with their own sorrows they blessed the dead one. many were the bowls of wine and loaves of bread given to the poor. but the brother was greedy and wanted all for himself, so day and night his constant thought was how to comply with the will of his brother and the sign on the door and yet not give bread and wine to the poor. he read the will again and the devil fastened him to the word "stove," and the devil within him said: "stove--stove--the stove will save you." greed sharpened his wits and the next morning he rose early and made a big fire and closed all the windows and doors. when the poor came to warm themselves the heat would chase them out again, and instead of blessing they cursed the dead who had so artfully attracted them into the house, only to torture them with the heat of the room. the wine would remain untasted and the bread untouched. the poor of the land spoke: "are we to be punished because the locusts ate our grain?" and the house is called "the devil's spot." the wanderer freezes on the snow-covered field, the poor starve in their huts, but they take not the bread. and one day, a child said: "see! the sign! the red letters are written with blood." in a lonely place is the forgotten grave of a merciful man. on a lonely road is a house, where the poor dare not enter, and on the big stove stands the devil, and laughs and laughs. and when one asked him why he laughed the devil showed his teeth and answered: "this is the best place that ever man built for me." my first impression i was ushered into the private office of the manager of the charity institution. he was writing at his desk with his back towards the door. he did not turn when we came in. my protector, mr. b., who obtained this job for me as special investigator, coughed a few times to attract the manager's attention. finally the gentleman turned around. "oh, how do you do? i did not know you were in the office at all! i am so busy, you see." i well knew that he was aware of our presence, because he had sent the office boy to call us. "and who is this gentleman?" he asked, turning in his chair and scrutinising me from head to foot. mr. b. introduced me, added a few complimentary remarks as to my ability and honesty, and finished with, "i know he's just the man we want." the manager, mr. rogers, kept on looking at me while the other spoke, and having most probably satisfied himself that i was all right, nodded to mr. b., rang for the office boy and called in the assistant manager, to whom he in turn introduced me, finishing with, "don't you think that he'll do?" to which the assistant manager respectfully assented. "in fact," mr. rogers said to the assistant manager, "mr. lawson, i think i'll give him over to you." "sir," he again addressed me, "you are under the orders of mr. lawson. you will report to him, take his orders, his advice, and i hope that everything will be right." as he finished he politely led us to the door. "good-bye, sir. let's hope you will accomplish the right kind of work for us." we entered the office of the assistant manager. mr. b. soon excused himself and left the room. mr. lawson let me wait fully ten minutes before he addressed a word to me. he busied himself with the different papers in the pigeon holes of his desk, but this was only pretence, i felt right along, to impress me with his superior rank. after having satisfied himself that he had accomplished this, he said to me, still looking at the papers: "why don't you sit down? sit down, sir." there was no chair except the one right near his desk, so i had to remain standing. "what's your name?" "baer, baer." "oh, yes," and he offered the chair near his desk. i had hardly seated myself when he stood up, and making a wry face said: "i haven't any time to-day to give you instructions. we'll leave it for to-morrow. meanwhile, i'll turn you over to mr. cram. he might be of use to you, as he has had a great deal of experience in this line of work." he rang for the office boy. "call mr. cram," was the order. a few seconds later mr. cram, a young man of about twenty, appeared. mr. lawson introduced me and told cram to keep me at his desk for the afternoon. it was one o'clock. we passed through all the offices, where he introduced me to a few of the other employees, and then proceeded to the basement. the place was in half darkness, cold and dreary, and i stumbled along. near the windows, towards the street, was a desk, and near the desk a gas oven. cram put a chair near the desk, and as my eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness i began to distinguish men, women and children sitting on the benches at the farther end of the cellar. mr. cram again inquired my name, remembered that he had read some of my stories, shook hands again with me and added that he was himself a "red hot socialist," "a reformer" of the real kind, and he grew very friendly. i had lit a cigarette, but seeing a "no smoking" sign i put it out. "why don't you smoke?" he asked, filling his pipe. i pointed to the sign. "that is not for us," he said, shrugging his shoulders and pointing to the people who were sitting at the farther end of the room. "that's for the applicants--for the rabble, you know." i refused to smoke. he sat at his desk, fumbled in the pigeon-holes for awhile, then sat back in his chair and puffed dreamily at his pipe for a few moments, following with his eyes the smoke-rings. then he called out unconcernedly: "grun!" nobody answered. "grun!" he called again, this time louder. "what's the matter? grun! grun!" and putting his pipe down on the desk he stood up and looked over to where the "rabble" sat. "whose name is grun? grun?" a man of about forty stood up and asked: "grun? did you call grun?" mr. cram looked him straight in the face. "can't you hear?" he thundered. "can't you hear when i call? come here--you." "ha?" the applicant queried submissively. "can't you hear?" and turning to me he said: "you see? that's how they are! spite-workers. he'll let me call ten times, as though i was the applicant and not he; they are all the same, vicious scoundrels--derelicts, beggars, rascals. you'll see what a damned lie he'll put up." he sat back on his chair and read the application a few times. "how old are you?" "ha?" the poor man queried again, putting a hand to his ear and bending over the desk. "are you crazy? don't you understand? how old are you?" and addressing me again he said: "a fine job, isn't it?" "ha? speak a little louder. i'm hard of hearing," the applicant begged. "write down your questions," i suggested, giving the man pencil and paper. "oh! i see!" cram said, "you have no experience. do you really think that he cannot hear? it's a fake--a fake. he hears better than you and i. it's a fake--a rotten old trick. i tell you, it's some job i have." "but maybe he is deaf," i insisted. mr. cram looked at me with scorn, and turning to the applicant he shouted at the top of his voice: "how old are you?" "a little louder," the man begged. the investigator puffed at his pipe in disgust, and after my insistence consented to write down his questions. "how long have you been deaf?" he wrote down. "i have just been discharged from the hospital," the man answered. "they made an operation on my ears." "you see?" i put in. "oh! it's all a fake--a rotten old fake. he hears better than you and i, i tell you," cram still insisted. "have you a doctor's certificate?" i wrote on a slip, handing it to the applicant. quickly the man fumbled at his vest pocket, to prove his case, but cram did not want to be convinced. with a movement of his hand he stopped the man. "it's all right. we know it all. it's all a fake, i tell you, mr. baer. they get certificates for fifty cents." i looked up at the applicant. his face betrayed no sign that he heard what had just been said, and i thought it fortunate for the "red hot socialist." cram put his application in a pigeon-hole and told the man to go home. the man did not move, but fixed questioning eyes on cram's lips, seeking to understand. "go home," the other yelled. he showed no sign of understanding except that he knew he was addressed. "ha?" he queried. "go to hell," cram answered. i wrote upon a piece of paper: "go home, the gentleman says." "i have no home," he quickly answered. "you hear?" i turned to cram. "if he has no home let him go and get one," was the angry retort. "therefore he applied to charity," i permitted myself to say. "this is no place for vagabonds," cram explained, without looking at me. "he must have an address so we can send an investigator and see whether it is a worthy case." "well, but if he has no home?" "then he cannot obtain charity. this is our rule." again cram fumbled in his desk, gave the man back his application and wrote on top of it: "go upstairs." with a stupid look on his face the man stood with the paper in hand and did not know what to do or what it all meant. cram showed him the door. the man stood stupidly. cram rang a bell--an office boy came. "lead him upstairs," was the order; "he's deaf." the office boy took the man by the hand. "come on upstairs," and jokingly to cram, "they have spread the table for you there." soon i heard his heavy steps on the stairs. "will they give him something upstairs?" i inquired. "they'll give him in the neck," he laughed. "they'll put him out." "why don't you help him? the charities are here for that," i said. "my dear friend, you don't understand this business yet," the investigator said. "we don't take stock in his deafness. it's a fake, an old trick." "yes, but his certificate proves something, doesn't it?" "i didn't see it," cram answered. "but he wanted to show it to you, did he not?" "yes, but i did not want to see it. it's all a fake. wait, when you have been in the business long enough you will not speak that way." again he fumbled in his desk. i looked at him. he had eyes, a nose and a mouth--a face--yet he did not look human to me. what was missing anyway? and as i did not then know what charities were really for, i thought at that moment: "this place is for a human being with a big heart, that could feel the pain of every sufferer--a human being with a desire to help his fellow creatures--who would speak to him who comes to apply for help words that would be like balsam, who would feel ashamed that he has a home and bread to eat while others are walking the streets, hungry and homeless. surely 'upstairs' they do not know how this man treats the applicants. they surely don't know--they don't know." presently a young girl, an employee of the office, came to cram's desk and said a few words to him. his face lit up and became human, his voice sounded sweet, and there was so much affection in the look he gave her that i was astonished. i had just thought of him as a brute. he had just behaved so to the old man. but as the rays of the sun from the little window fell on them both it lit my heart with hope. "he is too young--he will learn the truth in time," i thought. no sooner had the girl gone away than his face again took on a stony composure, and when he again called out the name of an applicant his voice was again harsh and cold as iron. "roll--ida roll, come here." a woman, shabbily dressed, with her face almost covered by the big shawl she wore over her head and shoulders, approached the desk. cram looked at her for a few seconds. a tremor passed through the woman's frame at his scrutiny. she bit her lips and nervously rubbed her hands against the desk. "what's your name?" "ida rohl." cram made a little mark on the application. "where do you live?" "madison street--no.--" "where does your brother live?" "i have no brother." "where does your sister live?" "i have no sister." "how much does your oldest son earn a week?" "my oldest son is only thirteen years old." "what's the name of your husband?" "my husband is dead." "when did he die?" "four years ago." "did you marry again?" "no, sir." "mind you," he warned her, "we are going to investigate and if we find out that you have married," and he shook his finger in her face. "how many children have you?" "three--the oldest of them is thirteen." "and how did you live till now without applying to charity?" "i worked at the machine." "why don't you work now?" and turning to me he explained: "you see? four years she has worked and supported herself. now some one has told her of the existence of the charities, so she does not want to work any longer. she thinks she has a good case. a widow--three children--and," whispering in my ears in a confidential tone, "you'll hear her say soon that she is sick--sick--that's what they all claim. all are sick." meanwhile he cleaned his pipe. "well, why don't you answer? why don't you work now? tell me--did you get tired--or do you think begging a better trade?" "i am sick." cram glanced at me as though to say, "you see." "sick? and what is your disease? lazyo-mania?" "no, i am sick," the woman said, her eyes swimming with tears. "sick--what sickness?" "i am sick. i can't tell you what sickness. i worked at pants--an operator--and now i am sick. i have pains all over and i can't work. i can't--i won't mind it for me--but my children go to bed without supper and go to school without breakfast. and i can't stand it--i can't--i never applied to charities--" "enough, enough," cram interrupted. "never applied to charity! i know that gag. you shouldn't have applied now. a strong woman like you should be ashamed--ashamed to come here with the other beggars," sweeping his hand towards the others. "go to work. you won't get a cent from here." "but i can't. i am sick." "go to a hospital if you can't work." "and my children?" sobbed the poor mother. "well, then, what do you want? a pension of $200 a month, a trip abroad, a palace, a country house? say--say quickly what do you want? i have no time. you will get everything immediately. it's a fine job, mr. baer, is it not?" "i want to be helped out until i am well enough to work. my children are hungry. they have had no breakfast to-day and there isn't any supper for them either." "that's the real stuff--her children. the more kids, the easier the money. i tell you, some class to them, my friend." cram looked at her and then at the application, and after a moment's thought he wrote on top of it, in blue pencil: "to be investigated." "go home," he said to the woman. "but mr. ----" "go home, i say. we'll take care of it. that's all, don't stay here any longer, don't get me angry." "but i told you my children are hungry and cold--" "i am not a groceryman--go home. i have no time. there are others--also sick and with dead husbands and hungry children. move on--good-day." "but, mr.--to-night my children have no supper and it's bitter cold." "all right. we'll take care of that. go home." and as the woman tried to speak again: "now go home and don't bother me." again he busied himself at the desk. the woman looked at him and then at me. big, heavy tears rolled down her careworn cheeks and she seemed to me the very personification of suffering, the suffering of a mother who sees her children tortured by gnawing hunger. she went away. "will you immediately send an investigator?" i asked cram. "in four or five days. our investigators are very busy now and it's very cold." "four or five days!" i was amazed. "and meanwhile, the children--what about the poor kids?" "oh, well--it's not as terrible as all that. i don't believe all she said," and again he repeated his favourite sentence: "i don't take any stock in her story. it's all a fake--a fake." many other women and men were called, but i did not see or hear them. these two were enough. only the harsh and grating voice of cram and the bitter outcry of some applicant awoke me from my stupor. the second day on returning home i went to my bed without supper. the whole night through i heard cram's questions and the answers of the poor applicants, and the whole world appeared to me to be like one huge, bleeding wound. and the question came again and again to my mind: "was charity, organised charity, the salve to heal this wound?" i decided during the night not to accept my new job, but on the following morning i reconsidered the matter and went to work. "i will try to have this man cram discharged," i promised myself. "i will speak to the manager about the investigator's brutality. he is too busy upstairs. he evidently trusts the man and thinks that every one is treated kindly, humanely." and i explained to myself that the reason cram was so cruel, though so young, was because of a few impostors who tried or succeeded in filching a few dollars from the charities. what they had to do was to remove him, as he was unfit for his office. it was the place for a woman, a big-hearted, kind old woman, who has seen much of life, who has herself perhaps at some time in her life been on the brink of misery, even compelled to apply herself to charities, and who would therefore understand the eyes full of tears, the quivering lips, the cry of the mother for her unfed children. yes--a woman, a noble woman, instead of cram, and everything would be all right, and as i walked towards the office i reviewed mentally all my acquaintances of the other sex, trying to place the one fit for the job. none was good enough, except one who would not accept it, my dear joanna, with her silvery hair and the kind big, blue eyes. she had told me of her work in the hull house in chicago and with other charitable organisations in boston and elsewhere. "friend," she often said, "it's no place for a human being. you see too much misery, too much pretence, too much darkness." and only a few days before when i told her about my future position she had advised me not to take it. "it will embitter you or it will ruin your soul. a body that has worked in such a place two years should be backed against a wall and shot in mercy, because they are disabled for life to feel humanly." still thinking of her words i entered the door of the institution. the doorkeeper asked me where i was going. "to the office," i explained, trying to pass, but he was in my way. he insolently put his hands on my shoulders. "say--you--where are you hurrying? wait here." "i want to see mr. lawson," said i, trying to pass. "you can't see no one; go in the other room and write your application." i shivered at the thought of the basement and almost forgot that i was an employee of the institution, when i saw cram enter the door. he came up, saluted me and told the man that it was "all right," that i was a new employee. the doorkeeper touched his cap in respect and retreated, excusing himself with the words, "i thought it was an applicant." how horrible this word sounded to me. "did you announce yourself to mr. lawson?" cram asked. "not yet," was my answer. "you'd better announce yourself to him," cram advised. "soon the applicants will come. we'll have a busy day. it's bitterly cold outside and on such days they come, oh! they come, they won't give you any peace, these scoundrels. we can't complain of lack of customers," he laughed, tapping my shoulder familiarly. "say, mr. baer," he sniggered, "i'm supposed to be a 'red hot socialist,' but i must confess that i hate the applicants. i hate them like hell. they have no manners; they never go when you tell them. they sit and sit. oh! i hate them--hate them," and he grimaced in disgust. cram announced me to mr. lawson and i was soon called into the office. he invited me to sit down, asked me about my former occupations and then explained my work to me: "now," he said, "i hope you are aware of the fact that we send out investigators to investigate all the cases that we get. all our investigators are women, and women are very softhearted. besides this we know that most of their information is not reliable, because they get the information from the applicants themselves, from their neighbours or their relatives. now, the information given by the applicant is worthless. the neighbour is very often on good terms with the applicant, and as to their relatives, they always give us only the poor ones, they never give us the wealthy ones. now we have six hundred pension cases; six hundred people that get relief every month for their rent and food. we want these cases to be re-investigated; the information not to come from the applicant or neighbours who know that you are an investigator of the charities. in some way you might find out--posing as a pedlar, as a health officer, a friend of the family, or any other way you want." "so," i interrupted, "what you want is a detective," and i intended to tell him that i was not going to be one, but he quickly assented. "yes, we want you to be a detective. you'll do good work. we have a limited amount of money to spend and if some people get a pension without exactly needing it they take the money from another family that is really starving and whom we can't help at all." this struck me very convincingly. i had no more scruples and i decided to accept the job. "we'll give you five names and addresses and you'll have to find out all the rest yourself. we want to know everything that the family does; who their relatives are and how much money comes into the house. none of the investigators should know anything about your work--keep it secret." a few minutes later he gave me five addresses, and wishing me "good-luck," he escorted me to the door. once outside i thought the matter over again. i seemed to be stranded in a treacherous swamp in which i was sinking deeper and deeper, but mr. lawson's argument that those who did not need charity were taking away the bread of the needy appealed very strongly to me and i made up my mind to go ahead. before starting on my work i entered a coffee house on the lower east side and tried to warm myself with a cup of coffee. several times i made up my mind to send the addresses back with my resignation, but the argument that the impostor was getting money which should go to the needy was convincing. it seemed as though i heard mr. lawson repeating it over and over again. his fine blond face full of stern pity. not the sentimental pity that lights up the features for a moment, but the pity of the man who has devoted his whole life to helping the poor. certainly mr. lawson has no other reason. he wants to repair the evils of our present system. he cannot cure, he cannot eradicate all the evil, but to lessen the suffering of the poor is surely a good work. and mr. rogers, that polite gentleman, the manager. he too is busy all day helping the poor. why should i shirk because cram was not of the right stuff? thus i reasoned: "he is not the whole institution. you will explain to the gentlemen and they will discharge him." i was soon quiet again and out in the street. at work the nearest address was in the lower part of madison street. mary d----, a widow. the house was one of the typically dirty tenements of that section. as i entered the hall a strong odour of garlic and onions almost suffocated me. i rang the janitress' bell. she opened the door and as soon as i mentioned the name of mary d. she knew i was from the charities, for she immediately began to tell me that the d.'s have no coal, that the charities have neglected them, that the woman is sick and the five children, the oldest of whom is eleven years old, are hungry and naked. "but, my dear lady, i'm not from the charities. i'm a sewing machine agent," i lied, according to the advice of mr. lawson. "oh! a new agent? why, she has just paid $1 last week on the machine," and with changed attitude: "what do you bother me for? go upstairs and see her--third floor back left." she re-entered her apartment. i walked up the three floors. at the door i stood a little and thought how i should behave. "who's there?" a voice asked. "sewing machine agent," i answered, timidly. "come next week--i have no money," was the reply. "excuse me. i can't open the door for you now. i am not dressed, mr. george." i went downstairs and in the hall i noted down everything that the janitress had told me. five children, no coal, no food, $11.50 rent, and so on. my next address was in henry street. it was one of the coldest days of the winter of 1911. the snow was knee-deep and the icy wind blew at a terrific speed. the house where i had to go was one of those old, decrepit buildings, where misery lurks and peers at one from every door, every brick, windowpane, nail and knob. the windows were covered with a coat of ice. some broken panes were stuffed with pillows and rags. on the ground floor was a grocery. "they surely buy their provisions here," i thought, and entered the store. an old woman, the storekeeper, asked me what i wanted. "could you give me any information about the family s.," i asked. "oh!" she exclaimed, "you are from the gerry society, aren't you?" "well?" i said nonchalantly. "what of it?" "well--it's all a lie, that's what i could tell you. the poor woman does her best. why! she works herself to death. a widow with three small children--a fine woman, a good mother, a real lady, if you want to know. but her neighbour, the rag pedlar's wife, is jealous. i don't know why! and she did it. why should you take away the children from a mother? she feeds them well. the children haven't good clothes! well, she is a poor woman and children are children. they wear, they tear; what can she do? buy every day new clothes? a poor widow that works from early morning till late at night!" "what is the name of the rag pedlar?" i asked the woman. "goldberg," she informed me. "a bad woman, without a mother's heart. don't go to her. she'll tell you a lot of bad things about the poor widow. don't go to her, mister. oh! that such beings should be alive at all!" she muttered in yiddish. "i have to," i assured her, and after inquiring the floor where mrs. goldberg lived i walked up the three flights. i knocked at the door. "come in," came the answer. mrs. goldberg opened the door, and as i entered the cheerful aspect of a tidy kitchen and the singing of the boiling pots on the stove greeted me invitingly. mrs. goldberg bade me enter their "front room," furnished pretentiously. i sat down at her invitation, and contrary to all rules on such occasions i waited for her to start the discussion--i hardly knew what to say. i did not have to wait long. mrs. goldberg immediately asked me if i was an agent from the gerry society. "but what have you against that poor woman? why do you want her children taken away? are you not a mother? have you no feeling? what is it? have you a personal grievance against the woman?" i said in the tone to invite confidences. "but just because i am a mother," she snapped back angrily, her eyes flashing. "come here," she said, making a sign for me to follow her. i followed her into a third room. a boy of about six years was in a bed. his face was burning with fever. around his neck he had bandages, and on a small table were a dozen bottles of medicine. "well, what has that to do with it?" i queried. "this is my only child," she explained. i did not understand what connection there was between her sick child and the desire to put the children of the other mother away. i told her so, energetically, almost insolently. "you see," she explained, "her children are always running around half naked and barefooted, even in the coldest weather. they are always sick, but she does not care, because when this is so she runs to all the charitable societies and gets help and medicine. the children play in the hall the whole day, and whenever her child has a sore throat three or four other children catch it. last year two children caught diphtheria in this house. both children died. when my child gets sick _i have to pay for medicine and the doctor and everything_. if she can't take care of her children, let her not have any--that's all. each one for himself," she added; "i have to take care of my children." "but," i argued, "are you not a mother? what can the poor woman do?" mrs. goldberg's eyes flashed, and with the assurance well-fed people generally have, she answered: "oh! never mind! i would know how to take care of my children! there would be no charity business with me. oh, no! i assure you!" "she is a widow with small children," i pleaded. "what would you do in her place?" "oh, never mind. i would do something--anything--everything. my child will always have enough to eat and some clothes, as long as i live," and as she looked at the sick child she rolled up her sleeves as though ready to start a fight against the whole world to defend her child from want and misery. i departed, first assuring mrs. goldberg that something would be done to "protect her child," and went up another flight to see mrs. s. the grocery woman had probably announced the fact that the "gerry society man" was in the house, for as i passed through the hall many a door opened and closed. some of the women eyed me as though i were a murderer, while others looked at me as though i were something mysterious--a man who had the power of parting children from the mother. my position was not a very pleasant one. i thought of what i should do if the real "gerry society man" were to appear on the scene. i hastened towards mrs. s.'s door. a few old women followed behind me. i knocked. a timid "come in." as i opened the door i saw two small children, one probably six and the other four years old, hiding under the table. my heart contracted. mrs. s. stood in front of the table, hiding the children, her open hands like the claws of a tigress, ready to defend her offspring. we looked at one another, mutely, for a few moments. her eyes were sparkling with the fire of an injured animal, her hair was dishevelled, her brows were knit together in a supreme decision, her mouth twitched, and she was pale, pale as a waxen figure. from under the table the two children looked at me fearfully. "are you mrs. s.?" i finally stammered out, while i took out my notebook. no answer. "are you mrs. s.?" i repeated again, as i regained my composure. "don't take away my children, mister. don't take away my children," the poor mother yelled and growing hysterical she repeated this terrible cry in heartrending tones, tearing her hair. "don't take them away." the poor tots came out from under the table. quickly she pushed them back, and continued to cry at the top of her voice the same sentence: "don't take away my children. they are mine, mine. my god, they are mine." "i don't want to take your children away, madam," i told her repeatedly. "calm yourself, i did not come to take them away." but she did not listen to me. she kept on crying and tearing her hair. neighbours came in from all sides. "help, help," mrs. s. cried. "help, help, mothers! he wants to take away my children. help, help!" and she ran to the window. i gently laid my hands on the hysterical mother's shoulders, and looking straight in her eyes i said slowly and distinctly: "i--don't--want--to--take--your children. be quiet," i begged. among the neighbours was also the grocery woman. "he wouldn't take away your children. this gentleman comes to speak with you. calm yourself, mrs. s., calm yourself," and softly, in yiddish, she blasphemed mrs. goldberg and her husband, father and child. after a few moments, during which the grocery woman spoke to her in soothing tones, mrs. s. quieted down a little. a reaction set in. thick beads of cold sweat appeared on her brows, while her cheeks flushed with a sickly red. she asked for a glass of water and sat down. to express how i felt all this time is more than i can do. i only know that i went through some faint reflection of all the emotions that agitated the poor woman. i sat down opposite to her and tried to soothe her. she could not look me in the face. as i spoke her eyes caressed the two little children, who, during the excitement, had come out from their hiding place. they went to their mother. she placed them one on each side of her and passed her arms around their necks, presenting to me one of the strongest pictures of motherhood that i had ever seen. "well, how do you feel, mrs. s.?" i broke the silence. "just a minute," was her answer, and she ran into the bedroom from where i heard her sobbing. i took advantage of her absence to ask the other neighbours to go out. they departed reluctantly and stood outside. i tried hard to make friends with the children. not even my pennies would they accept, and soon they went into the bedroom with their mother--all sobbing together. i looked around the house. the stove was cold. the wind blew in from a broken window. a few crumbs of bread were on the table. a few broken chairs, a big clock, out of order, on the mantelpiece, a picture of a man of about thirty years old in the centre of a wall, this constituted most of the furniture. the whole house was in a state of complete disorder, with not even an attempt at cleanliness. through the open door of the bedroom i saw two folding beds and the torn mattresses shed their straw all around the house. i felt very uneasy and wished to cut short my visit, but hardly knew how to back out of my position. "mrs. s.," i called, "won't you please come out and talk matters over with me? i am pressed for time. it's one o'clock and i have other work to do." the woman re-entered the kitchen, followed by the children. she had arranged her hair, put on shoes and buttoned her torn waist. "sit down," i urged. she did so. "now," i started, "what's the matter with your children? why are they walking naked? it is a very cold day and they are liable to fall sick." "i am a poor widow," she started plaintively, "what can i do?" "but listen here," i said, "this does not go! the children must be properly clad." the woman looked me in the eyes for a few seconds, and then, all of a sudden, she asked me: "are you a jew?" "yes," i said, "but what has that to do with it?" she evidently heard only my acknowledgment that i was a jew, and with the feeling that i was her brother she gained confidence that i would not take her children away from her. "if you are a jew," she continued, "you will not take my children away, and i will tell you the whole truth." "go ahead," i encouraged her, and she told me the following: "since my husband died three years ago, the charities have given me two dollars a week and paid my rent. every year, in the winter, they have sent me coal and clothing for the children. this year they have a new investigator and she does not like me." "the investigator does not like you?" i repeated. "why?" the woman looked away for a few moments, then she shrugged her shoulders and said: "i don't know why. she does not like me and that's all, so they sent me only a half ton of coal at the beginning of the winter and no clothes for the children. every day i went to the office and asked and begged for coal and clothes, but the investigator does not like me--she does not like me--and she works against me. so what could i do? to go and buy shoes and coal i need money, and i haven't any. from the two dollars a week i get we hardly have enough for bread--dry bread." and as the poor woman pronounced the last word the smallest of the children repeated it in tones that would have melted a heart of stone. his hungry eyes appealed to the mother for the staff of life. "bread," the older child repeated. "mamma, give me bread. i am hungry--give me bread." the mother cried. the children were still asking for bread and the mother was still crying when a young lady, whom i recognised as an investigator from the charities, entered without even knocking at the door. mrs. s. jumped up from her chair, very confused. "who is that man?" the investigator asked without even a greeting as she entered. the woman did not know what to do, what to answer. "who are you?" the investigator questioned me insolently. "by what right do you ask me that?" i replied. "i haven't asked you who you are." "well, i have a right to ask," and turning to the woman, she said: "you must tell me immediately who this man is--do you hear? who is he? or no coal, no money, no rent--do you hear?" she yelled all this, shaking her jewelled finger in the woman's face. i would have liked to have seen how far she would have gone, but the eyes of the poor mother were so appealing, so full of despair, i went up to the investigator and showed her a paper with the heading of the institution. "so, you are _it_!" "not a word," i said. "it's all right." she turned to mrs. s. "i know who he is. it's all right. any coal left? no, well, you'll get your coal to-morrow." "and shoes?" begged the woman. "bread, mamma," both children said at once, "ask her for bread, mamma." this was too much for the well-fed investigator. "oh, these beggars! these beggars!" she repeated. "are you coming down soon?" she asked me, and without bidding mrs. s. good-bye she went out, saying, "i'll wait for you downstairs. i'll have to talk matters over with you." i assured mrs. s. that i would do all in my power to prevent her children being taken from her, and i was soon downstairs, where i found miss alten waiting. we walked some distance together without speaking a word--just eyeing one another. we passed a lunch room. i asked her to have a cup of coffee, feeling sure she would refuse. to my great astonishment she accepted, and soon we were sitting at a table with the steaming coffee before us. the pleasant warmth of the place and the steam from the cups soon melted the ice. she was a handsome dark girl of about twenty, of jewish-russian descent. she had a pleasant voice, yet how harsh and cold was her speech awhile ago, exactly the same voice as cram's. i wondered then! not now! afterward i learned that this was the _professional tone_, the _intimidating note_, as cram called it. "why did you leave mrs. s., that poor woman, without coal?" i asked. "it's so very cold and you know she has no money to buy any!" "oh! she's a pest," miss alten replied, making a grimace that passed like an ugly cloud of hatred over her young face. "that was to punish her, to show her that she must not disregard my authority," she continued. "last month she finished the coal. when i came to see her she told me the story, and i told her she would get it next week. instead of waiting, what do you think she did? she came up to the office to beg. so! i thought, you come to the office. wait! you'll wait a month before you get any at all. and that is why it happened. to show her that i am the boss. we have to have some means of keeping them in order, you know." "yes, but it is not fair to punish her. and for what? she felt cold, so did the children, and she's a mother. she was afraid of sickness for them. why, great god, they could have died." miss alten laughed at me long and scornfully. "die, die? her children die? they never die. they never die. their children never die, these beggars." the coffee was finished. miss alten buttoned her coat, put on her gloves, and saying good-bye she quickly disappeared from the table. i sat more than an hour, drinking one cup of coffee after another. i wanted to think but my mind was in confusion. "they never die. they never die," rang in my ears. and to think that the wages of these women investigators are seldom higher than ten dollars per week, and that if somebody did not help them out, a brother, a sister, or father, they themselves would be depending on charity, or-"i'll have her discharged, too," i finally decided, and with this determination i went out again into the street. aimlessly i walked through the slums. i had never taken so much interest in every minute detail of the street as i did at that time. every house, every window, every door meant something, said something. tales of untold misery and despair and shame. i looked at the clothes of all the children and tried to guess, figure out, which one's mother was an applicant and which was not. unconsciously i had divided the world into two classes--one that applies to charity and one that does not. then i made up my mind that miss alten was a relative, perhaps a sister, of cram's, and i felt sorry that i had not asked her about it. in our discussion his name had been mentioned several times, and she had always affirmed that "he was the finest gentleman and the best investigator of the whole bunch." how curious! two such cruel beings in one charitable institution! i wondered. my next case proved a very interesting one. it was in monroe street, on the fifth floor of a yard-house--mrs. miriam d. as nobody around the neighbourhood wanted to tell me anything beyond the fact that mrs. d. was a very honest women, i went up to the applicant at once. the mother was not at home: only her three children, a girl of twelve, another one of ten and a boy of seven years old were in the house. they sat, all three, around a table, and worked at their lessons. the kitchen was very clean and warm. the children were tidy, and everything was in order. but the poor girls were as pale as death. a single glance was enough to know that they were starved out. only in their big, moist, jewish eyes was there life. i asked the children where the mother was. "we don't know," was the response of all three, and they looked at one another as though to say, "i wish she were here." from my talk with the children i learned that they were expecting a cousin by the name of leb from the old country, so i decided to impersonate an agent of ellis island and get all the information i wanted in that way. i asked the girls how they were living; whether they had things to eat every day. "yep," the boy of seven said, with pride. "but not enough," added the oldest sister. "from where does your mother get money to buy food?" i queried. "from the charities," the second girl explained, while the older sister kicked her in the shins as punishment for her frankness. "have you no relatives?" i asked. "oh, yes, we have," all three again answered. "who are they?" "louis goldman, uncle louis," she explained. "what is your uncle?" "a shoemaker." "and who else?" "uncle marcus." "and what is he?" "a bum," the little boy put in. "a bum, that's what he is." i had a hard time to get him out of his sister's hands. they were still trying to kick him when the mother came in. mrs. d. remained at the door in surprise, evidently wondering who i was. "what do you want?" she questioned. i was taken by surprise, but i immediately remembered the children's talk about a cousin from the old country and i said that i was an agent from ellis island. "why!" the woman cried out, in ecstasy, "is he here? oh! children your cousin is here!" and she kissed them all in an outburst of happiness. "is he here? tell me." "who is he?" i asked. "oh, i'll go immediately and take him out. it's my cousin, leb herman rosen, my own cousin." "all right," i said. "you'll have to give me some information first." "what information? it's my real cousin." she sat down ready to answer my questions. i took out my note book and put the following questions: "how long are you in america?" "eight years." "how many children have you?" "three." "how long is it since your husband died?" "four years." "now, if you want to take your cousin in your house you must prove that you'll be able to support him until he gets work, and show enough money to assure the united states that he will not become a public charge. how do you make a living? how much are you earning a week?" "i--i--i," she stammered, "i make a living." "how?" i insisted. "i sell whisky, tea, coffee, powder, toothpaste." "well, how much do you make a week?" "well, well, i make a living." "but to keep a cousin you must make more than a living--more than you need." "i make more," she said. "i--do make more." as i knew that she was receiving charity i did not believe her and told her she would have to prove that she made more than she needed. she walked up to a chiffonier, searched a drawer, and to my great astonishment brought forth a bank book which showed that she had one hundred and thirty-five dollars accumulated in the last two years. "will that prove that i earn more than i spend?" she said triumphantly. i looked at her in astonishment. a mother who lets her children starve to put money in the bank! what wild animal would neglect its offspring to such an extent! i called her into the next room and told her what i thought of her and who i was. she cried bitterly under my lashing, and then told me the following story: "i should not tell you this, but as you think that i am an unnatural mother i must explain myself. my husband died four years ago. he was a cloak operator and earned good money when i married him. after the second child was born his wages did not suffice to keep us as well as he wished. it was a very busy season. he worked overtime every night, until one and two o'clock in the morning. when the season ended we had three hundred dollars in the bank. but soon he got sick. six months he lay sick at home. when all the money was gone we had to send him to the hospital. a month later he died, and two months after his death i gave birth to the third child. while i lay in bed there was nobody to take care of the children and there was no bread for them either. a neighbour wrote to the charities and told them all about us, and our plight. two days passed. a woman came, looked around, questioned me and went away. they sent a nurse and money to feed the children. when i was out of bed they called me to the office and informed me that they had decided to give me two dollars a week and pay my rent. but, i ask you, could i live on two dollars a week? i had to do something. i went out washing and scrubbing floors. i got sick. the charities got to know that i worked. they immediately informed me that if i worked they would not give me anything. what could i do? live on the two dollars? that was an impossibility. work? i did not earn enough to get along without their support. little by little i began to sell tea and coffee in the hours when the children were in school. but the investigator was informed by the grocer and butcher that i spent more than two dollars a week. again i was called to the office. they questioned me, tortured me, accused me of being a bad woman. where did i get the money? in despair i lied to them. told them that the grocer and butcher had given wrong information, that they did not know; they had no proof and had to give me the pension. "still i could not get along on their money. my children were hungry. i was hungry. i went out again and sold tea and coffee and whisky, and under my coat i would bring an additional piece of meat and bread. soon the neighbours knew that we had meat every day and some of them told the investigator. by this time she had made it a habit to spy on my every move. she reported me to the office. again i was called and questioned and again i lied and cried. i could not get along on their two dollars a week and could not get along on my work alone. but when i got home i was wiser, and since then, instead of buying bread and meat, i have to put the money in the bank. this one hundred and thirty-five dollars is the meat and bread of my children, their health and their life. yes, i am a bad mother. i am a bad mother," and wept anew. the next day i went to the office and gave a report of my work. the case of miriam d. i reported more extensively than the others, insisting that the children were starved while the woman had one hundred and thirty-five dollars in the bank, accumulated not from surplus but from what she was forced to deprive her children of. mr. lawson immediately called in the manager and showed him my report. they congratulated me on my ability and i felt that they would tell their investigators that they must not persecute the woman and the orphans by spying. the manager pronounced me a second sherlock holmes and announced that mrs. d.'s pension would be cut off. i was dumbfounded. so this was the result of my work! to take the bread out of the mouths of the three orphans. i accused myself of stupidity and could look no one straight in the face. through treachery i learned the truth, and instead of using it for her good i had used it to help the investigators be more cruel, more questioning than before. what could the woman do? had she not told me that she could not live on what she earned? was the one hundred and thirty-five dollars enough for her to support her children? and i imagined them all starved and sick, dying in hospitals. all through my fault. i should have known that they would not reform their investigating system because of my report. how i hated myself. how i hated the whole world. at night when i went home i was ashamed to kiss my children, for i had committed a crime. as i thought of the inscriptions on the doors: "for the poor of the land shall never cease;" "let thy hand give freely to the needy," etc., i remembered dante's "lasciate ogni speranza voi ch' entrate." in disgust and despair i walked the streets the next day without being able to do anything. like a criminal who returns to the scene of his crime i walked around the house. i felt a strong call to go in and beg forgiveness for her undoing. i have since learned that it has not done any harm. on the contrary, deserted by the charities the woman redoubled her energies. the cousin she was waiting for arrived a few days later, bringing some money with him. they bought a grocery store and she is earning her living. but at that moment i thought myself guilty of the greatest crime. i made many decisions, but stuck to the last, namely, to take notes of all the evil that organised charity was doing and at the first opportunity give them out for the benefit of the world. i understood that the welfare of the poor did not concern the men at the head of the charity organisation; that it has become a business for them. a business they were managing, just as others manage factories. their concern was to reduce the cost, to economise, just as the manufacturers try to produce the greatest amount of product with the smallest amount of outlay. and if hunger, starvation, sickness was the by-product, well, so much the worse for the poor. watch their mail one morning i received the following order: "investigate sokol, monroe street, no. ----. night visit preferable." when i asked the manager what he meant by night visit he told me between ten and eleven o'clock. accordingly, at ten p. m. i knocked at the door of the above named family. in the few minutes that elapsed between the knocking and the opening of the door i heard a man groaning--as men groan under excruciating pain. the woman, mrs. sokol, opened the door for me, and inquired who i was. i was instructed by the office not to tell them my identity under any circumstances. so i said i was from the board of health--that neighbours had claimed that they could not sleep on account of the man's groans, and i told mrs. sokol that we would have to see him and send him to a hospital. i entered the apartment. there were two rooms. in one room was the bed with the sick man in it. the other room was the kitchen, dining and reception room. a cold stove, a table, four chairs, and on one side two more folding beds. this was the furniture. the man kept groaning. his wife whispered to him to keep still, but his pains were probably so great that he could not understand what she said. i lit the gas and approached the bed. a strong odour of putrefaction compelled me to withdraw, and the next moment the wife told me that he had a cancer, that he had been operated upon several times without success and that he now suffered the most excruciating pains; that the doctor came only once in two days, only to have a look--"to see if he is already dead," as she put it. "why don't you send him to the skin and cancer hospital?" i asked. "we are only two years in this country," was the woman's reply, "and they will send us back to russia." "and the jewish hospital?" i suggested. "he has been there twice--they operated on him." "well, well," i urged, "why does he not stay there?" the man groaned, the woman cried, some sick child in the neighbourhood woke with the noise and mixed his sickly crying with theirs and the moaning of the wind outside. it was a pitiful scene. i started my interrogation. the man was a musician, a fiddler. he was not a member of the union. he had been in america two years, and sick from the first moment he had come. "and how do you get along?" i asked. "from where do you get money for bread?" again the woman cried. soon the man fell asleep. i heard his heavy breathing and felt the odour of putrefaction emanating from his body. pitilessly i insisted on getting an answer to my question: "from what do you live?" "there was not a piece of bread in the house to-day," was the answer. "yes, but where did you get yesterday's bread?" "we had no coals for the last four days." "but from where did you get it before that?" i argued. "from--from--from the charity," the woman broke down hysterically. the two folding beds in the kitchen attracted my attention and i asked her whether she had any boarders. this was the touchstone of her suffering. we drew our chairs away as far as possible from the sick bed and there she told me. "these are not boarders' beds. they are the beds of my two daughters, amy eighteen years old and leah twenty--two daughters have i, like two flowers. envied by the whole world. i was the proudest mother. well, i'll tell you the whole story. "two years ago we, my husband, myself and the two daughters, arrived here from warsaw. my husband was a healthy, strong man. my daughters were dressmakers. we had a little money. we rented these same two rooms and a few days afterward, through the influence of friends, both children found work at their trade. only my husband remained idle. they did not want to take him into the union. a few weeks he walked around without work, then he went to a leather finding factory where he had to cut out pieces of leather. it was piecework. they worked in a cellar, sixteen or eighteen hours a day. at the end of the week he had two dollars. it was very hard on him. he had never done physical work, still he returned there the next week, hoping that he would do better, having a week's experience. he went away at five in the morning and returned at eleven at night, yet he could not make more than forty cents a day. "his daughters made the first week six dollars each, working nine hours a day, and he, the father, working twice as hard and twice as many hours made two dollars a week. he took sick. we called the doctor. he gave a potion and left. my husband got worse and worse every day. we went to a hospital. there it was found that he had cancer, and must be operated on. but just as we were ready to go and do it we found out that there is a law that we had no right to use a public hospital before we have been here five years. we applied to the jewish hospital. my husband was operated upon. "my daughters worked. on account of the illness of their father they had no opportunity to buy clothes, american clothes. they were still in their greenhorn dresses, and the whole shop made fun of them. they simply had to buy clothes. the money we brought here was long since gone, so when their father was brought home after the first operation there wasn't a penny in the house. the visiting doctor gave me a letter to the charities and told me that they would help me. i went there. i don't want to tell you through what i went at their hands. enough to say that when i came home i felt as though i had committed the greatest sin. i felt guilty towards myself. i felt like a criminal awaiting his day of judgment. "finally the investigator, a young lady, came. she saw my daughters. they were neatly dressed, and as young girls generally are, they thought of their own life, were gay and healthy. the investigator started to examine them and after every answer she tried to confuse them and prove that they lied. she stayed a half hour. when she left the poor children were as pale as death--a terrible gloom had settled upon them--as though death itself had visited our shelter. "from then on we had no repose. they helped us with a few dollars, but every other day some one else inquired about us--at the neighbours--at the grocer--butcher. they visited us at all hours of the day and night. sometimes when we had visitors the investigator would question them, until all our friends have left us. they followed the poor children to their work and went to take information from the employer. on one occasion, when the girls struck together with the other workers of the shop the boss cried out to my girls: 'i'll show you! when the charity will come i'll give such information that you wouldn't get a cent.' this was too much for the poor children. they came home, packed their belongings--and--" here the poor woman broke out in hysterical weeping, approaching the two empty beds, and cried: "my house is empty. cursed be the hour when i applied to charity. i should have gone out begging in the street." and as i slipped out of the house the cry of the woman pursued me. "cursed--cursed be the hour that i applied to charity!" i reported the next day the situation of the family and urged immediate relief. the manager called me into his sanctum and told me that my information was not complete, since i had not learned where the daughters were. "i am sure," he said, "that she knows where they are. you must get it out of her." "all right," i said, "but in the meantime send them relief. there is no coal, no bread." "are you sure?" he asked. i assured him of the fact. "then it's all right," and he rubbed his hands with great satisfaction. "it's all right," he repeated. "we'll break her stubbornness, all right. we'll get their address now. so they have no bread, eh?" cries from the waiting room came to my ears, as though a chorus of those unfortunate beings would blaspheme all together: "cursed be the hour when we applied to charity--cursed--cursed--cursed." we were interrupted by some one else coming in on some business. i felt my head swimming and i looked longingly outside through the large window over the manager's desk. a little bird flew around the sill, and hungry, she tried to pick the putty from around the pane. mr. rogers probably followed my wandering gaze for he was soon standing near me and having also remarked the little bird he exclaimed: "poor little thing, is it not pitiful? hungry and cold!" so saying he opened the window and invited the bird to enter. yet the bird preferred to remain outside. mr. lawson was called in and a conference took place as to how to force mrs. sokol to give the address of her children. "but do you suppose that she has sold her children for immoral purposes that you are so anxious to learn their whereabouts?" "no, we don't suppose _that_," mr. rogers answered, "but when we give them money we want to know everything, you understand, everything. here she has two daughters and she keeps their address a secret! whatever we have done was of no avail. we must curb her. isn't that so, mr. lawson? we must show her that she cannot keep secrets from us. what would you suggest, mr. baer?" i had nothing to say. mr. lawson twisted his little blond moustache awhile, then he suddenly exclaimed joyfully, as archimedes cried, "eureka" when he discovered the law of specific gravity: "watch their mail!" "they certainly get mail from the girls. let mr. baer watch their mail and get one of their letters, and that will solve the whole thing." the manager pronounced it a splendid idea and i was instructed accordingly. i went up to see mr. sokol a few times and reported that they got no mail. one morning, while visiting them, i found that the man had died over night. among the mourners were two beautiful, pale girls. the daughters of the old couple. i reported the occurrence at the office. mr. lawson called me to his room. "so he died? he died?" he repeated. "we will send her to the old people's asylum. that will save rent. but you saw the girls, did you?" "yes." "what's their address? did you find out?" "i could not ask their address in such a moment," i retorted. "it's a mistake, an awful mistake, mr. baer," he censured me. "it was the best occasion. you should have taken advantage of the moment. please return to the house and get their address," he instructed, as he led me to the door. from the hall i ran out into the street. i wanted fresh air--air and space. and this same mr. lawson almost cried when his wife's pet dog died. and mr. rogers pitied the poor little bird that picked the putty off the sill. and at charity conventions, when he had to appeal for funds, he almost shed tears about "our unfortunate brothers and sisters." now they advise, when the father lay dead on the floor: "it was the best occasion. you should have taken advantage of the moment." would a criminal be treated in this way during the third degree? the woman died a month after, in a hospital. hunger and privation of all sorts had undermined her strength. _charity had killed them both._ the roller skates "investigate mrs. b., 124th street, no. --. investigator reports woman never home. questions morality. urgent. w. l." i found this slip on my desk one fine morning. an hour after i was at the given address. the door was locked. no one was at home. inquiry at the neighbours informed me that i would have to wait until three o'clock when the children came from school. "and mrs. b.? when does she come?" i asked. "when the children come from school," i was answered. consequently i had to remain in the neighbourhood. new york's climate is very fit for a cosmopolitan city. just as the men of the south dwell in the neighbourhood of the northern, the italian near the norwegian and the spaniard in the same building with the russian, so does the winter live near the summer, the spring next to the autumn. one day a snowstorm, the next day it rains. you put on the heaviest clothes one morning and come home with your waistcoat on your arm, so to speak. here in the middle of winter, the second half of january, i had gone out with a heavy winter coat and at one o'clock it looked more like the end of may than winter. i walked up to central park to spend my time until 3 p. m. the squirrels had left their hiding places and were dancing to and fro to replenish their reserve store of food. the little birds flew and sang merrily. the children of the well to do, watched by the ever-following servants, played with the caged prairie dogs, the goats and other animals of the park zoo. around the monkey cage the people of the suburbs and more distant towns and villages were watching and enjoying the antics of our gay ancestors. the lions roared, the tiger groaned, and that money-saving elephant rang the bell every time some one put a cent in his big snout. this was the only thing he had learned from men--save money. i don't know why, but one forgets himself so easily in the neighbourhood of children, farmers and wild animals. i had not noticed how time passed and stood in the zoo more than the required time. i had completely forgotten my mission. but some one inquired the time from the keeper. i heard his answer and ran. in 124th street again. the children are out of school. the street has taken on life. girls are jumping the rope and the boys have taken out their skates and glide gracefully up and down the sidewalk. their faces are red, their eyes are brilliant and their arms swing to and fro to keep their balance. in an empty lot a group of jewish boys fight it out with some irish youngsters. on another lot another group of irish and jewish boys play base-ball. i ring the bell of mrs. b.'s home. no answer. i inquire of the neighbour. "are the b.'s home?" "the children are back from school and are probably out in the street, the little loafers." she closed up. i would like to speak with her further, so i knock at the door. "excuse me for inconveniencing you, madam, but could you tell me when mrs. b. will be home--whether she is at home in the morning?" "i could not tell you, sir." "does she go out to work?" "i don't know--i don't care. ask some one else. every day another bother about the poor woman. i am tired of answering. the charity again?" "no, no," i assured her. "i have some other business with her. i am an old friend from the time her husband was yet alive." "she'll soon be in. she is probably talking with a neighbour. wait; i'll go and ask the boy. he must be near the house." presently she put a shawl over her shoulders, gave a last look to the boiling pots, covered one, took another off, and was soon with me in the street. she looked to the right and left, asked the grocer and butcher, and finished by calling down the street: "mike! mike! where are you, loafer?" she soon distinguished him among the other boys and pointed him out to me. he was standing with his back to us watching the other boys as they glided on their skates. "mike, mike!" the woman called, but the boy was too engrossed to hear her. together we walked up to him. "that gentleman wants to see your mother, you loafer," the woman introduced him, and went her way. a boy of twelve years old, who looked like one of eight by his physique, and like an old man by his wrinkled and worn-out look. pale, stooping, with a little nervous twitch around the lips and a short tearing cough as he spoke. this told the tale of his misery. "what do you want?" he asked me angrily. "come into the house," i answered, and putting a hand on his shoulder i signed him to follow me. "i want to stay here," the boy said, and with a jerk he freed himself from my hand. "i want to watch the boys play--run on the skates," and he turned away to watch one particularly able boy as he made fancy figures with his feet. "where are your skates, mike?" i questioned. "i have none. what's it your business?" from the empty lot flew a ball. mike caught it and was about to throw it back when one of the boys called out: "hi, hi, mike--charity kid--hurry up. throw the ball here. hurry up." angry, mike threw the ball in the opposite direction and flashed back a short sentence that gave his opinion about his insulter. a fist fight was the result and the poor lad would have gotten the worst of it had not his mother suddenly appeared from behind, and hitting the aggressor and the child she separated them and took her son home. he wriggled as though he wanted to go back to fight, but his mother had him well in hand. i followed them. at the entrance of the hall i waited a few minutes before knocking at the door, listening. the mother scolded, the boy cried and a little girl's voice pacified. "come in." "mrs. b.?" i inquired. "yes, sir," the woman answered, and as she spoke she removed her coat and rubbers. about thirty, care-ploughed face, weak eyes, colourless lips, stooped, narrow, short of breath. "what is it you want, sir?" "could we go into another room or would you send the children out so we can talk at our ease, mrs. b.?" the woman thought for awhile, then she beckoned to the children, who went into another room. i came straight to the point. i claimed that i was from the gerry society and that the children were not well taken care of. "where are you the whole day? you leave the children on the street, their shoes are torn, their clothes not suitable to the season--they are hungry, dirty." the woman cried, whined. she was a poor widow. charities gave her too little and all the rest of the story that i expected. "but where are you the whole day long and late at night?" i insisted. she gave a thousand explanations, none of which were true. the last one was that she went to neighbours in order to save coal. at this point the boy came out from the other room. he looked determined, and he had a little book folded in his hand. "mamma lies. she goes out for business. she sells laces and curtains." "shut up--shut up!" she sprang from her chair. i interfered. "let the boy alone." "mamma lies," the boy continued, and showed me the bank book. i opened it and saw that the balance was almost five hundred dollars. "what is this?" i asked. "five hundred dollars in the bank and your children hungry and naked?" the woman looked like a criminal before the bar. the boy explained. "it's not her fault, mister. it's the fault of the ladies from the charities. they come here and bother every day. she can't buy anything, not even meat every day. she has to put the money in the bank. she has promised that when we move out she will buy me a pair of skates like all the other boys and girls have. now she has enough money. let her move away from here to a place where nobody knows us. i don't want to be called 'charity kid' any longer. i want roller skates. i want to move, i want new pants, i want meat every day. i don't want to be called charity kid any longer, and that's all." the mother looked at her son and cried. the little girl hid in a corner. the boy had finished. his nerves gave out and he too cried. a few moments i looked at them and thought again of the poor wretches who are in the clutches of organised charity, the mother that starved her children because she dared not buy meat, because she dared not dress them. in four years she had saved five hundred dollars. just the price of meat for every day of the year. a little more bread and fruit. she certainly had saved with an object in view. to save herself. and all the time the children knew that she had the price of food. the boy, longing for childish pleasures, roller skates, which the mother dared not buy because of the investigator's "where did you get the money?" the bad neighbour, for whom the poor woman may not have wanted to wash the floor, would call in the "lady" and tell her: "they have meat every day. the children have pennies, and now they have skates too." and the "lady" would question, torture, menace, call names, insult. ah! i knew the whole game now. knew it only too well. that little room at the top of which is the sign "investigator." i knew how they went in there. knew how they came out. no, it was not her fault. "here, mrs. b.--your bank book. i am not from the gerry society. i am from the charities." the woman trembled. the boy looked at me. "when does your month finish here?" "on the first." "move away from here, woman, move away. it's your last chance to save yourself. move away and earn your living. you will not get a cent from the charities, and that boy must not be touched. you are to let him alone or i will take him away from you. good-night." i ran out. at home a party of friends awaited me. we were to go and hear music. i could not. i wanted to drink. i stayed at home and drank brandy until i fell asleep. i drank and swore until i slept. the next morning when i had to make out my report i excused myself, saying that i had to continue my investigation as i had more information to gather. in reality it was to give me time to think out what to say and what not to say. the next day i made out a report, simply saying that i had found out the woman mrs. b. had five hundred dollars in the german bank, book no. 8..., that she does business in curtains; and advised them to cut her off immediately. the manager did not believe what i said and consequently 'phoned to the bank, which corroborated my statement. immediately the investigators were called in, and in firm tones the manager lectured them on their tender-heartedness with applicants. he told them that they must make their investigations in a more thorough manner, otherwise they would lose their positions. stupid fool that i was. whenever i wanted to do good i only made the poor suffer more. promptly on the first of the next month i was in 124th street. mrs. b. had moved a few days before. through the express company i got her address, way up in the bronx. i went there, on washington avenue. i saw the boy and girl in new clothes and on roller skates. "hullo," i greeted them. they both became pale. "where do you live now, children?" the boy thought a moment and then he hissed out between his teeth: "what in hell is it your business, now? we don't get any more money from you. what do you come to bother us here for? we don't want you. we have got enough of your dirty business." "listen," i told him: "i don't want to bother you any more, but tell me, have you bread and meat every day now?" "meat and candies and butter and everything, and mamma has a million in the bank and that's all, and don't come to bother us. we are no more 'charity kids.' for god's sake can't you leave us alone?" "good luck to you." i turned around and disappeared as quickly as possible. the test in the boiler factories they submit the boiler to a test of resistance. the engine is subjected to a pressure three or four times stronger than the one it will have to withstand in the ordinary run of work. if successful it is sent out to the market guaranteed by the factory. if not, it is made over. the weak points are strengthened, and in most cases it is put away to be entirely recast. for boilers and engines this may be a good system of control, though many an engineer maintains that the over-pressure weakens the machine for ordinary use. to use such a system with men, women and children is barbarous, to say the least. the inquisition had such a system--the question chamber. it is a well-known fact that persons put to the "question" often admitted things which in reality they had never said or done. most of the time they, the tortured ones, knew that to admit these things meant death, the hangman or the auto da fã©. still, when they confessed, the torture ceased for the moment. this they called "the test." not one in a thousand could maintain his will power when the test was applied. it went on in crescendo as the hours passed by and the man or woman did not "respond." it was up to the man doing the work to devise such means as would loosen the tongue, break the will. the hangman himself was punished for not getting at the truth, or was praised by his superior for his success. torquemada called a particular man from madrid to accompany him to grenada, as he alone knew how to apply the "test" to the glory of the almighty and of jesus christ. this man had perfected himself in the art of torturing. i am not certain whether this is the man who is spoken of in connection with the "question" of a certain gentleman which had to be put off because the "_real one_" at the bench had a terrible toothache that day. but the "test" is applied to-day. applied to the poor by organised charity. applied systematically, methodically and in crescendo; and like the "real one" wanted by torquemada there are real ones in the offices of the charity institutions. this is how it is done. a family is pensioned by the organisation. three or four years the family has received regularly two dollars a week and the rent and coals for the winter. then all at once, generally early in the winter, the order to apply the "test" is given. the family is visited three or four times in a week. the children are followed to and from their work. the neighbours are adroitly asked about the family. every one visiting the family and surprised by the investigator is questioned: "are you the brother of mrs. b.?" "are you her husband? are you her boarder?" if this does not bring results the coal is cut off, to see whether the family cannot succeed in raising money for coal. if this is not successful the allowance is discontinued for a few weeks. this naturally brings the woman to the office. she is not allowed to see the manager. for several days this is continued, then the question is put: what is she doing at night? where does she go during the day? whence does she get the necessary additional money? if she is a stubborn subject and resists all this, then the rent is cut off. the landlord waits a few days. the woman runs to the office. "what shall i do?" "we have no money; help yourself," she is told. in a few days the "furniture," two broken chairs, a limping table and a mattress, are put out in the street. in the cold, in the snow, the children are huddled up in rags, between the table and the stove and the picture of washington. on top of the bundle of bedding is a saucer in which some passersby have thrown a few cents. sometimes, in a case like this, some distant, poor relative, or some one with whom the family had connections, steps in and gives them a helping hand. then, the test being successful, the woman is cut off the pension list. she has helped herself. at other times, there being no one to help, the applicant makes such a row that he is restored to the list with a cross after his name denoting bad behaviour. on another occasion he will again be tried. sometimes the woman comes running and begs that her rent be paid. she will attend to the rest. she will sell newspapers, matches. she will scrub floors. she will send her twelve year old daughter to work. "you can't do that. she is not of age." "yes, she is." "according to our records she is only twelve years old." "i lied, then. she is fourteen. only pay my rent. i can't stay in the street." the "test" has been partially successful. pension and coal supply is cut off. only the rent is paid. a little girl is sent to an early grave. i remember one case where the coalman, an old italian, had pity and gave the coal on credit. when the investigator asked him why he did so he answered angrily, "not your business." a report was made in regard to the immoral relations between the poor widow and the old italian. it was but natural that a certain friendship should be established between the widow and her benefactor. she repaired his clothes, and when the allowance was cut off he divided his bread with her. no amount of explanation could convince the investigator that the woman was not proven to be immoral by this fact. "why is she so friendly with the coalman?" "because she is cold and he gives her coals." "why does he give her coals?" "because you don't send her any." then the investigator would answer triumphantly: "if she were an honest woman she would stand the test. she would suffer cold and hunger." then she would remember that last summer the woman had a new dress that she could not account for and once there was a piece of chicken in her pot. she evidently got it from the butcher for her good offices. the poor have no business to eat chicken. it is the old question of the southern negro. he is not allowed to engage in other trades than cooking and shoe shining, and when you discuss this with a southern gentleman he proves to you that the negro is an inferior being from the fact that he does not work at anything but these trades. you cut off the supply of coal in the dead of winter, and when the woman obtains it from the coalman it is a proof that she is dishonest--that they are "all alike." it is true that many of them would give their bodies for a bucket of coal or a piece of meat when they are hungry and cold. many of them have admitted crimes that they have never committed under stress. but what does that prove? one young widow with a two year old child when submitted to the test twice in one year was taken in by a "madame" of a house of ill-fame in the neighbourhood. she left the few broken chairs and the table on the sidewalk and went there in the capacity of cook. i found her there. she was glad of the change. "but it is an immoral house," i argued. "it's better than to be at the mercy of the investigator and the office," was her answer. a few weeks later she had given away her child and was a regular inmate of the house, and still glad of the change, and thankful to the woman who had taken her in. but the report of the investigator, both to the charity institution and the sisterhood, reads: "mrs. k. always led a life of shame and all my work was unsuccessful. when put to the test she went to a disreputable house and has of late abandoned her own child." the sisterhood used their influence and had the house raided a few times and all the women arrested, mrs. k. among them. the "madame" was expressly told that she was being persecuted on account of the woman she had taken in. when mrs. k. had finished her sentence in prison she found the door of the house closed to her. fourteenth street is free. i spoke to her. she is still glad of the change. such are the results of the "test." it is not those who do not receive charity--the poor who have to go without--who are to be pitied, but those who are in the clutches of charity. they should be helped, saved. they are the greatest sufferers. under the cloak of charity men and women are tortured. each piece of bread is scalded with tears and pains, and if another napoleon should arise there is a job waiting for him--to burn down the modern inquisition, destroy the torture chamber, abolish the "question," the "test," to save the poor from organised charity. no wonder that the situation is such a horrible one, when you consider the general mentality of the people supposed to work for the amelioration of the suffering poor. who are they? have they the interest of the poor at heart, or do they consider first their own job? does any one of them start his daily work with a thought of the poor, with a charitable thought? not at all. his only occupation is how to please his superior, how to show a good record, so that his own bread is assured. the poor are stepping stones, a climbing ladder towards promotion, social influence, recognition. incidentally some of the applicants get a few dollars a week, but they are not the real objective point. it reminds me of colonel sellers in mark twain's story. he proposes a partnership to a young man for the manufacture of a certain eye-water, a special preparation to heal sore eyes, and when the young man becomes enthusiastic about it--he will heal sores!--colonel sellers tells him: "this is not the object, my boy. from the first fifty thousand bottles we sell we open another branch in calcutta or bombay--there are millions of sufferers there." again the young man thinks of the good work, but colonel sellers continues: "and from there we establish warehouses in alexandria, smyrna and buenos ayres, twenty million bottles a year is our output, with a net profit of two hundred thousand dollars a year." by this time the young man too has been influenced to look away from the real object, the sick, the sufferers. two hundred thousand dollars a year is a good prize. but twain had something in his sleeve and colonel sellers delivers his last blow. "do you think that a man like me would be satisfied with a paltry two hundred thousand dollars a year? there's millions in it, my dear boy." the real business now only begins. "we will form a stock company with a capital of twenty-five million dollars, etc., etc." this was the real business. the sick and poor and the medicine were only an incident, a necessary ingredient to the whole scheme to give it an appearance of something. there are enough colonel sellers in the charity institutions. they are there only for a fraction of time before they get the real thing--before they form the stock company. incidentally the sore eye preparation, namely, the poor, play a rã´le. the charity institution--it is the stock exchange of suffering. i have just described one form of the "test." when i once spoke about it to some one who has been connected with another one of these institutions for years, expecting him to be horrified, he simply took a note of the details in his book. "and how does it work?" he asked me. i explained that a good many, driven to the brink, have squirmed out by some by-path, while others shift for themselves as best they can. "well, well," he thought aloud, "i'll have to try it myself." and incidentally i learned a good many other tricks of the trade, as he called them, from him. "there was one particular woman," he told me, "whose mouth i had to open with my fist so that she would tell us where her boy was. he had run away from the place we had found for him. we wanted him to learn a trade and a glassblower gave him a chance. but the boy would not stay with his boss. i argued and argued and argued. he did not like the trade, he told me, but in reality it was work he did not like. the last time he ran away i decided that it was about time to show my authority and i found a reason to have him arrested. the mother having told me that he had not given her his pay i wanted her to get a warrant issued and put him away for a few months in a house of correction, just to teach him a good lesson, but the mother would not tell me where he was. when i saw that i could not make her say anything by persuasion--well, i had to use force." "what of the boy?" i inquired. "he was no good. he was six months in the house of correction, but it did not help. he is now a gang leader of very bad reputation," he finished, with devout eyes. this stupid ass in charge of the poor, _who walks six miles to get a certain brand of cigar, would not understand that a boy may not like one trade and be very willing to learn another_. this spiritual hog wanted to show his authority by compelling a mother to give up her child to gaolers--used force to do it--to the glory of the almighty and jesus christ. and he wondered that his "case" had become a gang leader! i wonder that the boy did not repay him for his splendid service to humanity. scabs in c---in 1910 thousands of workers in the clothing industry struck for better wages. they were mostly newly-arrived immigrants, all of them skilled workingmen, and though the manufacturers were making millions and advertised that they employed only the best skilled labour, the workers, men and women, and their families, starved. a shameful system of task work was established, whereby contractors sublet their work to sub-contractors, and these to other contractors, and the workers were kept at piece work. many of them worked from six a. m. until midnight, in dirty, dingy sweatshops and at the end of the week they received seven or eight dollars. even this small sum was not assured. it happened more than once that the sub-contractor, for whom the men worked, simply disappeared with the pay of all the men. as they were not engaged by the firm they could not ask the manufacturer to pay them, and had to go hungry, they, their wives and their children. such conditions lasted a good many years, until at last, in 1910, the men organised and struck to abolish the sub-contracting system and the piece work which led to it. the men struck for a minimum wage, a fixed working hour and sanitary factory conditions. they also wanted to know for whom they were working. to obtain such necessary and elementary rights they were compelled to stay out several months, entailing great suffering from hunger and cold. in every strike the manufacturers use strike-breakers. sometimes, in america, the students of the colleges go to scab, to protect the right of _free labour_, they claim. in the clothing industry skilled workers are used. the students could not execute the work, and among the skilled tailors there was not one mean enough to scab. each charity institution also keeps an employment bureau. the men and women they send to work are always paid the most wretched wages, and they work to the last notch of their endurance. for work that has hitherto been paid twelve dollars per week the man who comes recommended by the charities receives not more than six dollars. of him twice as much work is expected. he is not supposed to lift his head or speak or smile. he must always look humble, wretched, submissive. he must make it appear that his work is worth much less than he gets. he must look to his employer as to the saviour, because he has been sent by the charities. the fact that he appealed to the charities is a proof that he is a failure, also a proof that the man has nothing to depend upon; no brother, sister or friend that could help. the employers demanding help from the employment office are all "subscribers"--they contribute a certain sum to the institution. for this and other services rendered, they are given a little white plate with black letters to nail on the door, which reads: "member of organised charity." this acts like a talisman. it drives away the hungry and needy. if you were to stay a half hour in the private sanctum of the manager of the bureau you would hear such telephonic conversation: "is this mr. so and so?" "how is our man getting on?" "well, if he does not suit you we'll send you another one." "we have plenty of schnorrers (beggars) around here." "that's how they all are--lazy. they want money, not work." five minutes later another man is sent. the employment office is not for the benefit of the poor, but to be of service to the rich, to lower the pride of the workingman. during the strike of the cloak makers the telephone of the bureau was continually ringing. the manufacturers demanded help. when any one applied for charity the first question put was: "are you a tailor?" and they did not believe the man or woman who said "no." if they discovered a tailor there was rejoicing in the institution and mr. x. or mr. z., a clothing manufacturer, was called up and told the glad tidings. "we are sending you a man." thus does organised charity work to break a strike of men who are demanding living wages; a strike where the poor suffer so that their children may live a decent life. the records of the institution were looked up, and every man and woman who was thought to have had a connection with the needle at any time of his life, or who could operate a sewing machine, was singled out and the order to "cut off" was given. a few days later, men old and broken, sick and worn out women and consumptive girls, were thronging the halls of the institution. they cried and begged and showed handkerchiefs red with the blood of their wounded lungs. there they were with their swollen eyes and hands crippled from the toil of former years. but like the herd of cattle from the slaughter-house, serving only one purpose as far as the man with the long knife is concerned, so were they all, slowly but surely, driven upstairs to the employment office, from where they were escorted to the shops, to finish their days slaving at the machine to enrich the donors of the institution and help in the good work of starving into submission their brothers and sisters on strike for living wages. when i protested and asked why this was done they said: "is this institution kept up by the poor, by the workingman, or by the donations of the rich manufacturers?" and then again i asked: "but _for whom_ is it kept up?" to which i was answered by sneers and shrugs and laughter. and the thousands of workers knew not from where these poor starved men came and they fought against them and blood was spilled--blood that otherwise trickled slowly away on the handkerchiefs, on the waste, and was wiped off the mouth with the linen from which garments were manufactured. when the strike was at an end and the victorious workingmen returned to their places, the scabs were sent away. again they were restored to the pension list or sent to the sanatorium, but in a few months, when the leaves began to fall from the trees, the list was reduced to half--men and women had gone to their graves. but the charity institutions had their subscription list increased, for the rich had learned to know what a strong support they had in organised pity. walk now through the clothing district of a city, and on each and every door you will see the white enamel sign, with black letters: "members of the organised charities." it is written with blood--with the same red, bloody letters in which the sign of the house on the road is written: "ye poor of the land come and warm your bodies." only, instead of the stove, there is a sewing machine, a pressing iron, a drilling machine, and the devil laughs and laughs and shows his white teeth. "has ever man built a better place for me!" saving him in the waiting room i noticed a man who came a few days consecutively. somehow he impressed me as outside the class of people that apply for charity. though he had passed the basement ordeal and had to get through with the waiting room lesson there still was a look of independence in his eyes. he never spoke to the other applicants; he never sat on the benches reserved for them. more than once the office boy and other employees had told him to sit down, in an imperative tone. at such an admonition he would retreat to a corner with a bitter smile on his lips and view the whole thing as a passing ordeal through which he had to go. he impressed me with his indomitable look, with his high forehead and the deep serious lines carved on his face. he was also very much interested in the doings of the office and i often thought that he was trying to get the sense of this hustling and bustling around him. one day he appeared to be very nervous. a look of desperate determination was in his eyes as he came in. instead of going to the waiting room he sought to enter the sanctum sanctorum of the manager and get an explanation of some sort from him. repeatedly he inquired of the boys how he could reach that high person. with a shrug of the shoulders the boys passed him by without replying to his questions. others admonished him to go to the waiting room. i approached him and asked him what he wanted. "i want to see the manager," he answered. "for the last five days i have been coming here. i have made an application eight days ago and have had no answer. now," he said, "i have not applied to charity eight days before i needed it. it is my last resource. i can't find any work. i'm a tailor. during the season i have been sick, otherwise i would have saved up for slack times. my wife has borne me a child two weeks ago and my landlord threatens to put us out." he used better english than the average workman and he was so dignified in his appeal, as if he considered that the charity owed him help when in distress. i told him that i would try to arrange that he see the manager as soon as possible. i, so to speak, cleared the path for him. he was intercepted by mr. lawson, who in his cold voice asked him what he wanted. the man explained his situation. he did not cry; he did not whine. in simple words he said what he had to say. mr. lawson looked at him with his piercing grey eyes. he seemed very interested in the man. his dignity was so impressive, so manly. as he finished his tale mr. lawson put his hand on the man's shoulder and dismissed him with very kind words, saying that they would attend to it as soon as possible. the man went away thanking him. i saw mr. lawson searching on his desk and soon he had the man's application. he studied it in all its details. all of a sudden he said to me: "you saw this man? i'm going to save him. i am sure that everything he told is true, and i'm going to save him. such men should be saved. they are of a better kind and we are going to save him from the degradation of the waiting room and association with the derelicts--our regular customers." "how much are you going to give him?" i asked, and at this moment i thought very highly of mr. lawson. for such is human nature--excuse all bad acts for a single good one. "how much are we going to give him?" the gentleman repeated in an astonished voice that had a tinge of sarcasm in it. "we are not going to give him _anything_. such men must be saved from pauperism. if we should give him something he'd be lost. i want to save him; do you understand, _save him_. i will give orders not to let him in the hall at all the next time he comes." as i went out i had in my mind a new interpretation of christ's crucifixion. pontius pilate wanted to save humanity by crucifying the meek one. "too good to them" one afternoon there was a great commotion in the office. as soon as i entered i felt that something extraordinary had happened. "did you hear the news?" one of the employees asked me. "something awful has happened." "what is it?" i inquired curiously, as i knew that only something very important could stir these hardened "charity workers." "why!" the young lady burst out, with horror in her voice. "imagine! an applicant, a mean, dirty applicant, a pauper, an immoral woman probably, has slapped mr. cram's face." "did she? really?" i exclaimed, and not being able to contain my joy i laughed for the first time since i had crossed the door of the institution. the lady wondered at my joy. "what are you laughing for?" she asked. "do you think it is fun to be hit and insulted by an applicant? mr. cram is there the whole day listening to their lies. he is one of the best men in the institution, and along comes a dirty derelict, a pauper, and slaps him in the face. do you think it's fun? it shows how mean the poor are, how ungrateful, impolite, criminal. you should not laugh about such things, mr. baer," she admonished reproachfully. "but why did she do it?" i queried. "there must have been a reason. he must have provoked her badly. cram insults them all, and who knows what terrible thing he said to this one!" "no, no!" the young lady interrupted me, and her face took on an expression of contempt and every time she pronounced the word applicant, pauper, or any other characterisation of the poor who apply to charity, she hissed it out between closed teeth, as though it were disgusting and vile. "no," she continued, "there is no reason strong enough to excuse her. to slap the face of the one to whom you stretch a begging hand. why, that's the last rung of the ladder. it simply shows how unworthy they are of charity. the first requirement of an applicant is to be humble. i know whose fault it is," she insisted. "i know--" the last sentence conveyed the intimation that i should question her, and i did so. "it's mr. cram's own fault," she said. "he is _too good to them_--that's the reason. i told him so," she finished, and sat down to her work. cram too good! great god! if they call him _too good_, what about the others? what about they themselves? have i not yet seen it all--is more horror to follow? all that i had witnessed in the basement presented itself before me. cram with the pipe between his teeth, reading an application and putting his insolent questions, laughing in the applicant's face, calling them liars, lazy, immoral women, dirty, and all the rest of it. "what happened next?" i asked the young lady. she had evidently felt that i was not in sympathy with cram's misfortune, for she answered very brusquely: "he had her arrested," and did not want to talk further. in vain i tried to obtain details. further than that she would not go. i felt that cram must have outdone himself to have provoked one of those crushed souls to such an action. to tell the truth i had great admiration for the woman who had done it. it gave me greater hope in the redemption of humanity. i wanted to know all the details but could not get them in the office. cram himself was looked upon as a martyr. once when passing me he said: "you remember what i told you the other day? they are a bad lot--and to think that i am a red hot socialist. i hope this will cure you of your soft heart," he added, as he walked away. it took me three days before i learned the woman's address. i decided to go and see her. one evening i walked up five flights of stairs of a dingy tenement house. i knocked at the door and was soon allowed to enter. as it was very cold the gas was frozen. the room where i sat, the kitchen, was lighted by a candle stuck in an empty bottle. there was no fire in the stove. i did not see the children, but heard their voices from the adjoining room. "mamma, bread. mamma, who's there?" the little ones queried. i told the woman frankly the object of my visit, without telling her that i was employed by the charities. i only said that i had learned through a friend what had happened and was interested to know all about it from her own words. the children were continually disturbing us with their questions and the rooms were so cold that i could hardly stand it. i advised making a fire. of course there was no coal. i gave her some money to go down and buy some, also some bread and butter and sugar. we were friends in a few minutes and she did not feel very ill at ease. when i gave her the few cents i had not yet seen her face, on account of the semi-darkness. only her voice was so well-modulated that a few words sufficed to indicate the personality of the woman. two big, sparkling eyes shone out from under her brows. she told the children that she was going to buy bread and coal and they clapped their little hands in joy, and as she closed the door one of them asked: "did the gentleman give you money? is he from the charities?" "no," i answered, "i'm just a friend," and taking the candle i went into the adjoining room where they were in bed covered with all the pillows and clothes that the house afforded. there were two children. i gave them some chocolate that i had bought for my own children, and soon we became great friends. "have you any children?" the older child, about six years of age, asked me suddenly. "yes--i have." "how many?" "three," i told him. "have they always had what to eat?" the younger one, about five years old, inquired. "no," i said, in a voice choked with shame. "no?" they both wondered, "and they have a papa. mamma said all the children who have papas have what to eat!" said the older one. "yes," philosophised the younger, "but he gives away to other children. he's a bad papa. our papa was not a bad papa. he gave everything to his children. that's the kind of papa we had." the mother soon returned with her purchases, the coalman behind her. soon there was a fire in the stove. the tea kettle was set on the fire. the children were given bread, and the house became very friendly. as my eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness i remarked that the rooms were kept very clean and orderly. everything had its place. some little pictures on the walls were placed with taste. one would never have suspected the actual want of bread on seeing the house. the quietness of the children soon told me that they were sleeping. i waited until the tea was ready. i casually learned that she was a country-woman of mine, coming from roumania and also from the same town. i even remembered some of her relatives who were known as wealthy, as wealth goes in that country. i lit another candle. the tea was ready. we sat opposite one another to drink the beverage. the fact that we were from the same country had given rise to a feeling of friendship between us. instead of talking about herself she inquired about my family and remembered my mother, brothers and grandfather. i had almost forgotten the object of my visit, so busily were we engaged in questioning one another about relatives and acquaintances. all the misery she had suffered had not stamped out her dignity. good breeding spoke from every line of her face, from every curve of her body. she must have been about thirty years old. she spoke of her poverty as of a misfortune that might happen to any one. she was not ashamed of it, as of a vice, as most of the poor are--as they are made to feel once they come under the influence of charity; and this made my mission a very easy one. as i write these lines her beautiful modulated voice still rings in my ears. till late into the night we sat opposite each other. everything that i had witnessed in the last few months passed before my mental vision. every evil became accentuated, for i felt that the woman before me must have been shamefully insulted. a refined, even educated, woman of her temperament would not commit violence if she were decently treated. without her story i knew that she was right, but the poison of mistrust had touched my heart also. i wanted to know, to question, to bruise, to delve into her heart. and with all the ability i had acquired as an investigator i brought her round to tell me her story; not merely how she came to hit cram, but from the very beginning, since she married. at first she refused, but i used such arguments that she at last acquiesced. with one of her children, who could not sleep on account of a headache, in her arms, in the half dark room, she told me her story of woe, simply and with dignity, and if here and there was a note of pathos or a tear she restrained it and went on bravely to the end. and this was her story: "eight years ago, in roumania, i married the man of my choice. he was a dentist. soon after our marriage a terrible persecution against the jews started. jews were killed on the slightest pretext and their murderers were never brought to justice. the parents of the murdered, fearing vengeance, never tried to prosecute the criminals. it went so far that killing a jew became a kind of sport. we quit that cursed land and came here. my husband, not knowing english, could not pass the state board examination and worked clandestinely until he was trapped by the county medical association. he paid his fine and was let go free, but he was afraid to work, and to hire out to others in this line is so poorly paid that he could not even think of it. soon the little money we had was gone and to earn our bread he went to work in a tailor's factory as presser. a child was born. not accustomed to manual work, and angry at what he considered his degradation, he fell sick. when he got better he took to drink. oh! those nights when he came home unable to stand on his feet and crying. i would talk to him the next day--cry--and threaten to leave him. he would promise to reform and the next pay day he would come home drunk again. "a second child was soon born. one day, at work, he spat blood. they brought him home. he went to bed and when the youngest child was six weeks old he died of consumption. this was five years ago. i was unable to do anything to earn my living. some friends helped me out for a while but soon i was forgotten. on account of my small children i could not go out to work. i also knew no trade. a few months afterwards i applied to the charities for help. they wanted to take my children away to an orphanage. this i could not bear. they are my children--i cannot separate from them. finally they agreed to pension me--two dollars and my rent. from such a small sum we could not live. i learned to do some work in the artificial flower business. i took work home, and in the season, working until midnight, i would average about three dollars a week. the investigator reported that i worked. one day she met me on the street. i had just put on a new dress i had bought. the next week my pension did not come. i went to the office and inquired. "if you earn enough money to buy dresses you don't need charity," was their answer. i explained to them that my other dress was torn, that my new dress cost only two dollars, as i had made it myself, and offered to prove to them that i did not earn more than three dollars a week. my pension was resumed, but ever since the investigator has treated me very badly. she has forced me to move every two or three months. here it was too dear, there too high, there too good, and so on. last month she came to me at ten o'clock one night. as i was already in bed i did not let her in. she insisted and threatened that she would cut me off. this enraged me still further and i did not open the door for her. she stood in the hall more than half an hour, then she again knocked at the door, cursed and went away. the next week was rent week. i received no money, and the landlord, who knew that the charities pay my rent, came and told me that unless he received his cheque in two days he would put me out. "i went to the charities to ask why they did not send the money. i was directed to a little room, on the door of which is written: 'investigator.' mr. cram came in, and seating himself before me began the most insolent questioning one could imagine. how much did i spend at the grocery? how much at the butcher? how much for dresses? then he began to question me about my friends. i told him that no friends came to my house. 'so,' he said, with an insolent twinkle in his eyes, 'and who is the gentleman who was in your room the night you did not open the door to miss ----?' i felt my blood rush to my head. it was too much. i struck him in the face and would have killed him if i had had my way. they arrested me; the judge freed me, and here i am." as she finished, the words of the employã© of the office who told me the story rang again in my ears: "it's cram's own fault, he is too good to them." great god! i felt so little when i went away. here was a real heroine. "could you give me any money for my little ones?" she asked. not a trace of the beggar in her attitude or voice. i humbly gave her what i could and considered myself happy to have shaken hands with a real human being. robbers of the peace one of the greatest injustices to the poor is the right that the charities arrogate to themselves to visit them whenever they choose. once you depend upon charity all privacy is gone. the sanctity of the home is destroyed. it is as though the family were living in some one else's--in the charities'--home. the investigator comes into the house unannounced any time of the day or night, questions anybody she finds in the house, criticises the meals, the curtains; goes around to the grocery, to the neighbours, looking for a "clue" that will give to the institution the right to cease helping the particular "case," to "cut her" as they say. this continual living in fear of the investigator, coupled with the attitude of the neighbours and merchants who have all been told that mrs. d. is a charge of the charities, pauperises the poor to such an extent that most of them lose all sense of shame and pride. mere rags they are, that try to fit themselves to surroundings, and the children, oh! the children of the poor! they are the greatest sufferers of all. they are continually cross-examined by the investigators. never are they trusted, and the word "liar," is always on the lips of their torturers. they must not play like other children, and if they make an attempt to live their young lives, on the slightest childish quarrel with their playmates the fact that they are depending on charity is thrown in their face. "charity kids," the other children call them. if they claim at the grocers that the bread is stale the fact that the mother depends on charity and consequently has no right to pride, is brought up, and though they pay actual money they are not given actual value for it. they must not play or stay in the hall. the janitor will scold them more than any of the other children. the "why don't you go to work" is repeated every second. their ages are always disputed. an applicant's child is always over fourteen (working age) in the eyes of the neighbours, janitor, groceryman, butcher, investigator and all the rest of the torturers. a woman's pension has been discontinued _because her children looked too well_--they were "the picture of health," and as the investigator could not understand it the pension was discontinued. another woman's pension, and many more before her and many more after her, was discontinued because she dressed too neatly. (by the way, the woman was a dressmaker by trade and as she had no sewing-machine she did it all by hand.) like the sword of damocles is the charity demon, hanging over its victims. "who visits her?" "does she receive men at night?" "does she go out in the evening?" "does she buy butter?" "don't you think she looks in the mirror a little too much? where does she go?" "does she go to moving pictures?" these are but a few of the questions that an investigator asks of the neighbours and dealers, and beware if she, the applicant, has ever quarrelled with them. but more than all this is the persecution of coming into the house without being announced, so that the poor woman might not be saved the pain of her friends (whom she does not want to enlighten) meeting the investigator. the sanctity of the home is guaranteed by the constitution of the land. it is a law. are the laws different for rich and poor? in his own house one may refuse to receive when and whom he likes. this inhuman system of investigation is ruining the homes of the poor, driving away their boys, their daughters, and making their escape from pauperism impossible. i know of a boy to whom his mother had given vinegar to drink because his cheeks were too red to please the investigator! i know of a woman who when her husband died did not know that she was pregnant. two months later she knew it, but she had already told the investigator that she was not. in fear that the investigator would not believe that she did not know and would accuse her of immorality and cut off her pension, she performed a criminal operation, infected herself and died. such is the dread of the "investigator," and almost all the applicants are women, and all the investigators are women--mothers--sisters, sweethearts--but their trade has hardened them so much that judging by their actions one would think them wild beasts. and still the managers think that they are "too tender hearted." it is the whole system of organised charity that is criminal--debasing both the giver and he that receives, and this is not meant for the charities of this country alone. it is meant for the charities of the whole world over. "he who giveth to the poor," is no more. a sum of money is given to men who make it their business to make the life of the one who needs so miserable that he should prefer starvation and the grave to their help; and these are the really worthy ones, while the successful applicant, the one who can stand the whole vile process, is generally the most miserable creature on earth, with no sentiment of pride or shame, and often is not really in need. to their everlasting shame charities, organised charity, has created a new type. the professional pauper. these professional paupers have a regular system of obtaining money. they know the names and locations of all charitable institutions, know what to say to one and what to another--bribe the janitor and silence the grocer and butcher. borrow children from neighbours so as to make the family appear bigger, and sell to others, novices, their knowledge, or work on the basis of percentage. and for all this only charity, criminal, organised charity, is to blame. if men feel that through their fault, or the system which they continue, their brothers and sisters suffer, that the children starve and perish, then let them give _personally_, with their own hands, and if they want to investigate the truth of what the poor have told them let them go and do it _personally_. if they do not want to go then they shall not. but giving to the organised charities is worse than stealing the last crust of bread from the lost in the desert. man's pride, his sense of shame is his last property, the only one he has that might help him in his struggle when he is down. organised charity robs him of this last thing, robs him and his wife and his children and children's children. and this is the reason why those who have once applied to charities have remained their "regular customers." the sign at the door amongst the "discontinued pensioners" i visited, i found a young jewish woman with two children, one eight and one six years old. from the reports i learned that she came to new york five years ago from russia, had worked some time in an embroidery factory and had been disabled in an accident--lost her right arm. the report also spoke of a fruitless search made to find her husband, who, the woman claimed, had deserted her in russia and was now in new york. the investigator claimed that this was all a tissue of lies, that mrs. baum's husband was a myth, as the children whom she had questioned admitted never having had a "papa." a certain jewish paper in new york publishes daily the pictures of men who desert their families, and other details about them. in the report it was stated that the investigator asked mrs. baum for a picture of her husband, but the woman refused it, saying that she did not want to brand the father of her children. the report ended with the remark that the whole thing was a tissue of lies and demanded closer examination. it is interesting to know that the report was made by a new investigator, working in a district formerly entrusted to a woman with whom this investigator was at dagger points, because of some love affair. later on, the same investigator spoke about mrs. baum's severe illness and the temporary removal of the children to an orphan asylum. the pension was kept up for eighteen more months, then suddenly discontinued. when i read this i tried to think out the reason for the discontinuance. was the woman placed in a hospital for incurables? had she fallen? had she found her husband? the discontinuance dated eight months prior to my reading of the report, and although i knew how many times one can change his abode in new york, still i set out to hunt the woman up. for more than a week i spent every moment i could spare trying to trace her, but without success. in despair, i wrote ten letters, the first three to the addresses i knew and on the rest of them i just inscribed her name and the name of one of the lateral streets of the lower east side. in the letter i wrote a few words asking for an appointment and giving my address and asking for hers. i hoped that the woman had notified the post office of her changed address, and placed not a little confidence in the searching qualities of the new york post office employã©s. to my great astonishment i had a reply the next day, and an address was given of a house i had passed twenty times in my search. however, to the montgomery street house i directed my steps that evening. on the way i was overtaken by a heavy rain and looked more like a wet rat than a man when i knocked at the door. i confess that i thought more of getting dry than of the cause of my errand. curious, but personal discomfort makes one forget all remote considerations; the whole man is taken possession of by the desire to get his bearings, to right himself--much like the swinging pendulum when an accident has crippled the machine that sets it in motion. as soon as i entered mrs. baum's house and told who i was, i took off my coat, with her permission, and hung it on the back of a chair which i pushed near the kitchen stove, while i seated myself thereon and tried to regain my wits. the woman was alone. the children were at some kind neighbours. oh! how painful it was to see her at a little table near the window trying to make bunches of artificial flowers! how she twisted and turned the wires with one hand, with the left, while with the stump of the crippled right she kept the bunch on the table. she had encased the stump of her broken arm in a frame of wood so as to suffer less when working. she used her teeth, her chin, forehead, knees and armpits to help form a bunch, and the work went slowly, slowly. so little did she earn that she did not care to stop when a guest came, though i felt right along that she was consumed with curiosity. she lived in one room, which was kitchen, dining-room, and bedroom for her and the children, and also workroom. it did not take me very long to get dry, but it took less time for my coat to catch fire. before i had time to put out the fire the whole back was gone. i had a hard time to keep the woman quiet on her chair. a cry of fire would have created a holocaust in that fire-trap. when all was quiet again, i sent a neighbour's boy to my home to bring me another coat, while i seated myself near the table and began my questioning. but i had no luck. a knock at the door was followed by the entrance of a matron who immediately asked me who i was. i answered her very politely that i had business of my own with the lady and was not obliged to answer to strangers. "who is that man?" was now the question put to the crippled woman, who was just twisting a rose with her stump. "i don't know," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "you don't know?" sarcastically. "you don't know who the man is who sits near you in his shirtsleeves?" "madame," i tried to explain, "i came here during the rain, hung my coat on the back of a chair. it caught fire, and here i am." but the matron would not hear my explanation. she slammed the door and went out, cursing, talking loudly and insultingly. the woman was as pale as death. she looked from me to the door, and back again. it was my turn to ask a question. "who is that woman?" "the investigator of an institution that pays my rent." so saying, the woman's head sank on the table and she wept bitterly. she did not weep long. real sorrow is deep and short. there is no time for artistic posing when the knife has pierced the heart. the broken-down figure rose, brushed away some tears, and asked me: "and now, sir, tell me, who are you and what do you want?" she stood before me defiantly, as though to say: "make it quick, you bird of evil." "madame," i began, "i am making a supplementary investigation on behalf of the charities, and i want to look into the reason of your discontinuance." hearing this she retreated, laid off her defiance, and sat down. i took out my notebook and started my questioning. "have you now an idea where your husband is?" "of course i have, and this started the whole trouble," she began with animation. "how so?" i asked. "for four years i looked and searched without any result. i hoped and hoped, and the charities helped me also. i did not want to publish his picture in the papers. then i had that accident in the factory. great god! what that woman, mrs. sol (an investigator) made me suffer! never did she believe a word i said. called me beggar, liar, crazy, and all the ugly names in the language. i stood it all because i hoped that one day i would get rid of them. suddenly, one morning, while going to work, i saw _him_ going into a door on greene street. i ran after him and throwing my arms around him, cried: 'chaim, chaim.'" mrs. baum sobbed again and repeated her husband's name, as though she again saw him. after a few moments she resumed her narrative. "he looked at me, with strange eyes, as though he saw me for the first time. meanwhile a crowd had collected. i still kept calling 'chaim! don't you know me? your wife, leah?' 'what wife leah?' he asked. 'are you crazy?' ah! my own husband; the father of my children, did not want to recognise me. the crowd grew. i kept at him. a policeman arrived and forced me to let him go. he quickly entered the door and i ran to the charities and told them my story and gave them the street and house number. i was told to come the next day, when some one would be sent with me--a special man they had for such errands. what a day and what a night i passed! the next morning, bright and early, i was at the office. a young man accompanied me and i led the way to the house. we entered and the man asked the bookkeeper if a mr. baum was not working there. he looked in all the books and could find no such name. on my advice the young man asked permission to visit the shop. we were allowed to go up. we looked--he was not there. yet i was certain that i had seen him enter." the investigator again treated me to such epithets as "crazy woman, liar, etc." coming down, i begged the bookkeeper to look over the names of all the employã©s again. i thought perhaps he was working as a driver, clerk--or at some other job. to get rid of me he asked, 'how does he look?' i had his picture with me and i showed it to the man. he grew pale, and exclaimed: 'that's our boss, mr. ap.' all at once he realised what he had said and bent his head over his books. i was thunderstruck. here he was, the boss of all this and his wife and children starving and begging. so that's the kind of a man he is? the investigator asked the bookkeeper: "'is mr. ap. here?' "'no.' "'when do you expect him?' "'he is gone to europe.' "'when did he go?' i jumped up. "'i don't know,' he answered, and we could get no more information from him. i cried and pleaded--it did not help. "we returned to the office, where the manager was told of all that had happened. he listened very patiently and then said: 'give me the picture--we will attend to that now. meanwhile, you keep quiet.' some additional money was given to me and they said that i must not go to the factory. they would watch the place and if it was true that he had gone to europe we would have to wait his return." the woman's chest heaved, and cold sweat appeared on her brow and face and arms, as though her whole body were on the rack. she rested a few minutes, drank some water and resumed. "i waited. true, i could not keep away from the place. several times i walked past in the hope of getting a glimpse of him. i knew that if i could meet him quietly and talk to him he might relent. i might show him his children. perhaps he had not recognised me. i had changed so much in the years that had passed since we had last seen one another. "he was not to be seen, however. yes, he has grown rich--very rich--he did not want me any longer. he has changed his name--perhaps he has married another woman. all these thoughts came to me. my god!" the woman sobbed again. "for weeks and weeks my only occupation was to go from home to the charities, from there to greene street and back. the manager of the office at the charities spoke to me several times and asked me details about our former life and condition when we married. i told him all. the truth as ever. one day as i walked down from the elevated on first street and third avenue i saw him again, but this time he was not alone. a woman leaned on his arm. what i suffered! what i endured! i did not approach him. i feared he might again go away. i ran to the office, and told them that he was back. again i was counselled to keep still. they would attend to it. the next and the third day i asked the manager whether he had any results. 'no, he had not seen him.' then on the fourth day he called me into his private room and told me that mr. ap. denied that he had ever married me. "'have you a marriage certificate?' he asked. "i had none. we were married only religiously by a rabbi and had no certificate. "'but,' i said, 'i have his children.' "'he does not recognise them. he says he knew you in russia, true enough, but that he never married you. when i told him your situation he agreed to give you enough money to go back to russia.' "you understand?" the woman exclaimed. "send me away from here." "of course, i refused and asked the manager to help me force him to recognise me and his children. i grew bitter, and wept and cried. he quieted me down and told me to go home. that he would see that all would be well. "the next day and the next passed without result. the manager was very gentle, very nice. then on the following day, no, on the next after that, he told me that mr. ap. had agreed to give me one thousand dollars if i would go back to russia immediately. of course, i did not want to accept. he was my husband, the father of my children. he had to admit that, though i had no certificate. i looked about to find a man from our village, a man who knew him, a man who knew we were married. i found none. then i went back to the office and asked for the photograph. but the manager would not return it. mr. ap. had taken it. i cried, i menaced, but could not get my picture back. not only did they not help me to legally force him to recognise me, to support me, but they took away the only weapon i had--the picture. "the manager kept on urging me to take the one thousand dollars and go to russia. 'it's kind enough of him to do that. after all, i believe him more than you, and he says that he never married you.' "so he told me, to my face, a week after that i was 'discontinued.' 'what is that?' i asked. 'take the one thousand dollars and go away.' "i was put out in the street in the dead of winter. my children almost froze. i ran to greene street. they would not let me in. i went to the charities. the manager just told me: 'people that can get one thousand dollars need no charity.' "finally, a society paid my rent and i was again under a roof, but i was afraid to say anything about my husband, and when they asked me i answered that he was dead. how could i say otherwise? i had nothing to prove my case. my one piece of evidence was taken away. he had changed his name. i had no letters, no certificate. now i will have more trouble, through you, with that woman who saw you." "and what do you intend to do now?" i asked. "i have my plans. i expect some one from my village who knows him and who knows that we were married. i am saving every cent i can for the steamship agency to buy a ticket." she bent down over her work again. meanwhile my coat was brought. i took leave, promised to look into the matter and went out. in a few minutes i was in greene street. i looked up the number. above the door hung a big sign, announcing the business of the firm, and on the door, near the knob, was nailed another little sign, with black letters on white enamel: "member of organised charity." all was now clear why the woman was not helped in her fight, and why she was coerced through the "discontinuance." i remembered the manager's answer: "who is supporting this institution? the poor or the rich?" and of course they had to work for the ones that were supporting them. what is done in his name? again, thinking how charitable institutions shield those who support them, i must speak of a case which is similar to the one just described in more than one detail. the only difference is in the fact that it happened in another town, instead of in new york. i was present in the office of the institution when the woman was advised to accept a certain amount of money and go to new york. the woman, after suffering hunger and cold with her children for a long time finally accepted the most shameful conditions ever imposed upon a woman, upon a mother. she was compelled to give her children to the other woman. i was present when the investigator, mrs. g., herself a mother of children, explained to the woman that it would be best to accept five hundred dollars and give her children up. "you will not bring them up as well as they will. they have money, and if you really love your children, sacrifice yourself for them." that was the substance of her argument, and when the woman cried and pointed out that she had another child coming from this unnatural father, the investigator insulted her most grossly, calling her a prostitute. in the end she advised her to keep it secret, because if the other woman, the new mrs. schneider, heard about it, heard that the man had not ceased his relations with his wife, she might "get sore on the whole thing," and though the woman had a good case of adultery and bigamy against her husband the institution--so active in other emergencies, such as strikes, when they send out scabs--did not do the slightest thing to help the woman to get justice. she was destitute, a foreigner and was helpless alone. she haunted her husband's place of business, a restaurant, from where she was ejected by the ever-obliging policeman on the corner. to quiet things the husband disappeared for a few weeks. the restaurant was running on the second woman's name. this legal nicety closed the doors to the poor mother. driven to desperation by the hunger of her children she sent them to the other woman a few times to ask for food. this was given to them, but not a morsel was sent to the mother. meanwhile, the charities remained absolutely inactive. they even refused to pay the fare of the mother and children back to new york, on the ground that she could not say _how_ she would live there. not a penny was given. "accept the five hundred dollars," was their advice. after a time she was trapped with a man in a hotel, and arrest for adultery hanging over her head like the sword of damocles, the woman agreed to sign papers releasing the husband from any responsibility, was given a few dollars and a ticket to new york, and all ended here to the glory of organised charity the world over. shall i say that the whole trapping affair was engineered by the husband and the second woman? and yet i have suspicions of "another party" who helped. i am very anxious to find out whether, on the list of yearly contributors, the "gentleman" in the case has not increased his yearly gift to help the poor and needy and recognise the good offices of the institution in his own case. and if it is not on the list, some one has been privately favoured. the picture in the course of time i became very suspicious of every record in the charity institutions. not one appeared to me truthful. i knew i could not trust them any more than i would trust police records that are made up not to give information but very often only to shield a particular policeman. they are coloured so as to give the impression that it was difficult to procure the information. often the detective sent out to get the particulars spends the time in a saloon or gambling house, then on a few meagre details he makes up his report. when contradicted by the "case" he simply says the man lies. the same thing happens with the investigations of charitable institutions. knowing this i suspected every record of being far from the facts. in my investigations i made it a rule not to take _anything_ for granted from the reports, but to look into the matter myself. one rainy day i looked through the records and laid aside the ones i intended to work upon the next day. i decided to reinvestigate cases where the pension had been discontinued. by this time it was very difficult for me to work. the investigators feared me and had drilled their "customers" to so answer my questions as to conform to the report they had made on the case. wherever i went, under whatever guise, i was anticipated. the people were on the qui-vive and i often had to give up my investigation without marked results. at first i did not know to what to attribute my non-success and the manager grew impatient and spurred me on. "results, results. if you don't bring us extra information you are of no great use to us." such was the tenor of his speech. they needed "extra information." right or wrong, by hook or crook, but extra information to give an excuse for my pay envelope. but it did not take long before i learned the cause of my ill success. the people were warned. i knew of several investigators who did it and i could have reported them and had them discharged, but i disliked to do so. so i reported to the manager that some one had warned them and that i was working on a clue to find out who had done it, when i would report. naturally this made them stop their interference. this subterfuge gave me time to do other work--investigate the "discontinued" cases. it was work for myself and i had no need for hurry, nor did i need to make a report of my findings. i copied a few addresses and some other particulars and the next day i set out on my tour. one of the cases that particularly interested me was the case of a young irish lady, a widow with four children, who had been pensioned for four years. the report of the investigator was a continuous description of misery and misfortune. one of the children, at least, was always sick. at times there were three in bed and the mother too was in an "awful condition." this was so from 1908 to 1910, until the month of december of that year, the reports never being farther apart than two weeks. then, all of a sudden, the report was discontinued for two months, until the end of february, and was then very much colder than usual. it simply mentioned that mrs. g. was much better and the children well. the next one, made in april, contained an interesting item. the older child, nine years old, was selling papers. "the woman denied that she knew anything about it but i saw him myself," read the report. for may of the same year there were three reports, the last one speaking of a "pail of beer and cigarettes, in company with other men and women." it advises the application of the "test." then, after that, one big word. "discontinued." it took me some time before i found mrs. g. she had moved three times in eight months and when i at last found her she was living in 63rd street, in a house near the river. her dwelling was more like the hole of a water rat than the quarters of a human being in a civilised city of the new world. a mattress on the floor, a folding bed with torn sides, on an egg box a gas stove, a rocking chair that had seen better days, some rags hanging on the walls, this was the furniture of the house. and the woman herself. she fitted excellently into the picture. it was as though a painter had grouped them together as the subject of a masterpiece of misery, to hold the world up to shame. tall and angular, her hair dishevelled, her face unclean, with dress torn, through which greyish dirty linen peeped out, with bare feet in a pair of shoes picked up from a garbage can, she stood in the middle of the room and looked wonderingly at me, not knowing to what she owed my visit. she had hardly enough strength to answer my questions. there were no children in the house. i told her who i was. her face lit up and she asked me about the investigator--a man--who was in charge of the district. pointblank i put the question: "how are you making a living?" "i am not doing anything," she answered. "yes, but from where do you get money to buy food?" "i am not buying any." "but you don't live without food!" she shrugged her shoulders and turned away in despair. i waited a few moments, and as i got no answer i repeated my question. all in vain. she would not answer. as i sat there the door was opened and a little shrunken, dirty boy of about eight years, barefoot and wrapped up in a pair of overalls, came in. "i got a good big one," he said, as he put a package on the folding bed. he turned round, and saw me. mother and child looked at one another understandingly. without another word the boy disappeared. the mother manipulated the package from the folding bed to the window sill. "from where did the boy get this package?" i asked. "from nowhere--he did not get it--he took it, from--" "why! my good lady, do you allow him to steal? do you know where it will land him?" "in the hospital," she answered, as she gave me the package. i tore off the paper,--a piece of cooked chicken, the remainder of a steak, three old rolls, all of them with the stamp of the garbage can, with spit and sawdust on them, and on one morsel the butt of a cigarette. "you see," she said, "they can't arrest him for _that_," pointing to the package. "he gets it from 'martin's' restaurant." i tried to get at the reason of her being "discontinued," and after a time i had to ask her outright. from her talk i understood that she wanted me to believe that mr. s., the investigator, was very attentive to her, and she had responded to his advances. that he would sit with her at night and that he even took her to a moving picture show once. i looked at her and did not believe a word she said. mr. s. was a young man and this woman could hardly inspire an old drunkard with such sentiments. she understood the reason of my apparent doubt. "i see you don't believe it." from under a broken mirror she brought forth a picture of a lovely young woman of the pronounced irish type, with loose hair and clear-cut features. "that's me," she explained, "three years ago--when mr. s. knew me," and as she talked she put her blouse in order and tried to look like the picture. it was hard to find a resemblance, but it was undoubtedly her image. with the picture she tried to tempt me. "a few weeks of decent care and i am again the picture," she explained, thinking that this was the only way to re-enter into the possession of the pension. "why were you discontinued?" "it's all my fault. i had bragged about it to a neighbour and the neighbour told it to another one who was in mrs. s.'s care, and she reported it to him. but i got my lesson. i'd keep mum. the boys are out." from the woman i learned how he used to get extra money for her every time, on the plea that a child was ill, that she was ill, a whole traffic in pity, and then i understood the record and understood the sudden change of face and the discontinuance. i tried to explain to the woman that here was a wrong way. with no success, however. she told me that the former investigator, the one before mr. s., was also very friendly, and about him she never told. she seemed to think that i was sent by mr. s. for the same purpose, and again and again she attracted my attention to the loveliness of the picture, and appealed in its name. there must have been a trace of a great disgust on my face, for she cleaned her hands and combed herself as she spoke. from the emergency money i gave her a few dollars and told her that i would visit her again and try to get her restored on the pension list. she took the money, but i felt that she was disappointed. was the woman in her insulted? for she still assured me of her secrecy. before i went away i learned that two children had not been in the house for the last four or five days. "and where do you think they are?" i asked. "one, i know, went on a freight, and the other must be somewhere." at the door she again stopped me. "here's my picture, if you want it!" she said pleadingly, as she tended it to me. i felt it would have been a great insult to have refused her gift, to destroy the hope she had that the picture might awaken desires and that these desires might bring her rent and food. there was a glimmer of hope when i promised to do all in my power to restore her pension. instead of going to my next address i loitered in the neighbourhood of 63rd street, near the river. i knew that mr. s. was in his district and i hoped to find him. i was rehearsing mentally the words in which i should clothe my opinion of his behaviour, when all at once i saw him coming from a house. i approached him, called him into a saloon, and without a word i showed him the picture. "what about that?" i asked. "she was all right once--that's how she looked, the cat," he explained jokingly. "did you get at her? you--you! she was all right once, how is she now?" he took the picture and looked at it with interest, probably remembering his debauches. i immediately saw that i could learn more about the matter by handling the case dexterously, and i learned, oh! i did learn how the money of the poor is spent--how payment is taken for the bread and coal and rent, and how, when he has "another one," a fresh case, the "cat" is simply discontinued. mr. s. was a man of about forty and had been fifteen years in the business. he knew all the ropes and finished up with a promise to take me to a young french widow who was a "peach," a new case, as he explained, twinkling his eye knowingly. he still looked at the picture of the irish woman. "you would never think her to be an applicant. she has such a distinguished appearance. oh! she's a peach--if she only could keep mum," he said, referring to the french widow. i offered him another glass, and when this was consumed i playfully suggested: "let's go up to mrs. g.--just for fun." at first s. refused, but as his eyes again caught the face in the picture he ordered another glass, and then standing up he said: "come." he did not know her address so i had to lead the way. we knocked and mrs. g. opened the door and invited us in. but s. had only one look at her, when he ran down the stairs. i followed him. he was dumbfounded and kept on repeating: "is that her? is that her?" i put the picture before his eyes: "how do you like the change?" i asked. "it's good charitable work. when you get another one the 'cat' is simply discontinued." i repeated his words. a few months afterwards i saw the same woman in the street. she was decently dressed and looked much better. remorse or fear of my denunciation had made s. provide for immediate needs. soon she was restored on the list and again the oldest son was ill and the third one was in bed and all the tricks were resumed to have the institution pay for the lust of the coward. the price of life the indignities to which the poor are subjected in the offices of charity and by the employã©s of these organisations are of such a nature that it is my honest belief that criminals get more consideration in the police station, before the judge or in prison. after all, what are the poor guilty of? is poverty a crime? is it not the inevitable result of the present organisation of society? is it possible that in the present industrial system there should be no poor and no helpless human beings? i am sure that the people who contribute tens of thousands of dollars to these institutions do it in order to help those whom they have in the course of their lives and business despoiled of their right to life and its necessities. a few scenes which i witnessed at the charities will suffice to give an idea of what the applicants have to undergo at the hands of the officers of the institutions, whether they get relief or not. the sweetest word they ever use in connection with the poor is "derelict." a quotation made by a sister institution (a free loan association), will give the essence of what they think and in what spirit they act towards the poor. says the president of this institution in his twentieth annual report: "the object of this society is to loan money to those in need, instead of giving alms, and thus assist respectable people, whose character and self-respect will not permit them to receive alms, etc., etc." so, none of the people who apply for charity are respectable people or have any self-respect! this is the spirit of all the charity workers toward an applicant. once a man or a woman has applied for help he is no longer respectable, he has lost his self-respect. he is a "derelict." it speaks ill for humanity that there has not yet been one poor person who has taken revenge for all the injustices and insults heaped upon his brethren! it shows how degraded they are through hunger. not that they are inherently coarse. oh, no! but weakness, physical weakness to which all those who apply to charity are reduced before they ever come to the office. once in the mill they are ground. i will leave the investigators for a while and show how the "derelicts" are treated in the office. i must not forget to mention that they are frequently called to the office at nine a. m. and left in the waiting-room until five p. m., when they are again told to come to-morrow, as the committee before which they were called to appear has departed. meanwhile, they had to sit there and hear the insults to which the others are subjected, and stay without food. mr. cram once told me that this sitting in the waiting-room was a very good "test" of real want, for it has happened that many of them never came back when they were again called. "once they pass through the waiting-room they are easy to manage," he assured me. "they get their education." the waiting-room is the school. i wonder how many of those who could not stand the "test" turned the gas jet on. how many of them jumped into the river! how many went to the street. too bad we cannot know all the crimes of charity. a woman, bertha s., about thirty years old, still good looking, despite the misery she has passed through, is called before the manager. she has two small children whom she has left with a neighbour. she has been called for nine a. m. as it is her first experience with the charities she is at the doors at eight-thirty a. m. when the doors swing open at nine-ten she is almost frozen. she had been waiting a full half hour. she shows her letter of admission and is allowed in the building. the whole day, until four-thirty p. m., she stands in the waiting-room, sometimes walking around and crying, at other times sitting nervously twisting her hands in despair and calling the names of her two children. at four-thirty, she and all the other women were told that on account of the cold weather the committee would not meet that day and they should come the next day. the office boy who brought the news to them meanwhile permitted himself a joke, saying "the show is off for to-night. if you like it, tell your friends." the next day the building was so overcrowded with applicants that more than fifty had to stand the whole day. bertha s. looked to be the most unfortunate of all. her nervousness was painful. at three-thirty p. m., the manager began to call the applicants into his room. every time the door swung open she hoped or feared that now was her turn, and when she saw each time that another was called she became more and more nervous. finally, at five, she was called in. from a side door i entered the room. with the manager sat a few other men. they looked her up and down, measuring her from her toes to her head, as though she had committed some crime. then one of the men, a well fed, red-faced, thick-bellied brute, looked in a record purporting to be the investigator's report and the third degree, the most inhuman one i have ever witnessed, started: "how old are you?" he yelled at the woman without looking at her. "thirty." "how many children have you?" "two." "how old are they?" "one six years and, one--" "you lie--liars you all are--how old are your children?" "one is six years old and one--" "you liar, you shameless liar, six years old? ha!" and so saying this man jumped up from his chair. "six years old, eh, and she goes around to moving picture shows and stays out the whole night. six years old?" he approached the woman. "and what do you think, do you think we don't know what _you_ do? we know all right." "but, mister," the woman tried to speak. "keep quiet. don't talk." this was another man's advice, whereupon the first one continued. "here," showing her the record, "we have it in black and white--daughter goes to one moving picture show and the mother to another one." "but, mister," the woman tried again, but the man grew angry, his fat body shook, his well-fed face flushed and he delivered himself of all the venom there was in him. "and you dare to apply for charity. a woman of your kind, an immoral woman. and tell me and all these gentlemen here that your daughter is six years old. you are a liar, a street woman, that's what you are." at this point the woman cried out and fell headlong on the floor. one of the other men looked in the record and remarked that mr. w. who had cross-examined the woman had made a mistake, as the record was not that of mrs. bertha s., but another applicant's. i watched the whole scene and thought: "great god! how he will have to apologise now!" but no--not a word of apology. she was only a poor woman, a "derelict." i wonder what the "gentlemen" in question, or any other member of that committee would have done to any one who would have dared to insult his wife or sister or daughter in the same manner. mr. w. bent down, looked again in the record book, and after convincing himself, said: "yes, i made a mistake." meanwhile, the woman kept on sobbing bitterly. the secretary munched at his cigar rather nervously. "give her five dollars," mr. w. said to the manager, and the poor woman was led out, the price of her degradation in her hand. i followed her to an elevated station. she sobbed bitterly the whole way. she never appeared at the office again, but a few months later the following notice appeared in the papers: mother and child crazed by hunger entire family has been without food or roof for three months. as patrolman b---was walking along h---street, brooklyn, early yesterday morning, he observed a woman and two children, a girl of twelve and a girl of six, standing in a door way half clothed, each nestling close to the other to keep warm. apparently they failed in this, for the mother and children were blue from cold and were shivering. the officer spoke to the woman. but she did not answer. he spoke to her again and she raised her eyes to him. the eyes were those of an insane person, and the officer took the mother and children to the s---street police station. there the police fed the family and the woman gained sufficient strength to speak. she told the police that she was mrs. s----. she was deserted by her husband and for the last three months, since she was dispossessed, she and her children lived in cellars and doorways. after telling that much of her story the woman collapsed. she became hysterical, insane again. the police began to question the elder girl, the twelve year old may. may spoke only a few words and her mind began to wander. like her mother she became hysterical. the woman and her two children were then taken to the ---court before magistrate d----. the magistrate at once saw that he was dealing with an unbalanced woman and he ordered her sent to the observation ward of the kings county hospital. in the children's court, justice g---found that the children were suffering from starvation and exposure. they were sent away with the mother. it looked doubtful yesterday whether mrs. s---would ever completely recover from the insanity into which she was thrown by months of starvation and homelessness. air--from fifth floor to basement the head investigator, a woman who was once a socialist, and considers herself now a social worker, was announced to lecture. her subject was "advice to consumptives living in a large city." the subject was interesting and the lecturer an acquaintance of mine, so i decided to go and hear her. when the doors opened the hall was crowded with people. it was in her own district and she had decided to make a big show. all the poor depending on her were ordered to the lecture. willy nilly, they had to go. an interesting lot they were as they sat huddled up in old rags, their street clothes left at home, those they had on the poorest they could find. all pale, haggard, hungry, they really needed the advice. mrs. b. was a good talker and had her subject well in hand. her son is a physician and from him she got all the fine points, figures and explanations. she started out very convincingly and proved that poverty and ignorance go hand in hand and are the father and mother of tuberculosis. she went on to explain the absolute necessity of rich and wholesome food (what irony--they that get two or three dollars a week shall have rich and wholesome food!), diversion, quiet, and above all "air, fresh air all the time--live on the top floor, do not mind the few stairs more! sleep on the roof in the summer, and keep your windows open! for god's sake keep your windows open!... let the sunshine clean your room--light and air are the greatest enemies of microbes and tuberculosis and the greatest friend of man, especially the one touched with the white plague. breathe, breathe every time you get a chance. purify your lungs and keep under god's blue roof the greater part of your time." thus she finished. there was the usual applause and the usual questions by some outsiders, and that was all. at the finish we walked together, mrs. b. and i, for a half hour and we spoke about the poor and their condition, about the iniquity of the present system, and her former work for socialism, and she told me how she had pawned her watch and chain to pay the printers that were setting up the first socialist weekly. naturally i was astonished to hear that. i knew that she was one of the most cruel questioners at the office. if something was to be found out she was appealed to. she had a heart of stone, of granite, and her sensuous mouth could assume a smile that set the poor applicant trembling. "and where is he now, your husband? do you think that i am such a fool as to believe a single word of what you say?" and when the woman would cry she would say "rot, rot, rubbish. i am too old in the business." such was her attitude. how could she be so sincere when she spoke to others? how could she pawn her watch for a struggling socialist paper? was she once better, had her work killed her heart? thus was i thinking when i left her, and was already trying to excuse her because i found that i too had, in my work for the charity institution, lost a good deal of my faith in mankind. some weeks afterwards, i was investigating the case of a tailor who was taken to the hospital suffering from the white plague. he had a wife and four children ranging from three to fourteen years. the woman had applied to charity and the office had a suspicion that the man belonged to an organisation that paid a sick benefit and was consequently not entitled to charity. i found out, through the secretary, that the man had once been a member but having fallen in arrears with his dues he was disqualified and was not receiving any benefits. the family was living on a first floor rear apartment in monroe street, two rooms, where the sunshine never comes, with windows opening in the yard, an ill-smelling dirty yard, and the people had no idea of hygiene. they never kept separate the dishes and pillows used by the sick one. they ate from them and slept on them. the children, pale and sick, three of them short-sighted, the mother and little child with inflamed eyes, were in a horrible condition. i immediately advised the office and succeeded in getting the family moved to the bronx, near a park, and on the fifth floor. so little were the children accustomed to light that the first few days they felt dizzy. their clothes and bedding was disinfected. hurriedly the family was put on the pension list, rent, coal and three dollars per week. it was not much, it was not enough, but it was the best i could obtain for the unfortunate people. a few weeks later the oldest girl too was taken to the hospital and the mother was treated in one of the clinics in the neighbourhood. she obtained two quarts of milk a day free. they had not been long in the country--four or five years; had previously lived in a little village in northern russia. the man was a dealer in grains there, was always in the open air. the sudden change to a big city, a sweatshop, was too much for him, too much for all of them. several months later, while i was in the neighbourhood, i went to visit the family. at the door of the fifth floor, i was told they had moved away long ago. where? the people did not know, nor did the janitor, nor did the neighbours. when i returned to the office i looked up the records and found their new address, 171st street. i took a note of it, and as my work brought me there a few days later, i called in. i was astonished to find the people living in a basement--the rooms were next to the engine room. it was a big apartment house and the heat in the rooms was suffocating. "woman," i cried, "what have you done? why did you move from the other place?" "the investigator told me to," was her answer. "but you are killing yourself, ruining the broken health of your children." she shrugged her shoulders, the children coughed, and even the baby had eyeglasses on. it was the district of mrs. b.--the investigator who lectured so well on tuberculosis. i waited for her in the office and asked her why she had moved the family from the top floor to the basement. "i can't run up so many stairs every day," she answered angrily. "i have a big district and they all live on top floors. basements are cheaper and it is easier for me," she went on. "but, mrs. b., the whole family is touched by the plague. you know better than they do how necessary it is for them to live in light and airy rooms. you lecture on the subject." to all this the investigator answered, "it's easy to lecture but to climb so many floors a day is too hard. let them live in the basement. they will not die. it's not so terrible. let them sit in the park ... let them go up on the roof." no amount of talk could persuade her that it was dangerous for the people to live, eat, sleep in the basement, and when i had succeeded in convincing the manager that a change should be made, and i called on the woman, she was already so drilled by the investigator that she claimed her legs hurt her and her heart was weak and i had to give it up. she would not move from the basement. a second child was taken to the hospital in a few months, but as a recompense for the mother's good behaviour the investigator did not, as usual, reduce the pension of the family. the father died, the two older girls died, the mother with the other children returned to russia to live ... to die. the investigators up to now i have said so much about the heartlessness of the investigators that naturally the question arises: "if they were good-hearted women, and if the men in charge of the charities were better men, would that solve the problem of charity?" no. it's not their fault. the system of organised charity is such that they must inevitably become as they are after a few months' work. almost all of the women investigators and other employã©s of the institutions are recruited from the impoverished middle class. to obtain a position what is commonly called "pull" is absolutely necessary. as a rule these people have never known any want--real privation. at first, when they see poverty in all its ugliness they get excited, run to the office and make a terrible report, advising relief in heartrending sentences. they imagine that their will will immediately be carried out and that their mission is a very high one. but when the manager calls them into his office and proves to them that they have been lied to and deceived; that the pauper is a habitual liar; that you cannot believe a single word they say; when he tells them that if they do not prove more adroit the next time their position is not suited to them, then they look at the poor with other eyes. he or she is no more a subject for pity, a wreck that has to be pulled ashore. it is bread and butter for herself. if she allows herself to be deceived by an applicant she endangers her own position. all the investigators fear poverty, fear it because they know how terrible it is, _that it is a crime_. not a word of the poor is believed. her next report will be a tissue of lies and accusations, viz.: "the family has rich connections from whom they get help. from the grocer, butcher and baker i have learned that the family spends more than is necessary." if the applicant is a widow and young she inserts that neighbours doubt her morality; that she stays out late at night, etc., etc., and she closes her report with the observation that the applicant is unworthy and undeserving of charity. this she does because she has learned that she is not to advise to give, but that she is paid to find out reasons and excuses why help should not be given. it is true that in the course of the work the investigators find cases where the organisations are deceived, but this makes them so suspicious that if one were to take their word for it help would never be extended to an applicant. then, another reason for her stony-heartedness is the continual sight of poverty. after a time she gets so accustomed to it that nothing shocks her. it is like a surgeon in a hospital who becomes so hardened that the amputation of an arm or leg is nothing--a trifle. the poor represent so much material. one sews aprons and shirtwaists for a living; she, the investigator, visits the poor. the hangman too makes a living! it's all business. there can be no love in such work. the men and women in charge of it have not chosen it because they want to devote their lives to succouring the suffering widow or orphan. they are not sisters of mercy. they are paid to do the work. they make a living so. if the investigators were superior beings things would be somewhat different; but superior beings go into business nowadays. it pays better. some investigators only get thirty to forty dollars per month. i have known investigators who left their own children at home without food. they trembled lest a mistake cost them their positions. they did all in their power to find out a reason why the applicant should not receive money to buy bread for her children. one might fancy that were they investigating their own cases they would still find reasons. think of an investigator moving a consumptive family from the fifth floor to the basement, she who lectured on tuberculosis: "light and air are the best cure for consumption." this is how she spoke, this is what she believed, but in practice! when a woman has to climb stairs from morning to night, then her only thought is how to make her own work easier; how to make a living easier. yes, but it costs the lives of women and children. and does the owner of mines think of that? and does the manufacturer think of that? and does the milkman, a devout church-goer, who baptises his milk, think of the children he is killing, of the future generations he is crippling? and does the canner think of that when he allows rotten meat to go into his cans? no. they are all making a living and do not believe that animals should be killed for food. i knew a young lady who got a job as investigator--a nice young, sentimental girl. after a few months' work she was the terror of the poor and the pet of the manager. she had reduced by half the list in her district. from a hundred applications she investigated not ten got relief. she would visit them day and night to find a reason why they should be cut off. the neighbours for ten blocks around would know that mrs. so and so had applied to the institution. and when one day i told her she was not fit for such a position because she had no heart, and advised her to get a job at something else, she showed me her right hand. she had lost her fingers in an accident at an embroidery machine and she had to make a living! another young woman, who was engaged to marry a friend of mine and who got the position through me, lost the affection of her fiancã©. "she has entirely changed in the last few months," he told me. "she is suspicious, hard, cold and cynical. her face has changed, she never laughs, never smiles." poor chap! he did not know the cause. i did. the work, the surroundings, the system of organised charity, unfits them for anything, and among all the crimes of charity the one that stands out pre-eminently is that it ruins the lives of all the men and women who work in it. only a god and an angel could remain good. but the gods are in the heavens and the angels are crucified. the children of the poor no district of any big city in the world has such a desolate miserable look as the "charity blocks" in new york. they are grouped a little everywhere. for this, new york is like the body of job, with sores and wounds all over. around all the gas houses near the river, north, south, east and west, take any of the gay streets of the metropolis. forty-second street, thirty-fourth street, twenty-third and fourteenth streets. with what dirt and misery they start on the west, how they get brighter and gayer towards the middle, on seventh avenue, how they reach the climax at fifth avenue, and how the third avenue elevated in the east and ninth avenue elevated in the west cuts off the ugly part of the city, like the butcher who trims around the meat. the cheap tallow for the poor and the centre piece for the rich, and all comes from one and the same animal. just as the meat, in proportion to its nutrition, costs the poor dearer than the rich, so do the apartments of the poor cost more than the fifth avenue houses, taking into consideration the comfort of the latter. as a matter of fact it is well known that cherry, henry, monroe and hester street properties are more profitable, proportionately to the money invested, than fifth avenue apartments. no vacant house is to be seen around the celebrated "lung blocks." the terrible stench coming from across the river, where the garbage of the city is dumped, has killed the sense of smell of the poor wretches living there. they wonder at you when you keep handkerchief to your nose while passing. it is an ordeal to pass along avenue a between twenty-fifth and thirty-fourth streets. the poisonous gas combines with the stench of the slaughter house, and the piled up garbage in the river. still the streets are full of children, playing, and god only knows why the poor have so many children. my work brought me into daily contact with the children. "the nutty scribbler," they called me, the italian boys pronouncing my title with their peculiar accent; the russian with theirs and the jewish boys translating it altogether into their idiom. poor, underfed and oversmart children; ready-witted and half-witted. child and old man. buying sour pickles instead of bread when they get a penny, ready to do anything for a puff from a cigarette. their ideal is not to become a workingman. they know too well where that leads. kid herman, kid twist and red larry are their heroes, and in childish contradiction, the policeman is their idol. how they swarm around a newspaper when there is "anything" in it. an interesting murder case, a robbery, a street shooting, these are the sensations of their lives. when the father comes home drunk they envy him and will soon imitate him. they help the burglars hide, and chase the pickpocket over the roofs, together with the detectives, giving advice in turn to the hunted how to escape and to the policeman how to catch him; rejoicing when the bad one has escaped and booing him along the street when he is handcuffed. and every year their domain extends a little further until it approaches the rich. a block from riverside drive and two from fifth avenue--extending continually, like a cankerous wound. one evening i visited a family that was pensioned by the charities. the father had just been discharged from the consumptive hospital as cured and i was instructed to see whether he was well enough to work. a plan was on foot to open a soda water stand for him, to keep him outdoors, lest he again become sick. they had five children. the oldest, a girl, was twelve years old. it was ten o'clock and i expressed wonder that the children were not in the house. the mother's answer was not straight. "they are playing, they are visiting neighbours, i sent them away," were her answers to my questions. i sensed a mystery and decided to wait until they came home. i talked with the man and asked him his prospects for the future, to which he hopefully answered that he was sure to get his old place in the clothing factory as presser. i questioned him about his life in the hospital and sought every way to prolong my visit. the mother was very anxious to get rid of me, but i stuck to the job. about half past ten the children came in, all pale and worn-out, hardly saying good-night, but going straight to bed. "from where do you all come so late?" i asked. "from the street," the mother answered and pushed them into the other room. i felt that it was useless to insist, so i retired. the street was deserted. no child's play was going on and the children of the applicant did not appear to be the sort who would stay until the last. i walked up and down the block without meeting a child. at the corner, near the gas house, on fourteenth street, i met a policeman and talked the matter over with him. "the street has turned good these last few weeks. don't know what's the matter," was his remark. i did not agree with him and walked up and down the street until past midnight, when i decided to continue my investigation the next morning. a postcard advised the office that i would be busy the following morning and could not report. at eight o'clock i was near the house of the consumptive family. the children all went to school. not to compromise my work i stayed away until noon. the children came for lunch and returned to school. it was early in the spring and a glorious day. i could not help thinking of the beauty of the field and forest on such days, when the green is shooting out from the soil in the gardens, when the plough is carving out slices from mother earth and the birds are singing in the trees. i could not help thinking how life has taken these poor people out of their homes in the little villages of russia, poland, italy and roumania and has crowded them, nay, herded them together in what is called a tenement row, to sleep there and to work in a sweatshop in the day. how do they feel when they think of their homes, when they see a green leaf, when they hear the song of a bird? when one has colour in his face they say that he still has the "home colour." when they mention a feat of strength or endurance they add: "it was my first year here you know." at three p. m. i was back at my post. i watched the children come from school. with their many-coloured dresses they looked from far away like a swarm of butterflies, but as they approached they became less gay, less expansive. talk about the influence of home on children! among a group of children i spied the oldest girl of the consumptive man. she walked more slowly than the others, as though she wanted to retard something that waited for her at home. finally she took leave of the others and entered the hall. by and bye the other sisters and two brothers came. i waited outside. a quarter of an hour later the oldest girl and the second brother, about nine years old, came out, still chewing the piece of bread they had for tea. they walked hand in hand, and i followed them. they turned the corner and entered a tenement house near fourteenth street. i intended to follow them upstairs when i observed many other children of about the same age coming. some were as young as six and seven, however. some were biting apples, others, boys of nine to twelve years, throwing away the last bit of the butt of a cigarette, with the regretful gesture of the workingman before the factory door closes on him and the bell rings. "where in heaven are you all going?" i asked a group of boys. "none of your rotten business," was the reply in chorus. i withdrew and watched. one after another they went up the stairs until i had counted nearly a hundred. when i saw no more coming i went up the stairs, the dark, ill-smelling stairs, until i reached the third floor. it was a rear yard house. dark, dirty, dingy. on the third floor i stopped and listened. a buzzing noise came from one of the apartments, as though a thousand hands were crushing silk paper between the fingers. soon a door opened. a little girl came out. i did not speak to her. interested, i entered the apartment without knocking at the door. in a room 10 x 15, were two long tables and on both sides sat the little boys and girls on benches. on the tables were piled up all sorts of candies and chocolates, which the children put in paper boxes that lay near them. so engrossed were they in their work that they hardly lifted an eye to see who had entered. a big burly italian met me and asked what i wanted. "is mr. salvator razaza living here?" i asked. "no razaza. what you want come here. get out and shut up." and not very gently he pushed me out. so this was where they all went. so this was what they were doing. filling boxes with candy when they had no bread to eat. here was the place where they buried their youth--the children of the poor! outside i saw an old man grinding a hand organ, but there were no children to dance around him on the sidewalk. the street was deserted. "rotten business," remarked the old fellow. "no children. me not know what the matt. all the bambinos morte, sick? sacre madonna," the old man shook his head, packed up his organ and thoughtfully went away, carrying his music to other places, where the children are not packing candies in boxes while their stomachs are empty. no, no, old man. the children are not dead. _they_ never die. "the children of the poor never die," as mrs. barker puts it. they pack candies, but the mystery was only half solved. the rest was easy to get at, late at night, when the children of the consumptive man came home. they had to unburden themselves. all five were working there--piece work, and they were making as much as forty cents a day, the five of them combined. more than a hundred were working in that factory, while many other hundreds of children worked in other factories which had of late started in the neighbourhood. willow plumes, artificial flowers and packing candies were the chief trades, while the making of cigarettes and labelling of patent medicine bottles and boxes occupied a minor position. on close investigation i found that more than fifty per cent. of the people pensioned by charity had their children at work in these murderous shops. through a ruse i obtained entrance to several of them. it is so terrible, so unbelievable that i keep from describing it, knowing beforehand that you will say "exaggerated." one hundred children in one room, windows and doors tightly closed. so that the attention of people may not be attracted the children must not talk, must not sing. one little gas burner in the middle of the room is all the light there is. the toilet is almost always out of order. the piece work has so sharpened their ambition that their little fingers fly and they do not want to spare the time for personal necessities. the little girls and boys strong enough to keep back all these hours soon get bladder diseases--while the weaker ones--well, their clothes tell the tale. but the ladies want willow plumes and artificial flowers and miss so and so has to be given a nice looking box of candy by her beau. the rich men have to get richer and give more money to the charity institutions, and hospitals must be endowed with millions and the sanatoriums for the poor consumptives and the cheap milk mission and the free doctor--all this must be kept up and costs money--and money must be made. when i reported what i had found out i was told by the manager not to report it to the factory inspectors, because it was so much better that the children should train themselves from early youth to shift for themselves and become self-supporting, and that ultimately they would have to go to work--what was the difference? i was told that i was not telling them anything new, only i should find out who the children were working for and how much they were earning, so that the pension could be reduced accordingly. "but they are little tots," i argued. "well, they are all older than you think," i was answered, "and idleness is so very dangerous." "but the places are unsanitary," i further insisted. "they can't build special factories for them, it's too costly in the first place, and secondly it would make too much noise and they would not be permitted to work." "they will all get sick--consumptive," i said. "well, well, it is not so terrible. they have a remarkable power of resistance, and if they do get sick--we will take care of them. that's what we are here for. mr. baer, you are an anarchist." thus ended my interview on behalf of the children of the poor. i did something on my own hook. the result? the factories were moved away to another place. they could easily do it. they did not build any special houses for the trade. later on i learned that one of the biggest concerns in willow plumes did half of their work through outside contractors and that the price was so low that no woman could make a living at it. the head of this concern is one of the biggest philanthropists and contributors to charities. still he might not know! just as the young lady does not know from where her christmas pleasure money comes--and distraction is absolutely needed. mother and son there was a boy about fourteen years of age who would daily menace his widowed mother with denouncing her to the "office." he terrorised the poor woman to such an extent that she allowed him to do whatever he wanted. he never went to school, he smoked, he drank, he boxed, he went to all the moving picture shows, and all this money he obtained from his mother on the threat to tell the "office." the great sin the woman had committed was that she had remarried, a young man, and the groom had decamped with two hundred and fifty dollars that she had saved up in the seven or eight years widowhood and beggary. the whole affair was a secret to the institution, as the woman feared her two dollars weekly pension would be discontinued should they learn of the marriage. i happened to visit the home one morning. the boy was pacing the room, almost naked, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lower lip, his face enraged, his eyes red, and as he paced the room he cursed the mother, who was standing at the stove preparing the food. and the language he used! i heard all the curses of the bowery as i stood near the door. "i'll fix you up, you old rag--cough up or i'll smash your ivory." when i knocked at the door he greeted me with "what d'hell d'you want?" he had his mouth set for another greeting of the same sort when i gently but firmly pushed his insolent face back and entered. the woman knew me and the boy probably guessed my occupation, for he proceeded to coerce his mother, motioning and making faces, as though to say: "yes, or i will tell!" the mother ignored his threats so he casually remarked: "mrs. carson!" the woman made a sign that she would yield and the boy dressed in a hurry. i busied myself with my notebook all the time, just throwing out a question once in a while. when the boy was all dressed up he beckoned to the mother to follow him into the other room. she did so. i heard a suppressed curse and a deep sigh. the boy came out first. as he passed my chair i stood up and seizing his wrists i asked: "why don't you go to school?" no answer. "why don't you go to work?" no answer. "how dare you insult your mother the way you do, you scoundrel?" instead of answering me he turned to his mother. "you squeaked--ha? that's what you did! you old piece of rot." thus spoke a son to his mother. i felt the blood rushing to my head and i struck the blaspheming mouth. he tried to fight back and even took the pose, but i was too much for him. i pinned his arms. the mother had not moved. if anything she was rather satisfied that the boy got his due. again the boy twisted around, and looking daggers at his mother he said: "you'll tell tales? ha? and let this big stiff hit me? and you'll stay there like a lamp post? ha! that's what you'll do? i'll croak you, i'll put you right--wait!" "do you know," he turned to me, "that--" "george, george," the mother yelled and covered the boy's mouth with her open palm. "i know it all," i interrupted. "i know that your mother's name is mrs. carson." the poor mother looked as though she had been struck with an iron bar over the head. "and now, my boy, give back the money you forced from your mother a while ago." from his pocket the mother took out a dollar and some cents. i compelled the boy to go to school, menacing him with everything i thought would scare him, and obtained from him the promise that he would go the next morning. but when i turned to go, i saw the mother shivering as though in the clutches of fever. she motioned me not to go, then sat down and wept. of course i knew the reason for her tears. she was afraid her pension would be cut off. she had lied to the institution. she had not told them of her unfortunate remarriage. she was afraid of her son. why? because, fearing that the investigator might question her son she had been compelled to lie to the boy and teach him to lie, and he grew up with the knowledge that he could obtain anything he wanted from his mother with the threat of telling the truth. the child grew up a blackmailer. the system of organised charity made him one. and how many, how many similar occurrences have led to similar results? how many men in stripes could trace their downfall to the "question room" of the investigator! as to this particular boy--he went to school for a few weeks but his street habits corrupted the other children, and he was expelled. for a time he sold newspapers on the streets, then he gradually sank lower and lower and was later on sent to a reformatory to expiate a minor offence and from there he will be discharged a graduated criminal. webster says: "a university is an assemblage of colleges established in any place, with professors for instructing students in the sciences and other branches of learning, and where degrees are conferred. a university is properly a universal school, in which are taught all branches of learning, or the four faculties of theology, medicine, law, and the science and arts." i know universities where the students are not instructed in the sciences and other branches of learning, and where degrees of a different kind are conferred on the students; a university where other objects than theology, medicine, law and the sciences and arts are taught. burglary, blackmailing, safe-blowing, murder and other applied sciences and arts are taught there. the professors are incomparably superior to the ones in the colleges; they are men with great experience and they impart their knowledge to their pupils without charging fees. they do it for love. in the underworld the reformatory is called "the university." and one who knew, one day remarked to me: "if they (meaning the good citizens) had wanted to create a school where crime should be taught they could not have done better than by fixing up a reformatory. they get a real training there, pass through a sound apprenticeship and are masters of their particular branch when they come out." clipping wings of little birds "and where does she go every day?" "in town." "does she stay out late at night?" "i don't know." "do men come often to the house?" "sometimes." "is she sometimes drunk? i mean, does she use whisky? is there whisky in the house?" "not that i know of." "does she smoke cigarettes?" "no." "is she visiting the moving picture houses?" "no--never." to whom are these questions put? to the children of the poor. the "she" referred to is the mother, and the child is often not older than eight years, and sometimes younger. and who puts the questions? the investigators, of course. on the information of a neighbour that mrs. s. "eats meat every day and goes to the moving pictures," a widow's pension was cut off and she was submitted to the test. a few days later, when the mattress and broken chairs were on the street the woman was in the office crying, tearing her hair and beating her heart. she begged the manager, she begged the investigator--"pity--pity--have pity on me and my children." but they turned a deaf ear. when the poor woman got beyond control the janitor was called to help and he made it short. he put her out. for more than an hour she sat outside on the steps. then suddenly she got up and disappeared. a half hour after she was back again, but not alone. she had brought her three children--a little boy of five and two girls, one seven and the other nine years old. she wanted to go in, but the janitor, acting on the orders given, did not let her pass the door. when she once had put her foot between sill and door he simply beat her off. her screams and cries could have melted a heart of stone, but not that of a janitor of a charity institution. they are picked men, of a special brand. i spoke to the investigator and tried to convince her that the test had gone far enough, but she was not satisfied. "that woman," she said, "is acting--acting her part. i am not going to be taken in. no, she would not fool me." then suddenly she ran out and through the open door i saw how she literally tore away the three children from their mother's hands and when the mother wanted to follow her little ones the door was slammed and caught the fingers of the unfortunate woman. she screamed, the children screeched and all the other applicants ran to the door, wailing, crying--but the investigator ordered them all away. only the janitor finally took pity and brought a wet towel to wrap around the injured hand. however, she was not let in. the investigator dragged the three little ones away to her room. i don't know why i was under the impression of seeing a wolf carrying away three little chicks to his den. she brought them to her room and when she saw me coming she slammed the door and remained alone with them. from outside i heard the children crying and the questioning intonation of their torturer. she changed her tactics every minute. first she was sweet and promising, then loud and menacing, then again persuading, convincing, suddenly threatening, intimidating--a real scarpia in petticoats. meanwhile the mother stood outside, a wet towel on her arm, crying and beating with her head the heavy closed door. it was the hour when the "committee" was going home. an automobile stopped at the door and the manager majestically descended the broad stone steps, seated himself comfortably on the cushioned seat, buttoned his coat and beckoned to the driver. a few seconds later he was enveloped in a cloud of dust. after all, why not speak simply? from where all that money? even if it is only from the salary, does it not prove that he is getting too much? isn't that money destined to pay for other things than gasoline, and a liveried chauffeur? has any one of those that bequeathed a certain amount of money to an institution written in his will that a proportion of the money shall go for gasoline, liveried chauffeurs and high salaries? of course, a certain amount of money is necessary for expenses, but is there no reason to feel that there is "something rotten in denmark" when a little mothers' association gives out a report that around eighty per cent. of the total amount of money was spent on office work, salaries and investigators and only twenty per cent. went to the poor? the reason they give is that they prefer to spend fifty dollars on investigating before giving five dollars, for fear of giving to the undeserving, and that the large amount of money spent on salaries, etc., shows the good and thorough work of the institution. then why not be consistent and spend the whole amount the same way? it will show still better work, greater efficiency. why not put up a sign: "this institution is founded with the object not to give charity," or call it "the society to prevent pauperisation of the poor." but this does not pay. no fool will give money for such a purpose. i foresee a day when the poor will protest that their names and qualifications should not be used to obtain money under false pretences--a day when the poor will elect from _whom_ they want to receive charity. but to come back to the wolf. after a quarter of an hour another young woman, usually at work at the desk, quit her chair and went into the room. she was all excited, as one might be before the curtain rises on the scene when the villain is killed. she moved around on her chair, bit her nails, squeezed her fingers, broke nibs--the wolf smelling a rabbit. she at last could not resist temptation, so she entered the room. and then i heard both their voices. another investigator appeared. she was the oldest in the place, and reputed to be a marvel. (she afterwards obtained a position in the juvenile court--"the right place for the right woman.") "what's the matter in there?" she asked the office boy. "clipping wings of little birds," he answered laconically. it was the first time i had ever heard a sentence which so well characterised the work. the old "maman" hardly had patience to throw off her coat when she rushed into the fray. after a short lull during which the three conferred probably, the old cove took charge of one of the little ones, and went into another room. the whole thing lasted more than an hour and was given up as unsuccessful. the children were thrust out to the mother. she was ordered to come to-morrow. the three women seated themselves together and the younger one, thinking of the great exploits of the police detectives, sherlock holmes stories, remarked: "a regular third degree." the janitor, very interested in charity affairs, asked: "did you sweat them?" the old "maman" thought deeply for a few moments then she exclaimed with feeling: "come to think of it, they refused my candy! isn't that a sign that they had enough of it, that they get candy every day?" "of course," joined the two, "it certainly is so--children to refuse candy! who ever heard of it?" "when are they coming to-morrow?" "in the morning." "well, i will try to help you in this affair. i don't think they are deserving." as she went to write her report she kept on saying: "a nice bunch--a nice bunch." presently the office boy approached, chewing gum. "confessed, condemned to the electric chair?" he asked. the orphan home i was ushered into the private room of the superintendent of the orphan home. after a few moments' introductory talk he brought me down to the kitchen--a large, spacious room with all the modern cooking paraphernalia. the cook presided over the stove, on which were a dozen pots. three pale little girls were peeling potatoes. from there we went to the dressmaking room, where half a dozen girls under the supervision of an expert were making dresses, shirts, sheets and all the other linen of the house. though it was a beautiful spring day they had to use gas light, the room was so dark. the superintendent noticing my gaze fixed on the burning light, explained: "it is not too dark here, but you can't make them understand that artificial light is bad for the eyes. it's a pity to waste money on gas, but you can't do everything just right." from the dressmaking room he led me to the dining room, which was a very large, light room, with one big white marble table in the centre. little girls were busy setting the table for the noon meal. soon the bell rang and a hundred pair of tripping feet followed the call to lunch. in a few moments they were all sitting around the table. a big cauldron of soup was brought and the bowls filled with the steaming food. a hundred little mouths munched and chattered and whispered, the older girls supervising the younger ones, the stronger ones often getting the slice of bread belonging to the weaker. one of the "old ones" approached the superintendent and told him: "clara morris does not eat." "why?" he asked. "she cries, sir," the girl answered. "bring her to my office," he ordered. then he turned to me and explained: "the new ones don't assimilate readily. there is especial difficulty in the matter of food. their taste has been spoiled with spicy food and they can't eat the simple, wholesome food we give them here. the first few days they don't eat at all, but when they get good and hungry they fall to it like the rest. and they eat--oh! they eat. if you could see the bills for food for a month you would gasp. a fortune is spent. the fruit bill alone is above three hundred dollars a month. they get all the fruits of the season, but they would prefer pickles and sour tomatoes. i tell you for some of them it's lucky their parents died. i shudder to think what would have become of them." as he was speaking the office girl called him to the telephone. i went straight to the child who refused to eat and asked her why she refused the food. it was the child of an applicant and she knew me. "i can't eat it--it tastes bad. see for yourself." i took a spoonful of the supposed lentil soup and tasted. it smelt and tasted like dishwater. of lentils it had only the colour and the name. then i tasted the meat and the pudding, and understood why they had to be hungry for a few days before they could touch it. i looked at the faces of the children. all ghastly pale, with bent shoulders and fallen-in chests and toothpick legs--only the eyes were living, the feverish, longing eyes of the people of woe. the children ate the bread, some chewed a bone, alternating with a bite from a quarter of an apple, the fruit of the season, and as an extra treat, because i was there, two dates were given to each. once in a while a little tragedy would happen. a big one would take away a slice of bread from a small one, and the protests of the robbed were stilled with threats and pinches. "when is your happiest time here?" i asked one of the girls. "every six weeks," she answered. "why so?" "because then i am in the kitchen for two days and can eat as much as i want." soon the superintendent came again, and as he insisted on my visiting the classes while at work he invited me to lunch with his family. i was introduced to the lady of the house--who in turn introduced me to their daughter, a young miss of twenty, with round, healthy body and rosy cheeks and stupid eyes. mr. marcel talked all the time, explaining to me how ungrateful the children of the poor are. i was seated directly opposite him at table and had an opportunity of studying him at close range. for the first time i remarked his gluttonous lips and round, protruding belly. he followed every plate with his eyes and ceremoniously pushed his sleeves back before he carved, as though officiating at a holy rite. the more he ate the more he wanted, and seeing such a luncheon and the fruit at the table i quite believed that "the fruit bill alone was three hundred dollars a month." i turned to the girl and asked: "how do you like living here?" "it's nice." "she is practically born here," the mother explained. "then you went to school here," i asked. "oh, no--no--" all three, father, mother and daughter protested in chorus. "we would not place our child with _them_," the mother said indignantly, while the father, who was so shocked that he stopped eating his pudding, said: "one is willing to sacrifice his own life, but one has no right to do so with one's child." after luncheon mr. marcel delivered himself of the following lecture. "that's the big mistake of the people outside. they don't seem to realise that in an orphan home you have the scum of the population. the very fact that their parents died young and poor is a proof of the bad root they grow from. most of the time the father or mother or both have been drunkards, sick and idle. idleness is a disease and an hereditary one. why are they poor? because they are degenerates. a healthy man is never poor. why are they sick? because they are careless and dirty. why do they die young if it is not because they are degenerates and careless and dirty? we get their children. they all have bad habits, bad characters, are insolent and indolent, and they all long for the street, the free street. this desire for the free street is terrible. we have here a splendid garden--have a look through the window, sir--a splendid garden is it not? it's my greatest pleasure! they want the gutter. we have a tremendous work to do, and i am happy to be partially successful. we break them of their evil habits, curb their insolence and teach them order and submission, order and submission, order and submission," he repeated. the heavy meal soon told on the gentleman and his speech lost its clarity and his tongue stuck in his mouth. he was soon dozing in his chair and i was saved from the awkward position by mrs. marcel who gave me the freedom of the place, while explaining that mr. marcel was working very hard and was always tired at that hour. i went down to the garden. there wasn't a child there. one of the teachers sat on a bench reading a paper. "excuse me, madame, but why don't the children use the garden?" "they are not allowed, sir." i soon saw them pass out from the refectory to the classroom, like little mourners coming from the cemetery where their parents were buried. there are one hundred children, all girls, between the ages of seven and fourteen. _in five hours' time i did not hear one laugh, did not see one smile._ all have but one hope. to reach the age of fourteen and then be placed. it matters not where nor to what work! the main thing is to get out of the "box" as the children call it. but only six out of ten reach the age of fourteen. the hospital is the anteroom of the grave. when i spoke of the great proportion of sick among the children and of the pallor of all, the superintendent explained: "you must not forget that these are not normal children. they are the offspring of degenerates--of the poor." in all the world, in all the charitable institutions, poverty is a crime. thus are the children, the orphans, treated like little would-be criminals and every move is regarded with suspicion. not half of the money given for their food is spent on food and not a half that is given for their clothing is spent for them. the whole institution is a shame and the man who thought he was performing a good deed when he left a bequest to shelter the children of the poor is cursed instead of being blessed. and the devil sits on the stove and says: "this is the best place that man ever built for me." this was a model orphan home. i have since visited other places and found everywhere the same situation, with little variations. the conditions in a paris house are no better than those in chicago, and the children are not more unhappy in montreal than in berlin. the children of the poor, the orphans, are everywhere little criminals that mr. levy, monsieur albert, mr. marcel or herr grun has to "tame and teach submission." the wish of all the children is to get rid in some way of the "box." (this word is used by all the orphans all over the world to designate their home. it is characteristic and shows how suffering is international and conveys to all the same designation of a certain evil.) the girls by getting married or becoming servants. oh! they don't intend to stay married to the man the institution procures for them. generally it is an old widower who applies for one, to "make happy a poor orphan." she will not stay with him and her vow is worth nothing--is a subterfuge to escape. and if she goes as a servant it is also only to get out into the world where she will soon fall a victim to the first snare, on account of her inexperience and broken spirit, and her fear of returning to the "box." never has the orphan house been described as well as marguerite audoux has done it in her "marie claire." there, too, you see what the children miss--bread and love--and that what they most want is freedom. the day one of the girls goes away all the others are sad--sad to live between those four walls. the friendship of the cook is one's greatest asset. one can get an extra piece of meat or an apple or a slice of bread. all the while tens of thousands of dollars are given, gardens are made where the children must not enter and food is prepared which the children do not eat. holidays are celebrated and the children are tortured to learn some platitude which they must recite to please the ladies and gentlemen who come to honour the house with their presence. but down in their souls the children hate the whole game. they are not fooled--they know. and one girl confided to me the following: "there are busts in clay and marble and paintings of all that have started and contributed to this institution. in the centre hall is a white stone plate with the names engraved in gold. well, every morning i walk up to each and every one and tell him my opinion of his deed. i can hardly keep my fist back from the bust of the one who founded this 'box.' and to the plate, that plate with names engraved in gold--morning and night i say, 'damn you all.' it's my prayer." this voices the feeling of all the children. my visit to the orphan asylum was due to the following fact. mrs. d., a widow, had two children, two girls, one seven and one ten. when her husband died she placed both children in the orphan home. after a few months the younger one died there and mrs. d. took the other one home. all the charitable institutions did their utmost to get the child back to the institution, but in vain. the mother maintained that the death of her child was due to the negligence of the people in charge there. she said this openly, although she needed assistance. the child, too, would not return, and whenever the name of the institution was mentioned would cling to the mother's apron. the office was afraid that the reputation of the institution would be damaged and so they used every effort to combat the mother's decision. the whole officialdom was very nice and gentle to the widow. help was freely given, and they even spoke of buying her a candy store, on condition that she free herself of the child. when this course did not produce the desired effect the manager explained to her that the child would stand in the way of her remarriage, that she was young and had a right to live, etc., etc. when he wanted, the silken gentleman knew how to use unctuous language. but the mother instinct was stronger than the desire for money, for happiness--stronger than hunger. finally supplies were cut off. it was expected that hunger, "king hunger," would settle everything. and "king hunger" did settle it. two months later two lines in a newspaper spoke about his success. she was found dead with her child lying near her. the gas-jet was open and the coroner is investigating whether it was an accident or suicide. i give only the outlines of this miserable affair. it did not go as smoothly as it appears on paper. the visits of the mother, the change of tactics, the cries of the child whenever some one approached her. the horror of it all! and the talk of the people at the office. from the manager to the janitor--cold-blooded murderers. and the threats and taunts and insults. and to-day, when i look back at it all, i think of my visit to this and all the other orphan houses, and i am of the opinion that this mother did not do a bad thing. she had more courage than many others. if they all knew, as this mother did, and if they all were as sincere and truthful to their children, death would always be preferable to the wreck of what remains. then, and only then, would the eyes of the world be opened. then would everything be clear--clear--that no man could with one hand ruin health and spirit, through factory and workshop and adulterated food, dark and dirty tenement houses and wall street speculation, and with another hand give donations of a few dollars to palliate the evil he had created. or is this perhaps a new interpretation of christ's words: "let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth"? why they give among the chief contributors to a charitable institution are two gentlemen manufacturers. one a mr. w., the other a mr. m. d. in the clothing factory of mr. w. about four hundred workers, men, women and children, are employed. there the lowest wages are paid and a task system, combined with subcontracting and piece work, compels the workers to start at five in the morning, and if you pass at midnight you will still see the lights burning and hear the heavy rolling of the machines. in the summer of 1913 the manufacturer took a trip to europe, and when he returned in september he found a considerable financial depression. his men were employed only part of the time; many were discharged altogether. the average pay of the men was three dollars to four dollars per week, the women and girls one dollar and one dollar and fifty cents. the jewish holy days approached and as all the workingmen, as well as their employers, were jews, they were naturally very much worried how the holy days were to be kept. two weeks before the day of atonement mr. w. called into his office a few of his men and delivered himself of the following: "boys, the holy days are coming. i am a jew, a good jew, and thought that you all must be very anxious to get some more money in your pay envelopes so that you may buy clothes for your women and children, and i have decided to see that you all have plenty of work during the following weeks." the men cheered mr. w. "but," he continued, "on one condition, by reducing your prices fifteen per cent. times are hard. i have had enormous expenses. the holy days are approaching. i have no doubt that all of you are good jews and would not want to shame your faith, so i hope that all is agreeable to you and you can start to-morrow under the new condition." naturally the men refused and assembled in the halls of their union. the leaders of that organisation could not believe that mr. w. had said what the men reported, though they knew the gentleman very well, and they went to the manufacturer to get an explanation. i was then the secretary of a tailor's union. the result of the conference was that mr. w. repeated what he had said to his men and added that he saw that this was the best opportunity to cut wages. "they are all jews--they will need money for the holy days, so they have to submit. it's my best chance." it so happened that the men kept well together and did not return to work. they struck. winter set in very early that cursed year, but the men and women stood hunger and cold rather than submit to such conditions. weeks and weeks passed and mr. w. made no effort to settle with his men. we knew he had plenty of work. we knew he was sending work to be done in the country places at ridiculously low prices. still we knew that there was work he could not send out. none of the men returned to work; none of the other tailors worked there. we watched, and one day we got hold of a newly arrived immigrant with a letter in his hand. "where are you going?" one of the pickets asked him, and innocently the man showed his letter. a letter from the charity organisation to the manufacturer in which he was told that the man had just come over, "and will, let us hope, prove to be of the right kind." the original is in the safe of local 209 of the united garment workers of america. and then we learned that daily the institution sent men to break the strike, to help the manufacturer who contributed a certain sum yearly to charity because it costs less to do this than to use a strike-breakers' agency. with the help of these institutions the men were beaten. for thirty weeks through the cruel winter of 1913 they remained on strike. when the temperature descended to thirty below zero men, women and children stood naked and hungry. illness killed them by the dozen. some of the young girls went on the streets, and the charity institution sent the incoming and ignorant immigrants to the manufacturer, who worked them sixteen hours a day for five dollars or six dollars a week. "men, what are you doing?" i asked the managers of the institution. "you are supposed to _help the poor_, the suffering, and not the manufacturers." "yes," i was answered, "but this institution exists through the bounty of the _rich_ and they are the first to be considered." "then this is a strike-breaking agency?" "call it what you will." then we went to the manufacturer. "have you no heart? you know that the cost of living is going up. how can you reduce wages?" the answer was: "first i am a business man, and as such i must try to reduce the cost of production. i saw my opportunity. as to the high cost of living, i am convinced that the chief reason for this is the high cost of production, and in reducing the wages of the men i lower the cost of production." of course with such brutes discussion is useless. but his parting words are interesting: "believe me, sir, i suffer to see my men in misery. you know i am a heavy contributor to charity." it was too much for me. one more point in regard to the outcome of the strike. a certain influential man of the city succeeded in bringing about a settlement through arbitration. the workers selected two men, the manufacturer another two and the editor of a jewish newspaper presided. mr. w. as well as the workers agreed to submit to whatever the arbitration committee should decide. on the third day a settlement was reached and the men sent back to work, but when they arrived at the shops hired toughs and detectives cruelly assaulted the starved tailors. many were carried to hospitals and others were arrested. the manufacturer himself denied that he had ever agreed to submit to an arbitration committee, though he had given his signature to a typewritten agreement. mr. m. d., the other gentleman manufacturer mentioned, is one of the richest men in the country. he is a cigar manufacturer. for a long time he was the president of a charitable organisation and is a heavy contributor to every form of charity. in the teeth of winter, 1914, he reduced the wages of his workingmen twenty-five per cent. none of the english papers said a word, not a word in the jewish one, because the gentleman took the precaution to be a shareholder in the publication. the result? a few more dead; a few more on the street; a few more in the hospital; a few more dollars to charity. and that splendid gentleman, mr. g., who put eight dollars in amy's pay envelope, a girl seventeen years old, and when amy returned the money, saying that only three dollars and sixty cents was due her he said: "well, well, for the rest of the money i want a kiss," and he took it, and amy is on the street now. and mr. g.? ye poor of the land don't forget him in your daily prayers. he helps the widow and the orphan. in a controversy about white slavery i maintained that the chief reason was the low wages paid to the girls, and this gentleman had the audacity to state publicly that the real reason was the _high wage_ ($3) paid to them; that they get used to luxury. a week after his statement a girl found in a house of ill fame and brought before the judge frankly stated that she could not live on $3 per week and that this was the chief reason for her downfall. did mr. g. not himself pay $4.40 (the difference between $3.60 and $8.00) for a kiss? but that's why they give money to charities. to be shielded, to be helped in case of a strike, to procure a talisman. the kitchen there was no work to be had anywhere in the winter of 1913-14. the c. p. r. and g. t. r. had discharged men by the hundreds. factories had shut down, stores closed. hundreds, nay, thousands, were starving. what had happened? a financial depression! over-valuation, speculation and other explanations could not still the hunger of the poor and their families. the cost of living and rent went up, and nature seemed to help the rich. what a winter! some good-hearted men started a campaign for a kitchen where the hungry could get a complete meal for 5 cents. no sooner was the campaign started and the necessary fund covered, the kitchen well started, when hundreds of men and women went there to satisfy their hunger. naturally enough, among the chief contributors were the same mr. w. and mr. m. d. as well as other manufacturers. my suspicions were aroused. i found there men, newly arrived immigrants, that an immigrants' aid society had sent to work at certain places. they naturally displaced other better paid men, and ridiculously low wages were paid. "and how do you live on two or three dollars per week?" i asked. "oh, i don't spend it all," i was answered. "i send a portion of my wages home to my wife and children to russia," said one. "how do you live, then?" "we eat at the folks' kitchen," was the answer. and there and then i found that nine men out of every ten eating there were employed by one of the other of the manufacturers who contributed to the fund of the kitchen. any wonder the project immediately materialised? and not only have they given money but the rich send their wives and daughters to serve the poor. in investigating the cases of those that applied for clothes for their children, the charities eliminated those whose fathers or mothers were on strike at the factories of w. or m. d.--"fortunate he who can know the causes of things." i took this kitchen as a sample. those in other cities, cosmopolitan centres, are the same. take the baron de rothschild kitchen in paris. aside from the fact that the food given there is rotten, that the potatoes served are alcoholised, the bread green with mould and the meat unspeakably odorous, aside from all this, a swarm of little sweatshop keepers are continually around the kitchen where they engage cheap labour. cheap! ye gods. i have tried it myself. they paid me 20 cents a day for fourteen hours' work in an umbrella and cane factory. i worked there a full week and was not the only one. next to my bench, in front and across, all over, newly arrived men and boys were polishing the sticks, rubbing them so hard that the hands bled. a brother of the manufacturer was watching and driving. "come on, come on." then in the evening they all ran to the kitchen to get their meal. when they found out i was not green, i was immediately discharged. they wanted only ignorant men, newly arrived men. down in the painting room they employed girls. it was more a house of prostitution than a working room. the poor ignorant girls, harvested from the kitchen, were debauched while they painted canes and polished handles. so many of these sweatshops grew around the kitchen that rent rose in the neighbourhood. still a bookbinding concern found it convenient to abandon a lease of years and move the whole factory to where it was nearer the blessed spot. more than half of the men working around never received more than one dollar per day and when they went on strike it was an easy matter to fill their places with the people of the dung hill. in my presence a prospective manufacturer, discussing the merits of different localities for his plant, was willing to pay $80 per month more for one site than the other because it was in the neighbourhood of the kitchen. he would have cheaper labour. he did underbid all the other contractors and prospered and is an influential member of organised charity to-day. the small manufacturer advises his men where to get cheap meals. at the kitchen. cheap kitchens for the poor? cheap kitchens are _for the rich_. kitchens! a place where the spiders spread their web to catch the hungry flies--to suck their blood. chocolate investigating in paris (france) the conditions of charity institutions i was struck by one particularly funny custom which prevailed in one of them. after the applicant had been tortured and questioned until he would prefer death to a renewal of the ordeal he was given as many packages of chocolates as he had children, chocolate of the best kind, also a certain amount of meat and bread tickets. on the back of each ticket was written the stores where he could exchange it for meat or bread. one of the investigators, having told me that "they" sold these tickets, especially the meat tickets, i decided to find out the reason for this. i stationed myself in a butcher's shop around the place de la bastile, whose name and address was on the back of a ticket. until 10 a. m. i had not seen a single ticket coming and i was already drawing certain conclusions when i saw a woman coming in. she laid down on the table five francs' worth of tickets and got two francs in exchange. then another and another one came and all received forty per cent. of the value. why? the next day i obtained a few tickets myself, and going into another butcher shop whose address was also marked on the back of the ticket i ordered four pounds of meat. politely the man served me, and when he had tied up the parcel nicely, i tendered him the tickets. the man got red with rage and brusquely snatched the parcel, put his meat back on the nails, then, still without speaking a word, only looking daggers at me, he proceeded to scrape together all the spoiled pieces and bones he could find. this he weighed, and wrapping it up in a piece of dirty paper he handed it to me with the remark: "that's good enough for you." "but, sir," i said, "you get paid for meat and not for scraps and bones." "clear out, clear out, you pauper," he yelled. "what impudence--what impudence." and to a new customer who had just come in he explained, "these paupers are getting impossible to deal with." he pushed me out and i had to get rid of my parcel at the gutter. the odour of it was sickening. but then i understood why they were exchanging tickets for forty per cent. of the face value. with the money thus obtained they could get a piece of meat elsewhere--a piece of meat that was eatable. these tickets are paid to the butcher less ten per cent. every first of the month. why are tickets given instead of money for meat, for bread? there must be a reason. there must be some one interested. they are quite abundantly given. very little ready cash. blankets, shoes, aprons, meat tickets, bread tickets. then think of the little consideration shown the feelings of the poor. why advertise him as a pauper everywhere, at the butcher's and baker's? as to the chocolate, i learned that a certain rich lady had bequeathed a certain amount of money specially for this purpose, namely, that chocolate of a certain brand should be given to the children of the poor. the good old lady must have loved sweetmeats herself very much and she evidently thought that there was no greater misfortune than to miss the sweet bite. bless her poor soul! out of their clutches during the lawrence strike, in the winter of 1911-12, the striking weavers deemed it proper to send away their children to comrades in other places. the men and women understood that the children should be kept away from the carnage then going on. arrangements were soon completed and the children sent away to new york in charge of a few reliable people. but on the second transport the charities took a hand in the proceedings and compelled the mayor and the sheriff to stop the exodus. the pretext was that the children were being taken away from their mothers, to whom they belonged, and who should take care of them. to intimidate the workers a few of the parents were arrested and kept under lock and key "to show an example." no human being could forget the spectacle when the poor little ones arrived. pale, haggard, starved, cold, naked, with shoes torn, bareheaded, they passed along fifth avenue. the ladies and gentlemen lined themselves on the edge of the sidewalk. a woman kept a pet dog in her arms and when she saw a little girl shivering she cuddled the animal to her body. could any one forget the first meal the children had. it looked as though they would eat up the spoons and forks. they were afterwards distributed to those who applied for them, to keep them until the strike was over. it looks very reasonable, does it not? not to organised charity. they, who insult and torture, got busy and investigated and reported to the gerry society. got the papers busy on the subject and made life miserable for every one who had a lawrence child. were they afraid that the workers had wakened up to their own misery? were they afraid organised charity was going out of business? were they afraid to lose the fat positions, or was it simply the mania for investigating? simply the desire to augment the quantity of records? the most pressing local cases were put aside. everybody was employed getting the children of lawrence into the clutches of organised charity. they met with very little success, but to me, who knew them thoroughly, their cant of "protect the children," was disgusting. one of the boys was found alone in a working-man's home. the investigator got busy with so many questions and insinuations (he was italian and the people keeping him were jews) that the poor boy ran away, fearing his life was in danger. the jews needed his blood! he wandered aimlessly on the street. a policeman noticed him, brought him to the station, the reporters got a story: "the child ran away because he was ill treated." he was ill treated by the investigator who poisoned his soul. they wanted the children of the lawrence strikers in their clutches, in the clutches of charity. thank god, they were saved. "the home" the husband dead and she left with four small children, the woman had to apply to charity. an investigator was sent and she found the family on the verge of starvation. as she was speaking to the applicant an old man, with grey beard and bent shoulders, came in. "who is he?" "my father," the widow answered. further questions brought out the fact that the old man had lived in his daughter's house since his wife died; that he was too weak and old to earn his living and consequently fed on his daughter's fare. the investigator insinuated that the old man would have to be placed in a "home." the widow cried and vowed that she would never part with her father, and the children surrounded their grandfather as though he was in actual danger of his life. the result was to be foreseen. a week's hunger brought the widow to the office, where she agreed to part with her father, so that her children might live. the old man took no active part in the controversy concerning his future. apathetic, he would sit near the open window and read the psalms. he said no word when his daughter announced to him what the outcome was. a few minutes later he asked: "when am i to go?" then he packed his belongings, the "tefilin" prayer books, and was ready. thus are the people of woe ready to wander. he has been in many lands and many a time he has had to leave his abode, go from east to west, north to south. that very night he slept in the "home." home! the most horrible word for the poor. home! the whole world calls home the place where one lives. for the poor, the old ones who cannot work any longer, "the home" is the place where they die. it's the place that stamps them, brands them as eternal paupers. it's the crowning glory of a life of work, manual work. i know you will say: "what else could we do with the poor, incapable of earning their living?" but now come with me down to a few "homes." don't become ecstatic over the beauty of the lawn in front of the house, nor admire the cleanliness of the kitchen. come down to look at the men. do you see this old man there? the one with flowing white beard and bushy eyebrows? that old jew has made chairs and tables all his life, has made your chair, too, and his neighbour there--the one with trembling hands--he has worked on coats and overcoats, enough for thousands. look at his hands now. they tremble. look at your coat. the seam is straight, you want a straight seam. he is here now, in a home. look at them all. they have worked all their lives long. "come here, old man. what is your trade?" "a furrier." "old man, what is your trade?" "a tinsmith." "and yours? and yours? and yours?" "tailor, dressmaker, machinist"--every trade is represented. the veterans of industry. the temple of invalids. the widow's father lived there only two months. i saw him buried in the cold ground. an old man from the home stood near the grave. "i wish to be buried right here," he said. "why?" "i got used to him--we were neighbours. his bed was next to mine." "what was the matter with the old baruch?" i asked. "the servants did not like him," he answered. "was he ill? i mean old baruch." "no, the servants did not like him." "but that's no reason for a man to die!" the old man looked at me from under his bushy eyebrows. his look said plainly: "you stupid ass." then he turned away from me and mingled with the other people. he avoided me when i approached him. on the next day i visited the home again. it was meal time. they all sat around a big table, much like the one i had seen at the orphanage. in the orphanage are fatherless children, in the homes childless fathers. they sat around the table and tried to chew what was on their plates. their toothless mouths worked in vain. when the superintendent remarked to me that most of them have stomach ailments and i suggested that a dentist examine their teeth the lady could not stifle her laughter. she was herself a woman of sixty and her mouth was in perfect condition--it was the dentist's work of course. after the meal was over i tried very hard to get some of the old men to talk. they had nothing to say--this was the answer i got from a few. "are you satisfied here?" i asked, to which one fine looking old fellow replied: "it all depends what one expects, you know. in the talmud is a story how a man, once very rich, was not satisfied with a supper that three poor men together would have been satisfied about." i humoured the old fellow and got him to walk with me about the grounds. when out of hearing of the others he told me how the attendants beat every one of them for the slightest infraction of the rules of the house. "why don't you complain to the superintendent?" i suggested. "the ones that do so shorten their lives." "you mean?" "don't ask any further." a man understands closed lips. in a rolling chair, at the further end of the garden, sat a paralysed old man. "how are you feeling, uncle?" i greeted him. "fine, fine," he answered. "i am all right, now." "he is a lucky dog," remarked my companion, the old man of the talmud story. "he is paralysed all over." "do you call that lucky?--man, it's the greatest misfortune." "not in a home," he answered. "the paralysed are like the dead--they don't feel when they are hurt." once his tongue was loosened the old man went on. "there is an attendant here, a brute. when he gets mad he runs around to find fault with some one, to hit him. then we all get out of his way. this fellow here, he has a bad stomach. he would always be the scapegoat. my, how he would suffer. only his legs got paralysed at first and he had to be turned over in his bed. when that drunkard would get through with him the poor fellow's body was black and blue from pinches and punches. now he does not feel anything. he punches him and hits and pinches and gets mad to see that the fellow does not feel pain at all." "is that true?" i turned to the old man in the rolling chair. "you bet it's true, and i have my revenge now, to see him get wild. 'hullo, harry! why don't you pinch me a bit. come on, harry, have a pinch,' and he gets mad--like a savage." i see you shake your head. fiction! fiction! then read the letter sent by a young man and a young woman who worked at a "home" in new york. the letter was printed in "our health" of january, 1913. the institution did not even offer an excuse. deny, it could not. "the patients are mistreated, beaten, kicked, insulted," runs the letter. it has two signatures, the man's and the woman's. if this be not true, why did not the montefiore home sue the calumniators? but it is true. they keep quiet. they are afraid of revelations. some old man or old woman might take his last days into his own hands and come out with the truth. another old man was punished by the attendant with two days' fast. he sat at the table but was forbidden to eat. the cause of the punishment was that the old man had soiled the tablecloth. when visitors come the lawn is shown, the clean kitchen, the beautiful dining room, the spacious rooms. nothing of the inhuman treatment to which the inmates are subject comes to light. the gross insults: "beggar, schnorrer, pauper, liar," are not heard then. one "home" is under the same roof with an orphan house. upstairs the children, downstairs the old people, as though it were a prophecy: "here you start, there you finish." the callousness of this shows the sentiment of the people supporting the institutions. an old woman, while peeling potatoes, remarked: "all they miss is a dressmaking shop between the floors and a cemetery in the yard and their whole life would stretch before them." "bismarck" amongst the people in the home were two chums of olden days. moise hertz and "bismarck." they knew one another from childhood, were born in the same village in russia, had gone to the same school (cheder) and were both, later on, with their wives and children, driven from home. once across the border they drifted apart. moise hertz with his family went to germany and "bismarck" with his wife and children went to england. both men were tailors. moise hertz's two sons returned to russia during the revolution. one was hanged; the other is in sachalin (siberia). his wife died in new york. "bismarck's" son is in denver, trying to cure himself of tuberculosis. his daughter is blind. his wife is in a home for women. the two men had not met for fifteen years, though they both lived in new york a good deal of this time. (when they told one another the stories of their lives they found out that they even worked for a time in the same shop, on different floors.) then one day, as moise hertz filled his pipe he felt some one looking at him intently. the years are not so kind to the poor as to the rich, especially to poor jews, but moise hertz's eyes were keen and the two old chums embraced and called one another by their first names. "moise--abe!" in their joy they even blessed the place where they met. moise hertz's loneliness was over. he had somebody to talk to of his younger days. they told one another their misfortunes. all hope for a better to-morrow was gone. they only had the past--a rich past, rich in suffering. once a week bassie, bismarck's wife, would come to visit her husband. the trio would then sit together and figure out how their old friends' children were getting along. "he was born during the second cholera." "no, during the ritual blood accusation of 'thisza esler.'" "no, that's impossible!" bassie would explain. "my baruch was three years old then and she married during the pogrom in kiev." they would quarrel on such subjects and their parting words would still contain an assurance from bassie that she knew the right year of leah's birth. so passed a full year. the insults of the servants bothered them little. then one morning abe schmenovitz (at that time he was not nicknamed bismarck) complained to his friend that his arms pained him. moise led his friend to the doctor's room. the man of science had a look and prescribed something. in spite of the medicine the old man's arms became paralysed. from that day on he was attended to by his chum. moise hertz would dress and wash him and at meal times he would feed the old cripple like a mother does her baby. moise never ate before his friend was through with his meal. when the old fellow complained about his lost arms his chum consoled him: "what's the difference how one does, whether with usable arms or not? i have arms for you--better tell me how you got on in london--a big town?" so he would make his friend forget the sorrows of his actual state by forcing him to recall other sufferings. for two days moise hertz was too ill to attend to his friend. when mealtime arrived the cripple sat before his plate and looked at the food--there was no one to help him. he was very hungry. he dared not ask the attendant to help him, so he bent his head and got hold of a piece of meat with his mouth and while he tried to eat it fell out of his toothless mouth several times. he had to get it again--shook his head and reached further--bespattered himself, his face was coloured with the sauce from the plate. the other inmates howled and cursed. but the attendant called the whole servantdom to see the show, and they all laughed and laughed. the institution had a dog called "bismarck," and abe schmenovitz got this nickname from the chambermaid that day. it stuck to him to his last day. for several days the attendants forbade moise hertz to feed his friend. they wanted to see the show--a man eating like a dog. the old fellow forgot his real name in the course of time. when he died the servant announced his death to the superintendent in the following way: "bismarck died." "the dog?" the gentleman sprang from his chair. "no, the man--sir." twenty-one cents and a quarter an old couple who had once seen better days and whose only son died of caisson disease after working two months on the laying of the pillars which support the williamsburg bridge between new york city and brooklyn, was supported by organised charity. rent, coal and three dollars a week for food. for two years they lived on this scant pension, when all at once they were told to give up the flat; two rooms in a basement. "you will be placed in homes," was the explanation given. for fifty years these two old people lived together, shared joys and sorrows. they protested, cried, explained--all in vain. their fate was decided in the office and after the usual test to recalcitrant paupers the two victims submitted. bed, chairs and table were sold to the secondhand dealer for a few cents, then each of the two took a bundle in one hand, the picture of the dead son in another; one took the car for the north and the other for the east side of the city. the fifty years old bond was broken. the cause of this act was the desire on the part of the charities to economise. the difference between keeping the old people in their own home and placing them in different homes was eighty-five cents a month--twenty-one and one-quarter of a cent a week. it did not take very long before the old man went on that journey whence no man has yet returned, and a few weeks after his wife followed him. there is no doubt that the separation had hastened their deaths. they had been together for fifty years, each growing accustomed to the other's habits and ways. then, of a sudden, they were torn apart. speaking to an official of organised charity i drew his attention to the ridiculous economy realised through separating the old couple. the man looked at me for awhile and as an answer he said: "you are a baby." a few months later he announced to me: "you know the old fellow--sig--died, and his wife also." i wanted to tell him that death was hastened by the criminal stupidity of organised charity, but he went on exulting in his own wisdom. "now i hope you will understand that the economy was greater than eighty-five cents a month." what did he mean? was it purposely done to hasten their death and save the pension? i can see no other meaning in his words. but have you ever seen in the papers an advertisement displayed in a prominent place, reading somewhat as follows: "you are giving to charity; a hundred, a thousand or ten thousand dollars a year. why not give it to organised charity and then send all the deserving to us? not a cent is given before a thorough investigation is made by people trained to do the work and who know how. contribute a regular sum yearly to organised charity. it will save you the annoyance of the outstretched hand and at the same time you will feel that you have done your duty towards the poor of the land." all the homes i visited, more than twenty, here and abroad, impressed me with the terrible gloom that pervades their walls. it is the misery of a city housed under one roof. it is the pay of a life of toil, wearisome and ill-paid. the inhabitants know that the only issue is to the grave. they are not prisoners. they are free. but in their very freedom is the utter hopelessness of their existence. "i forgot my name since i am here," an old woman told me. "you see nobody is _himself_ here. you are to be just like the other one. not one of us to be different. i was an actress once. this here was the audience. each of us had his place, his work. now it's all alike." another man told me that he did not think the sun ever rose since he was in the institution. by the thousands and thousands, these, our fathers and grandfathers, mothers and grandmothers, whose blood flows in our veins, whose toil we still enjoy, the makers of houses and bridges and machines--they all rot in some prison--a home--under the pretence of humanity and pity. we don't want them to beg on the street, is the general excuse. why? at least they would be free. they would not depend on a man or a set of men. they would not be referred to by number and catalogued as cases and treated like dogs. in his "decay of beggars," charles lamb says: "above all, those old blind tobits that used to line the wall of lincoln's inn garden, before modern fastidiousness had expelled them, casting up their ruined orbs to catch a ray of pity, and (if possible) of light, with their faithful dog guide at their feet--whither are they fled? or into what corners, blind as themselves, have they been driven, out of the wholesome air and sun-warmth? immersed between four walls, in what withering poor-house do they endure the penalty of double darkness, where the chink of the dropped halfpenny no more consoles their forlorn bereavement, far from the sound of the cheerful and hope-stirring tread of the passenger? where hang their useless staves? and who will farm their dogs? have the overseers of st. l---caused them to be shot? or were they tied up in sacks and dropped into the thames, at the suggestion of b----, the mild rector of ----? "these dim eyes have in vain explored for some months past a well-known figure, or part of the figure, of a man, who used to glide his comely upper half over the pavements of london, wheeling along with most ingenious celerity upon a machine of wood, a spectacle to natives, to foreigners and to children. he was of a robust make, with a florid sailor-like complexion, and his head was bare to the storm and sunshine. he was a natural curiosity, a speculation to the scientific, a prodigy to the simple. the infant would stare at the mighty man brought down to his own level. the common cripple would despise his own pusillanimity, viewing the hale stoutness and hearty heart of this half-limbed giant. few but must have noticed him, for the accident which brought him low took place during the riots of 1780, and he has been a groundling so long. he seemed earth-born, an antaeus, and to suck in fresh vigour from the soil which he neighboured. he was a grand fragment; as good as an elgin marble. the nature, which should have recruited his left legs and thighs, was not lost, but only retired into his upper parts, and he was half a hercules. i heard a tremendous voice thundering and growling, as before an earthquake, and casting down my eyes, it was this mandrake reviling a steed that had started at his portentous appearance. he seemed to want but his just stature to have rent the offending quadruped in shivers. he was as the man-part of a centaur, from which the horse-half had been cloven in some dire lapithan controversy. he moved on, as if he could have made shift with yet half of the body portion which was left him. the _os sublime_ was not wanting, and he threw out yet a jolly countenance upon the heavens. forty-and-two years had he driven this out-of-door trade, and now that his hair is grizzled in the service, but his good spirits no way impaired, because he is not content to exchange free air and exercise for the restraints of a poor-house, he is expiating his contumacy in one of those houses (ironically christened) of correction. "was a daily spectacle like this to be deemed a nuisance, which called for legal interference to remove? or not rather a salutary and a touching object to the passers-by in a great city? among her shoes, her museums, and supplies for ever-gaping curiosity (and what else but an accumulation of sights--endless sights--is a great city? or for what else is it desirable?) was there not room for one _lusus_ (not _naturae_, indeed, but _accidentium_?) what if in forty-and-two-years' going about the man had scraped together enough to give a portion to his child (as the rumour ran) of a few hundreds--whom had he injured?--whom had he imposed upon? the contributors had enjoyed their sight for their pennies. what if after being exposed all day to the heats, the rains, and the frosts of heaven--shuffling his ungainly trunk along in an elaborate and painful motion--he was enabled to retire at night to enjoy himself at a club of his fellow cripples over a dish of hot meat and vegetables, as the charge was gravely brought against him by a clergyman deposing before a house of commons' committee--was this, or was his truly paternal consideration, which (if a fact) deserved a statue rather than a whipping-post, and is inconsistent, at least, with the exaggeration of nocturnal orgies which he has been slandered with--a reason that he should be deprived of his chosen, harmless, nay, edifying way of life, and be committed in hoary age for a sturdy vagabond? "there was a yorick once whom it would not have shamed to have sat down at the cripples' feast, and to have thrown in his benediction, ay, and his mite too, for a companionable symbol. 'age, thou hast lost thy breed.' "half of these stories about the prodigious fortunes made by begging are (i verily believe) misers' calumnies. one was much talked of in the public papers some time since, and the usual charitable inferences deduced. a clerk in the bank was surprised with the announcement of a five-hundred-pound legacy left him by a person whose name he was a stranger to. it seems that in his daily morning walks from peckham (or some village thereabouts) where he lived, to his office, it had been his practice for the last twenty years to drop his halfpenny duly into the hat of some blind bartimeus that sat begging alms by the wayside in the borough. the good old beggar recognised his daily benefactor by the voice only, and when he died left all the amassings of his alms (that had been half a century, perhaps, in the accumulating) to his old bank friend. was this a story to purse up people's hearts and pennies against giving an alms to the blind? or not rather a beautiful moral of well-directed charity on one part, and noble gratitude upon the other? "i sometimes wish i had been that bank clerk. "i seem to remember a poor old grateful kind of creature, blinking and looking up with his no eyes in the sun. "is it possible that i could have steeled my purse against him? "perhaps i had no small change. "reader, do not be frightened at the hard word imposition, imposture--give, and ask no questions. cast thy bread upon the waters. some have unawares (like this bank clerk) entertained angels. "shut not thy purse-strings against painted distress. act a charity sometimes. when a poor creature (outwardly and visibly such) comes before thee, do not stay to inquire whether the 'seven small children' in whose name he implores thy assistance, have a veritable existence. rake not into the bowels of unwelcome truth to save a halfpenny. it is good to believe him. if he be not all that he pretendeth, give, and under a personate father of a family, think (if thou pleasest) that thou hast relieved an indigent bachelor. when they come with their counterfeit looks, and mumping tones, think them players. you pay your money to see a comedian feign these things, which, concerning these poor people, thou canst not certainly tell whether they are feigned or not." the superintendent, a man of about forty, of good appearance and strong physique, had just assumed his duties. previously he had been manager of a department store. what recommended him to his new position was his reputation as a stern disciplinarian and strict economist. the first thing he did was to take an exact inventory of the property of the institution, then an approximation of what was necessary for the subsistence of each individual--so much flour, so much salt, so much meat--everything measured and weighed exactly. instead of saying "so many people" the superintendent would say "so many mouths." this done he proceeded to deliver to the cook the exact quantity necessary every day--the washerwoman received every week an exact quantity of soap--everything in order, strictly, soldierlike. the old people were compelled to get out and into bed at certain hours, compelled to report on certain days. everything was very orderly, only the mortality of the inmates increased that year. the auditing committee saw no connection between the regularity and orderly keeping of accounts and the death of the old people. there was another item that did not interest them, namely, what was saved on food was spent on additional help. not to attend the old people, oh, no! but to keep the lawn and garden in order. the superintendent was praised. his keeping the things in such fine condition augmented the list of donors. the fund grew. it was invested in real estate, of course! to what other purpose could it be invested! still another expense was not considered. but it was really a very small one. a few boards of white pine--a grave in potter's field. a mouth is closed--a name is erased. the cook receives less flour, less sugar. ah, the poor, the poor! when they are young they are called "hands." when they get old they are labelled "mouths." visiting day if you want to see the product of modern society all at once, have, so to say, a bird's-eye view of centralised misery, go to see a "home" on visiting day. look at the expectant faces of the inmates; the ones that have somebody "outside." cripples, consumptives, idiots, diseased of all kinds pour in one after another. some bring little bags of fruit and cakes. one interchange was especially interesting to me. in a greasy old newspaper a boy of twelve brought butts of cigarettes and cigars to his old grandfather. in exchange he received a boiled potato and a few lumps of sugar. the transaction over, the young one went his way and the old fellow retired to his room to dry up the remnants of other men's pleasures. this old fellow was held in great esteem by the others. not every old grandfather could obtain the weed from his grandson. to an old man news was brought that his daughter had died. "when?" he asked quietly. "yesterday." "why did you not let me know immediately?" he inquired. "i was very anxious to know. as for us, the sooner we die the better it is." those who come to visit "their people" at the homes depend partially or wholly on charity. no appearances are kept up. information is given, advice received. what to say, how to behave, where to go. each class has its wisdom. the paupers have theirs. if the supporters of organised charity could hear what is thought and said about them and their good deeds! perhaps we would have a few homes less, but also the number of people needing homes would be reduced. as long as you need "hands," you will produce "mouths." employment agencies in previous chapters i have spoken of the "bureau," and how they procure "help" in time of trouble. the employment department of the charities procure help in time of peace, industrial peace, also. when a man or woman has applied for charity and the investigator judges the applicant fit for work, he is immediately sent upstairs to the manager of the bureau, who is telephonically notified about the "customer" and his peculiarities. "mr. gordon--hello--give him a squeeze about his relations and how long he is out of work--also don't forget to ask him again about his oldest son. he told me that the boy is in the army--of course he is lying. lazy? sure." thus he is introduced to the manager of the bureau. once upstairs the applicant is taken in hand by this gentleman and "given a squeeze" to see whether all he says tallies with what he had previously told the investigator. the language used, the insults heaped upon him would stir the blood of any man--prompt him to violence, perhaps, but the applicants have no blood. overwork, illness, hunger and lastly, the investigator, have turned it into water. humbly, meekly, the man or woman stands it all; then he is told to come to-morrow at 8 a. m. the office only opens to the public at 10. "why do you have them wait two hours?" i asked the manager. "just to get them trained to get up early," he answered. "you know the proverb 'early to bed and early to rise.'" meanwhile they crowd the waiting room and the "real" visitors, the committee, think the manager very, very busy. the employers that apply for "help" from the charities are the worst ones. long hours, low wages and the meanest working conditions imaginable. to learn the situation exactly, i myself applied for a job at a "charity" office. i passed the examination of the manager and was given a slip with name and address of the employer, a cut glass manufacturer in west 116th street, and a postal card stamped and addressed to the office. i was to put the missive in a letter box if i were accepted. the next morning at 7, as per instructions from the manager, i knocked at the door and gave the office boy the piece of paper from the charities. i had waited a half hour when the foreman, a big, strong brute, measured me up from head to toe, then shook his head, dissatisfied as to my physical condition probably, and i was ushered into the office. another wait, hat in hand. then the employer wheeled around on his chair, and a new examination started. he was especially anxious to know the time of my arrival in new york. i pretended to be a newcomer, because i knew that he would not employ me were he to know that i was longer than three months in new york. they only want "greenhorns." they hunt for them around "castle garden" and in the charities. i satisfied him, and he announced to me the glad news that i was to receive twenty francs a week. he did not say four dollars--he said twenty francs because i told him i was a frenchman. the foreman was instructed to put me in the galvanising room. when i entered the shop the fumes of vitriol, ammonia, sulphur and other chemical stuff almost choked me. the foreman had a good laugh at my face, then he placed me in a corner where lay a box of saw-dust. from another corner strips of galvanised metal were thrown to me and i had to dry them up with the saw-dust and pile them in another box which was taken away every time it was full. the fumes and the smoke were so dense that i could not see any of my co-workers until noontime. then i saw them all, about forty men and women, all "greenhorns," jews, italians, poles, pale, hungry, dirty, ragged, worn out, and all of them coughing--coughing so that the whole street echoed with the thunder of the musketry of the soldiers of modern industry. a half hour for lunch and back to the shop. we worked until 6.30 p. m. i was discharged because i was reported to have spoken english to the caretaker, who pushed me roughly away with his broom when cleaning. paying me 63 cents for my day's labour the boss called me liar and tramp. i had committed a crime. i spoke english. i was longer than three months in america. that the working conditions were worse in that factory than elsewhere, where "regular" workingmen are employed, goes without saying. sixty-three hours a week for pay ranging from three dollars to seven dollars and fifty cents for men and two dollars to four dollars for women. the people working there dare not look at one another, dare not speak, dare not question. they know they are spied upon and reported to the charity office from where they are all helped. and this employer is mentioned very flatteringly for his cooperation with the employment office to "redeem" the sunken poor. in reality, he is plying his murderous trade under the protection of charity. his work would cost him three times as much if he performed it with "regular" men under usual conditions. as a matter of fact, the man started out with nothing and amassed a fortune in a few years. when a man has reached the top, seven dollars and fifty cents per week, he is discharged as "lazy," and another one at four dollars is started in. this is not the only factory of the kind. scores of them grow and thrive under the kind protection of organised charity, to the glory of god and the humane century we live in. "dear sir--you employ a number of men and women in your factory. labour is very floating nowadays and we know the difficulty employers have to secure the right sort of help. when in need of help, why not ring us up? we always have a number of men and women who would not only be willing to accept any work at all, but who would feel extremely thankful to the one giving them a chance. "when you get help from us you know you get the right kind. in addition to that, you assist us in our work of redeeming the poor. "respectfully yours, "----, "manager of employment bureau. "p. s.--right now we have some excellent help for your line." this is a copy of a circular letter sent by the employment bureau of an organised charity to the manufacturers. just think of this fact. one of these little sweatshop owners receiving such a letter when samuel gordon, who was getting six dollars a week, takes heart and demands a raise in his wages. read that letter twice and carefully and see what it means. the employer is actually committing a good deed when he fires one of these men getting seven dollars or eight dollars a week and takes on one sent by the charities. think of the p. s. "right now we have a number of excellent help for your line." tempting! is it not? "and be sure the men we send you are not going to make any trouble--an hour or so more every day and a dollar or so less every week does not stand in the way of the one _willing to work_."--this over the phone. my last week in the waiting room monday. when the door is opened more than a hundred people stream in. they have all been waiting outside, some sitting on the stairs, others walking to and fro. of course, every passer-by notices them and knows who they are, "applicants for charity." i have heard that remark many a time when passing by. fearing i might be taken for one of them i have decided always to wear a flower in the lapel of my coat. they will know that no man who applies for charity wears flowers. i also whistle and sing when i ascend the stairs. the other people, the investigators and office workers don't seem to take precautions in this respect. they take it for granted that no one will think this of them. mrs. b., the investigator, calls me aside and tells me of the wonderful play she has seen last night. she is stage struck and is even dreaming of her lost career. meanwhile, the people, the applicants, crowd the room. i know that several of them are there to see mrs. b. and i want to cut our conversation short, but she has buttonholed me and pours out her whole soul. other investigators arrive and each one goes to her desk to finish up a report. some of them want to see the manager and report personally on matters of importance. when i got through with mrs. b. the waiting room is overcrowded. more than fifty women and men are walking around the room, pacing up and down the floor. there are not enough chairs. a young woman sits in a corner, in the darkest spot. she has a black shawl over her head and has drawn it so far over the face that only her eyes are seen. she is ashamed. she does not want to be seen by the others. i would like to know who it is!--would like to see her face--yet every time i pass her she draws the shawl more over her face--what beautiful, lustrous eyes! where have i seen them? where? she is in mourning. it's remarkably quiet to-day. it's so warm. the investigators loll around and tell one another where and how they have passed the week-end, saturday and sunday. mr. cram comes up and makes an inspection. "we've got some new customers," he remarks to the office boy. "plenty," the boy answers. i can't help thinking, what will become of that boy? he is so cynical, so stony-hearted, so cruel. nothing astonishes him, nothing softens him. he makes fun of the most pitiful situation. as he walks to and fro calling the ones wanted by the manager or bringing the records from the safe, he sneers at all the people in the waiting room. if a woman is in his way, he bows mockingly and hisses out, "my lady is in my way!" purposely he jolts the men and then he demands excuses. of late he has practised spitting at a distance. he takes a good aim at an old man or woman and from a distance of ten to twelve feet he hits his target. when successful he exults--champion of the world--greatest marksman. of course, he does it secretly. suddenly you see a man drying his face or cleaning his beard. the office is in love with the boy. he is the pet. but still, what will become of him? how will he be father, husband, friend? i once asked him: "say, sam, what do you like best? what do you do in your free time?" "oh, nothing in particular," was his answer, while he bit into a fresh piece of chewing gum. "theatre, base-ball, ice cream?" "no, nothing in particular," he again answered. he is dead to everything. he is blasã©. "yes, sam, but what do you intend to be when you grow up?" "i will work up here--work up to the top--you understand?" "yes, but suppose a time comes when there will not be any poor." "well, i hope the time will never come," and sam walks away. there is a commotion at the door. a woman wants to enter the waiting room without a letter of invitation. she wants to see the manager. she cries and curses. the janitor puts her out. the "derelicts" become restless and nervous. it's 10 o'clock. a woman seated near the one with the shawl over her face wants to start a conversation. she answers her very curtly and turns her back. the office boy makes his appearance again. sam announces that the "boss" has come and work starts immediately. "martha blum"--"joe crane"--"rita somers"--and every time a name is called the people raise their heads at once. the lucky ones go into the other room to be questioned. work has started. in the factories wheels go round, clothes and shoes, and tables and chairs are made--consumptives and unfortunates also. here, souls are torn, men and women degraded, insulted--that's their work. it's a bedlam. accusations from one side and cries and appeals for pity from the other. they don't remain long. still crying they are put out--and others are called in: "george hand," "carl wender," "gib ralph," "margaret cy"--and others, others wend their way towards the other room. "the terror" has come. seeing such a big crop, she gets ready the threshing machine. from her room the cries are louder than from any two put together. the applicants also stay longer; she takes delight in their torture. monday and friday are her days. a woman has taken a fit. the janitor is called. he drags her out and lays her down in the hall. an old man tries to read the engraved letters above the door. they were once gilded, the gold has partly fallen off and it is difficult to read them. slowly he reads them out, "whosoever stretches a begging hand, give and don't question." he shakes his head doubtfully and tries to read the inscription on the other door, "for the poor of the land shall never cease." from the "terror's" room comes a young woman. her eyes are red and tears run down her pale cheeks. she hurries out as though some one was running after her. what has the "terror" done to her? look how she runs! i open the door and look after her. how she runs--how she runs. i turn round. the "terror" is near me. she is hurrying--ah! she triumphs. "what happened?" i ask. "she got her medicine--a good strong dose, too." she looks around the waiting room, searching for a victim. she notices the woman with the covered face. "what is your name?" i don't hear the answer, but the "terror" bids her follow her into the other room. i listen. the woman has awakened my interest. it's very quiet. the investigator raises her voice a few times but is met with such a quiet, calm answer that it goes on in the ordinary conversational tone for a few minutes. then i hear the woman cry. but my attention is called elsewhere. an applicant does not want to get out of the investigator's room. she yells, cries and screams. "i want to see the manager--i want to see the manager--i have been put out of my rooms--my children are on the streets." the investigator, mrs. b., uses force, but the woman holds on at the door. "i want to see the manager. you can't torture me that way. i want to see the manager." she screams yet louder. the janitor is called and he does his duty. takes hold of the woman and puts her out. the woman screams in the street. a policeman is called and the officer gives the woman notice that he will arrest her if she does not desist. she still screams and refuses to go. the door opens and she sees the manager as he orders her arrest for disturbing the peace. the test is applied. of course she will be immediately released. the manager telephones to the station at once that they should release the woman. mrs. b., the investigator, is walking nervously from one desk to the other. "that pest--that pest--she would not get out. i will give her a lesson. she will not forget as long as she lives." "what is the matter?" i inquire. "for the last six months she bothered me that she wants to move out from where she lives. the rooms are too dark, the walls are damp and all that sort of thing. all she wanted of course was to get out of my district. you know, i keep them pretty well together, in a few blocks. you want to move--well! i gave her the chance of her life. let her be on the street a few days, then she will know how to appreciate her house." that old fellow who tried to read the inscription comes up to me, "how long will i have to wait? i have been called for nine a. m. it's half past eleven now." "i don't know, old man. you just have to wait." he shakes his head and goes back to his place on the bench, and again reads the inscription. "the terror" has released her victim. coming out the woman leaves her face uncovered. she has gone one step lower, robbed of the sense of shame. she is young and beautiful. pale, very pale. her eyes are red. she cried. she has got to see the manager. before entering the sanctum she fixes her stray hair and dries her eyes. "she is green," remarks the office boy. "doesn't know the trade." "who?" i ask. "the lady in black." he looks around: "gee--they done quick work." the investigators are in a hurry to-day. noon. only a few employã©s remain. all the others go to lunch. about forty applicants still in the waiting room. their names have not been called. the janitor orders them out. again they throng the street. he drives them off the stairs. they tramp the sidewalk, up and down, and it's so very hot, 96 degrees. i lunch with the others. mrs. h. still talking about yesterday's show and about that woman that did not want to obey her and get out. they talk shop during lunch. sam's prowess as a spitting marksman is highly praised. "champion spitter of the world," cram proclaims him. "a clever boy." "a sensible boy." "gay." "clever, very clever." "he will be a man." "oh, yes, oh, yes. he will rise high." their admiration for sam is boundless. they recall his repartees on different occasions and how he once cynically remarked to the manager: "a woman died in the waiting room, sir. shall i bring you her record? p. b. 9761 is the number." he got his raise not long after that. the manager was struck by the boy's efficiency and his splendid memory. "why," said mrs. b., "he knows all the records by heart. g. d. 7851 has four children, husband dead, three dollars r. c. cl. just ask him when you want to know. he will tell it off before you can say a word or consider." then from the boy the discussion drifted to the new manager and his peculiarities and how he compared with the former occupant of his office. "he is too lenient with the people," says mrs. h. "wait until he gets fooled good and hard," intervened cram. "wait, when he gets fooled a few times and the committee grumble there will be something doing, i tell you." the lunch finished, only cram and i returned to the office; the others went to do outside work, investigating. on the way cram expounded a new theory: the charities to buy an island somewhere and send all the applicants there--women and children separated from men--all to live in one huge building--a big home for the poor. it would cost less, he figured. "but they would not go--they would not go, the scoundrels!" he lamented. "we are too easy on them. we are really doing bad work. we are encouraging paupers, our rule should be: don't give a cent until the applicant has no other alternative, 'charity or suicide.' but we are all weaklings, sentimental trash!" thus speaking we arrived at the door of the office. cram turned his head and pointing to the people walking in front of the building he made a broad sweep with his hand: "this whole damned pack is the degenerate fringe of our century. we should do away with them and not help them live." these are the sentiments of a superior officer of organised charity. "say, cram, why don't you resign your position? you don't like the poor. you don't believe in charity--resign!" "neither do i like pig iron and i don't believe in love," he answered in bad mood. what does it mean? i had a smoke with him in his office in the basement. he was very talkative. spoke about his past and future. he too hopes to reach the top. a good man for the job. at two o'clock the doors are again thrown open so that i have to go to the waiting room. they must again give up their letters to the janitor. a scuffle again. one fellow wanted to enter without invitation. the janitor insisted that the man go down stairs to cram's office, while the man wanted to go in. of course the janitor won out. all the others, the applicants helped him. it's to their interest that there should be one less, they get more quickly through the mill. to-day is committee day. the big room is prepared. the office boy reads roll call to see if all those summoned are present. then he looks up all the records and places them on the table at the place reserved for the manager. the people waiting for the investigators are told to go home and come to-morrow. how they cry! how they cry! they know what that to-morrow means. it may mean a week and more. meanwhile the pension is suspended, the children are hungry. "to-morrow at nine a. m. big sale of ladies' underwear," sam announces. the ones with letters for the committee remain in the room. not very long, though. automobiles stop before the door and the gentlemen are immediately at work. one after another the applicants are called in. their records and the investigators' are read and a new cross-examination starts. "what is the matter with you, erikson? a young woman like you to apply for charity. it's a shame." "but, sir, i have been ill." the manager stops her impatiently. "what about your children, erikson?" one of the gentlemen says: "hadn't you better give them to a home and then be free and go to work, as a servant or something. we could easily get you a place, you know." "i would not separate from the children, they are too small." the mother, a young scotch woman, defends her offspring. the gentlemen look at one another a few seconds, then mr. r., the chairman, gets up and yells at her: "you would not? hein, you would not? we too, would not. how do you like it? what do you want with your three small kids? here is a special place for them. the orphan house. that settles it." and he sits down again and looks into another record. the mother wants to speak, argue, beg. "that settles it." she is shown the door. i follow her outside. she remains at the door for a few minutes thinking hard. then she braces up, stamps her feet, and says very loud, "no, i won't, i won't, i won't give them up." she goes away. another man is called. he is a consumptive and very weak. he is even offered a chair and asked to sit down. he wants to go to colorado. they are not very brutal to him. he gets the fare and a few dollars extra. "good luck." "thank you." a few more are expedited very rapidly. most of them are denied any help, but the chairman is very "soft" to-day. it's very hot and he perspires heavily. the boy calls out a name and an old woman comes in. she has a very dignified appearance and takes exception when she is not politely addressed by the chairman. he always takes delight in insulting those who are of better appearance. "sir," the woman says, "in a moment of distress i have applied for charity and i am given insults. i have been called three times here and what have you done for me? nothing. is that charity?" "nothing! nothing!" screams the chairman, and wipes the perspiration from his brow, "and what is that? here we sit and sweat ourselves to death for you. do we get anything for that?" "neither did i," the woman retorts. but the manager is on his feet in a second, he tears the application, opens the door and pushes her out. "get out, get out, and quick," and though the woman is going out, the janitor helps her descend the stairs. the manager returns to the committee room. "yes, that's what we have to put up with!" "what impudence," says one. "that's what it has come to," says another. "pretty soon they will request upholstered chairs." "i would have had her arrested," pipes out a stupid old degenerate who never says a word. they keep on talking that way. "shall we continue?" the manager asks. "not to-day," the chairman says, "it's too hot. not until next week. they say that they don't get anything from our work, see how they will get along without it." he again wipes off his brow and goes out first. the others follow him. the manager accompanies them to the stairs. the automobiles disappear. tuesday is there no way to finish it all? it's noon time now, and since nine o'clock this morning i have heard cries and screams and curses. i have seen tears, tears, tears. the investigators are worse than tigers to-day. they are all taking revenge on the poor for yesterday's occurrence, and sam is surpassing himself. he spits again at one. i wish it happened that his "greeting" fell on me. i would beat him to within an inch of his life. why does not one of the applicants twist that boy's neck! they are finished. they have no blood. water flows in their veins. no sooner did the doors open than one of the applicants had a fit. mrs. h., pretending the woman faked, began to curse her. mrs. h. jumped at one of the women and called out loudly: "what do you want here? you will not get a cent. get out or i will have you arrested." the woman began to cry and tear her hair, but mrs. h. yelled, "get out, get out," and called the janitor to do his charitable work. as though mrs. h.'s temper was contagious, all the other investigators were horrible. mrs. b. and mrs. d. and cram and sam, and even that slip of a girl, that cripple with short arms like a kangaroo, treated the poor as though they had all committed the worst of crimes. that girl is only six weeks on the job. she is a brute now. no wonder! with such good teachers. the women sat on the benches and moaned and cried and tore their hair. that woman who had a fit came back to her senses. she got three dollars and was sent home. mrs. h. protested. she still insists that it is all a fake. "almost every applicant could throw a fit," she said; "one, two, three and they are down on the floor." sam said that he has a new business plan: a school of epilepsy, ten dollars for the complete course. they could earn money with such a trade. it was the worst half-day i remember, and it was very hot. really it could be called the "garden of tears." all the eyes are red and cold sweat covers the face of every applicant. as mrs. b. passed by the woman in black who had her face covered with her shawl she tore it down and yelled: "we want to see your sweet face, madame. if you are ashamed to show yourself there is no need to come here at all." all the colour was gone from the woman's face. she looked more like a ghost than a human being. her face and lips white. her sunken eyes black, her mourning clothes accentuated the picture. she sat motionless for a few minutes then she covered her face again and went out slowly. i followed her to the door. she hesitated about which direction to take. several times she retraced her steps as if she wanted to return to the waiting room, but she finally decided to go toward fourteenth street. i saw her stop before a window and dry her eyes with her handkerchief. she then disappeared down fourteenth street. "what will become of her?" i thought. "she has two small children, two small girls. if the mother is in the street what will become of the children?" why did that brute force her to show her face? that's what she always does. when i once asked her why she goes around to the neighbours of an applicant and announces that "so and so belong to the charities," she answered me, "whoever is ashamed should not beg." she would brand them on the forehead with a hot iron. i don't see why the anti-trust law could not be applied to organised charity! they have made a "trust in pity," and are now treating the producers and consumers as they like. that woman erikson, who said yesterday, "i won't, i won't give them up," stood at the door more than an hour. she was not let in. her letter was taken away yesterday. now she will have to make out another application and wait for an answer. the committee only meets next week. i went out and asked her whether she had decided to give the children to an orphan home. "no, i won't," she answered, "but i wanted to see these gentlemen and see whether i could not soften their hearts. we could live on so little--on so little," she pleaded. "it's of no use," i told her. "you can't soften their hearts. they are made of rock." "then what can i do?" she asked, crying. "anything you want, or you don't want, but don't come around here. the less you show yourself here the better for you." she looked at me in a funny way. what did she think of me anyhow? who knows what sense she gave to my words! god knows. i don't know what people will think when they read this. if they only knew what i know. there is no place on earth to duplicate this one. nowhere can you hear and see what you hear and see here. the walls and pictures and benches and floors, everything is soaked in tears. the erikson woman got hold of the manager on the stairs while he was going to his lunch. she cried. he listened to her very attentively, then he answered in that silky voice of his, "you put the chairman in a very bad temper yesterday, but i will do my best for you. call next week." she wanted to say something but he strode away with such majesty! it's of no use, i foresee. she will give her children and they will place her somewhere as a servant. there is a great demand for domestic help. the domestic help problem is filling the columns of the daily papers. the office will do its best to solve the problem. i had a conversation with the janitor. he told me that the job disgusts him and if times were better he would throw it up. i thought for a moment that he meant the brutality of the investigators, but no. he says that these scoundrels, paupers, are yelping too much. he can't eat his dinner in peace. he lives with his wife and children in the building. what will become of his children? the sights they see every day! they understand it all. his little girl, a child of seven, calls the people "_delelicts_." "papa, quick, a _delelict_ threw a fit," she called out yesterday when coming from school for lunch. the father was upstairs. there is an old man coming every tuesday for his two dollar pension. sam announced him as the "dean." it can't be sam's expression. he must have heard it from some one else of the staff. the cashier, perhaps! she is the daughter of the "terror." a true child, no mistake possible. she never pays out a cent without a remark. if it's five dollars she says, "one hundred times for the movies." if it's ten dollars, "sale at wanamaker's, latest style french hats $9.98." "if it were in my power," she once told me, "they would never get cash. bread, and meat and vegetables, but not a cent of cash." strange they are always afraid lest the poor have too much joy! they would like to see them always crying, kneeling, begging. before going for lunch, cram had a long chat with the cashier. they are on very good terms. mrs. b. even hinted at a secret engagement between the two. what a difference in their voices when they speak to one another and when they speak to applicants! it seems to me very strange to see them smile or laugh. i never thought them capable of that. i would like to see them cry once. some spiritual pain, or a brick to hit them, and then to see them cry. why not? they have drawn enough from the fountain of suffering--the eyes of the poor. after the lunch hour i was given the address of mrs. erikson and told to reinvestigate her case. she has made an impression on the manager. he is not quite so brutal as his subordinates. he knows that charity is not solving the question of poverty and he doubts all the investigators. but he can't help it. the current of the old established system is too strong for him. as a matter of fact they are all working against him. not openly, of course. they are continually intriguing and plotting one against the other. the women are machiavellis in petticoats. every move is spied, reported. they even investigate privately. i visited mrs. erikson. the usual thing. have i grown callous? i don't seem to notice the difference between one case of poverty and any other. even their talk does not interest me as before. i anticipate everything: two months back rent; owe eight dollars to grocer; one dollar and fifty cents to the coalman; gas bill, etc. they all owe back rent and the grocer and the coalman, the gas bill. their rooms are all alike. beds, table and chairs. they even look alike. their original features are stamped out by the seal of charity. their voices are alike, speaking in a subdued minor key of the same pitch and the same pleading inflection. her husband had been a longshoreman. he must have been a beautiful specimen of manhood. she showed me his picture, a blond giant. he died of bright's disease. the two little girls resemble their father very much. i remember that mrs. h. doubted the morality of an applicant because the child did not resemble his father. the woman probably likes to read good books, i saw bjoernson bjornson's novels on the mantelpiece. she gets her books from the library in grand street; i saw the stamp. i don't know what to write in my report. the woman can't go out to work. she has to attend to the children. she does not want to separate from them. she even hinted at suicide. i know she will not do it. there was no bread in the house. i left her a few cents. the neighbours help her out, but they are all poor people. i am sure that the chairman will not allow her any pension. she will have to give her children to the orphan home. i even tried to convince her that it is the best she could do. but she cried so much! it is terrible. no escape. however, i make my report; it will not help her in the way she wants. she has antagonised the chairman and he is not a forgiving man. and to think that he represents christ on earth! he is charity! i know that he is one of the worst employers. he crushes every strike with an iron fist. he has stopped at nothing yet. he contributes an enormous sum to organised charity. is that payment for the pleasure they give him of torturing the poor? i cannot eat, nor sleep. the cries of the day echo in my ears. when i try to close my eyes i see a woman throwing a fit or how they force one out. i always fear that sam is aiming a "greeting" at me. the whole day long the image of the woman in black directing herself towards fourteenth street pursued me. how pale she was! where is she now? drunk in some back room of a saloon, a few men around her; and she laughs and cries. early in the morning she will return to the children and buy bread and milk with the price of a night's degradation. how that brute tore the shawl from her face! "show your sweet face, madame. if you are ashamed to show yourself there is no need to come here at all." when a young woman has lost her shame why should she beg? it's midnight now. i can't sleep. where is she now? where are they all? all those organised charity has driven to the street. come out! show your accusing finger. and the ones driven to an early grave. come and show yourselves. line up before the building. when the morning comes and the sun shines let the people see you in broad daylight. from your fleshless mouths cry "murderers"! and let the whole world echo with your cry. wednesday on arriving at the office i perceived signs that this is my last week here. i have criticised freely the whole system. some one has certainly reported me. no work has been given me for the last few days. when they sent me anywhere it was only a pretence. as a matter of fact the re-investigation of mrs. erikson was also given to the "terror." i will try to read her report. i passed my forenoon near cram's desk, in the basement. cram is in excellent spirits to-day, and though very gross in his remarks he is not so brutal as usual. he cheers them up when they come to his desk. "hello, mother, what's the trouble? come, come, don't cry--don't cry--it will be all right. go home, we will attend to that." for one extreme case of starvation he even recommended immediate relief. it's strange how the whole basement looks more cheerful. why, even the sun has put in an appearance--hesitatingly, of course. he doubts whether he is wanted. some broken rays play on the desk and on the face of some woman. when cram is well disposed even the sun rejoices. most of the time was taken up by a stranded german actor and his wife. they were so elegantly dressed that we thought at first they were visitors, and cram got up and politely asked them their wishes. the man speaks a broken english. he said they were actors and had been influenced to come from germany on a bogus contract. they put up at a hotel and are now in debt there. their baggage has been seized, they have no money, etc., etc. cram offered them chairs and attended to them immediately. he put himself into communication with the manager and with the employment office. some one was sent to look for a furnished room, and another man was sent to the hotel to take out their baggage. meanwhile the staff all came down to look at the unusual customers. they all respect and admire actors. mrs. h. was exceedingly polite and nice, and even invited them to lunch. of course the change affected the whole office. every one spoke about them. sam asked whether they were "real" actors. only the "terror" was suspicious. when they departed cram shook hands with them and expressed his wish that they would soon be out of difficulty. "do not lose heart," he told the woman. "such things might happen to any of us. brace up, brace up." he was all smiles. i wonder what these people think of organised charity! the greatest blessing on earth, surely. if ever, in better times, they tell the story, they will emphasise everything. they were politely received, kindly treated, immediately helped, invited to lunch. "organised charity," they will say, "is the most beneficent thing of the century." all this because cram was in good spirits to-day. if they had come yesterday, or if they were to come to-morrow, and find cram in his usual humour. "an actor? you are an actor? and why don't you go to the actors? who told you to put up at a hotel? come to-morrow; we must investigate." they would have sat for hours and hours in the basement and heard how the others are treated. as it is, they are lucky people. cram is in extremely good spirits to-day. meanwhile, all the others had to wait, but everything went smoothly. most of the applications were accepted. some were marked "urgent." the sun took courage and shone even brighter than before. "how sunny it is to-day," he said. had this been so yesterday he would have turned round and questioned the sunbeams: "where do you live? how old are you? how many children have you? what is your trade? you give light and warmth? you are a liar. i have never seen you here before. go to your usual haunts. tramp, vagabond, get out, get out of here." but to-day he is in good humour. what has happened? he asked my opinion several times, when dealing with a new case. he must have a beautiful voice. while studying an application he sang, _mezza voce_, the aria from pagliacci. why pagliacci? i fancy because of the stranded actors. i told him to cultivate his god-given gift. he answered: "why? can't i speak to the rabble with an uncultured voice?" "but this is not the be all and end all of your life?" "i am too poor for anything. voice culture costs money." how ridiculous it all sounded. i am sure from the way he comports himself with the applicants they think him a millionaire and that the money given comes from his pocket. still, i was glad to hear him speak about his poverty. i tried to speak to him about the roughness of the investigators, but he is a closed book as to that. "severity is needed." i was afraid to continue the conversation lest his good humour evaporate, so i changed the subject. all he wanted to talk about was women. had the sun anything to do with that? the cashier, his sweetheart, came down to see him on business. a pretence. she teased him about the actor's wife and he let it go as if there was something in it. "i invited her to lunch, you know," he said. what a liar. mrs. h. invited them both, the actor and his wife. i am going to see the manager. it's settled. i am weary and worn. but i won't go until i have told him all i think of this rotten place. at night finished. the whole thing has weighed so heavily on me. all interest in the work has gone. i have seen every form of misery the human mind could imagine. the facts merely repeat themselves. hunger, degradation, insults, epilepsy. the investigators, the janitor, the policeman and sam. from morning until night the same thing. i got to be callous. well, people get trained to tolerate the most deadly poisons. thank god, my soul is not lost there. i cannot say that i come out unscathed. oh, no. but i have retained my soul. of all the different forms and institutions of charity which have come under my notice this is the worst place. paris, london and montreal are nothing to it. of all the mills, here they grind the finest. i am leaving. just going to finish the week. and i gave sam a thrashing. i boxed his ears solidly and felt great pleasure in doing it. but this is not all. i did it in front of the applicants in the waiting room and finished it up thoroughly. let me tell you how it happened. about three weeks ago i was sent to investigate a case. thoroughness was recommended. the address was in sixty-sixth street. just as i entered the block a woman i had met casually at public meetings greeted me and asked whether i would not come up and have a glass of cold water. it was very warm and i did not refuse. i knew the woman but did not know her name and she did not know my present occupation. great was my astonishment when we entered the very same house to which i was sent. it did not take long before i knew that she was the applicant. i told her nothing, but inquired how she was getting along since her husband died. she told me that some relatives sent her money to open a grocery store and that a society in which her husband was an active member gave her a few hundred dollars. she intended to peddle with laces and curtains and perfumery. she even showed me a bill from a firm from whom she had bought merchandise to the value of one hundred and fifty dollars to start with. as she spoke her children came in, a girl of about ten and a boy of eleven. the children had never seen me before. they knew some one from the charities was expected. i divined it from their countenances that they expected to be questioned and had been schooled by the mother as to what to answer. i was right. when i asked the boy if he skated well, he answered that he had no skates, though i saw them under the bed. the mother interrupted him: "sure he skates. he is one of the best skaters in the block. put them on, himey." the boy looked at the mother understandingly, as though he would ask, is this not the one? and the mother repeated with emphasis: "put them on, himey." pride, mother pride, was getting hold of her. "you should see them eat after a run!" i sat in the house a long time and convinced myself that she did not need help from charity. her life and the life of her children would be wrecked. she had money. her children go to school all day. she is strong and young. in accepting help from charity she and her children will become pauperised. she will not be able to attend to her business. she will have to do it secretly. all things taken into consideration, she will be the loser. i wanted to tell her all that, explain to her the wrong she is inflicting on herself and her children, that she is selling her soul and the lives of her children to the devil. but i could not open my mouth. i had come as a visitor. then, i did not want her to know my occupation. spy of charity. she does not know why i do it. all i did was to encourage her, and i told her in a roundabout way not to allow anybody to patronise her. "attend to your business like a man. be a business lady. there is money in lace curtains and perfumery. take a servant to attend to the house and the children and you go out for business." this is what i told her. i even advised her to put out a sign at the door. "this i cannot do," she said. "why?" "because i can't--many reasons why." so, i thought, you bit the bait. it set me wild. another customer, another target for sam, another prey for the "terror." and the children will be taught to lie, to cry and whine and beg. they will not be allowed to laugh or play. every piece of meat they eat will be weighed and controlled. no roller skates, no new clothes. "charity kids." no. i made out a report in which i told the whole situation. that the woman has money and is about to start in business and needed no charity. i also asked them to keep my report strictly confidential, because i got the details as a "friend," and not as an investigator. how was i to know that the lady president of a sisterhood affiliated to the office had recommended this case? naturally, when she saw that her protã©gã©e was turned down she came to the office and demanded an explanation. the manager showed her my report. the lady declared that it was a tissue of lies, and promised to bring the applicant to the office and have her face me. when i entered the private room of the manager he began excusing himself because he was compelled to put me in a rather unpleasant position. however, he must prove to the lady that "our investigation is a thorough one," therefore he must ask me to face the applicant. i told him i would not do it under any circumstances. as a matter of fact, i said, i had betrayed her confidence. "i have promised and you must do it," he repeated. "you should not have promised before asking me," i retorted hotly. he disregarded my remark and called the president of the sisterhood to the desk. he introduced me and said that i was going to prove the case. "no, i will not, sir," i repeated. "i have told you that my report was strictly confidential." the gentleman wanted to demonstrate his superior position, and ordered. i refused again, finished it off with telling them both all i thought about their work and tendered violently my resignation. coming from the office i saw sam aiming a "greeting" at an old man who sat in a corner of the waiting room. i watched him doing it. no sooner was he through than i got hold of him, boxed his ears soundly and before any one had time to interfere i had turned up his head and spat upon him full in the face. it was a disgusting act, but a sweet revenge. i did it, then called out, "feel how it tastes--you do it to every one." needless to say, the whole office was up in a second. there was a terrible uproar. i won the enmity of the whole bunch. i had hit sam--the pet, the future manager; sam, the greatest of them all; debased him in front of the applicants. the assistant manager came out to investigate what the noise was about. and no one--no one, not even the old man who was the direct cause of it, whose face was still wet from sam's spittle, no one wanted to tell on sam. "look, old man, your face is yet full of spittle." "you are mistaken, sir," he answered, "to beat a boy. shame, shame." soon all the applicants looked angrily at me and many said: "shame, shame." not one man or woman would admit that they had seen him do it at other times. i almost cried with rage. the assistant manager was very much upset and wondered that i should do such a thing. "it puts you in a dangerous position," he told me. i laughed. "my work is done. i have resigned," i answered as i went away. it's the best thing that could have happened. i had a fine day. but why did not that old man tell the truth. if he were younger-but it's all over now. i am happy. i had a fine day. thursday what i vaguely guessed and knew and feared, has happened. the erikson woman did agree to part with her children. not only that but she seems to look upon their acceptance by the institution as a great favour. the manager saw his chance and is making difficulties. now the woman begs that her children be taken away and she will attend to herself. if it had not been only yesterday that she seemed so determined not to part with them i would think that prospective matrimony is the cause of her change of heart. the little god is a mean fellow, and with his dart often poisons a heart; especially a mother's. but after all i know this is not the reason. the woman is too hungry to think of love. nature is on her guard. she does not want hungry beings to procreate. what is more certain is that she can't stand hunger, can't see her children hungry, and has probably made up her mind that the children's health, life, is worth her unhappiness. there is yet another possibility. some "madame" may have learned her plight and influenced her to go the easy way. she is not a beauty, but she is an attractive kind. blonde, fleshy, round, healthy, a good reproducing animal. in normal circumstances she would be a nice mother of ten children and yet remain rosy and tempting. under the tutelage of a "madame" she will "go it" for a few years and then finish on the bowery or in cuba in a "speak easy." a good many women have of late discovered that they have relatives in cuba, have given their children to the asylum and have gone to seek their "rich relations." i know that some white slaver is after them. it is easy to get at the objects of charity. they are kept in one district. however, she did not say that she was going to cuba so there is no use thinking about it. she told me that she would work as a servant. she thinks she will be an excellent cook. she will sell her household goods (a second-hand dealer will not give her more than ten dollars for them all) and until she finds a place she will board with some kind neighbour. she seems certain that in a few years she will accumulate enough money to bring her children back home and start in some business. this is just why i am suspicious. as she spoke to the investigator she abjectly degraded and accused herself for not having accepted what "that fine big gentleman" proposed to her. "i have been a fool--with no brain in head," she continually repeated. "no understan'--they want me good and children eatings every day. please--please. no, i no more fool. take children." that change of heart in twenty-four hours, in a mother's heart, is due to something else than hunger. as a matter of fact she is not hungry now, neither are the children. there was too much animal life in them. they wanted to play. the mother did not look at them as she looked yesterday. she seemed to want to get rid of them, as though they were a hindrance. they are in her way--in her way to where? servantdom cannot have had such promise for her as to make her part with the children. hungry people look differently at their children. they feel themselves guilty when the children have no food, and are apt to look upon their greatest faults with condoning eyes. mrs. erikson was severe with them to-day. the children annoy her. she wants to get rid of them. although the arrangements were made telephonically in a few minutes, the manager kept the mother and children waiting the whole day in the waiting room. i know from former experience that this is done in order to impress the woman with the difficulty of placing the children in an orphan home, and so that she will weigh carefully before she takes them out, in case the children complain. as a rule it works to the satisfaction of the office. on mrs. erikson it was probably worked as a punishment also. she was told to come to-morrow. the manager told her that he was working very hard to get them placed. the mother was weary and anxious. the little girl wanted to catch a paper flying about the room. the mother ran after her and slapped the child. yesterday she said she would not separate from them; to-day she slaps them. she wants to get rid of them. they are in her way. in her way to what? it was very funny during lunch time. as a rule we all sit at one table. i usually sit near cram. as i entered the lunchroom to-day the chairs were so placed that there was no room for me. they were all so busy eating, seemingly, that they did not notice me at all. the waitress, not knowing of my disgrace, brought a chair and tried to place it near cram, but that worthy motioned her away. "it's for the gentleman," she said, pointing at me, and cram reluctantly gave in. not a word during the meal. all ate very hurriedly. they even shortened their stay, did not take any coffee. several times i tried to start a conversation, but apparently they did not hear. it angered and amused me. bunch of brutes, i wanted to tell them all what i thought of them and their work. not to scoff or insult. i wanted to awaken in them human sentiments. i wanted to preach. i felt in me a power to move stone. but one look at their stony faces, and all desire for speech was gone. a frozen audience, an actor would say. brutes, callous, hardened criminals. i sometimes think it's the revenge of fate. they rob the poor of self-respect, and are robbed in turn of the noble sentiment of pity. even pan would throw away his flute if he had to play to them. in the afternoon the assistant manager called me in and said that he could yet smooth it out for me if i would apologise to sam. i laughed at the suggestion. "i am not very sure that i would succeed," he said, "but i think i could manage it. i have a real affection for you, and it was very hard on me to see you committing such an act." i assured him that i would not apologise to sam and even said that i would do it over again were i to catch him doing the same thing. but the manager did not want to hear of it. "sam has never done anything of the kind 'intentionally,'" he exclaimed. "you were excited and took for a deliberate act what was only an accident. what you should have done was to explain to the boy that spitting elsewhere than in a spittoon is contrary to the rules of the house, contrary to health and politeness." what was the use of arguing with that man? he did not want to see the shadow of the pagoda: "look, man, here you stand in the shadow of the pagoda." "this pagoda throws no shadow. we all know that this pagoda throws no shadow." "but you stand on it now!" "i don't see it. you are an infidel." "i saw sam doing it." "no, sam has never done such a thing." "but he did it." i repeated to the assistant what i told the manager yesterday. he listened with bowed head. has he a conscience? i am sure that mr. g. was prompted to his solicitude for me by the fact that they fear i will make this public, also that the manager has instructed him to smooth matters. that oily man wants no friction. he thought i was sorry to have thrown away the job and gave me an opportunity to keep it, by degrading myself. they think that if i really need the position i will not stop at such a small item as apologising to sam. the assistant even mentioned "duties to family." they know how to coerce. i told him that i had had enough of this work and was not anxious to remain and that as for my "salary," it kept me in cigarettes. this cut short the discussion. he understood that i was in no need, consequently he could not degrade me. the law of the scoundrel. it made me think of that woman in black. how the "terror" tore the shawl from her face. "if you are ashamed to show your face there is no need to come here at all." she was in need. she had her choice between the frying pan and the fire. she jumped straight into the flames. evidently she felt it was the shortest route to death. i am not so sure of that. they rage not to be able to bend me. suddenly i felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. i walked out into the street. it seemed broader, lighter. rapid steps brought me to the wharf. in time to see the sunset. to mingle with the crowd. the smell of rope and tar and of the acrid sweat of the home-going workers gave me new hope. they will arise. the end one of our biggest industries according to the census of 1910 the aggregate number of benevolent institutions in the united states was 5,408. of these, 4,420 made reports of some kind to the census; in other words 988 institutions failed to report at all. the number of institutions reporting receipts was 4,281; the amount reported for the year 1910 was $118,379,859; 1,127 institutions failed to report their receipts. the number of institutions reporting payments during the year was 4,287; amount reported $111,498,155; 1,121 institutions failed to report their payments. the number of benevolent institutions reporting the value of their property at close of the year 1910 was 3,871; amount reported, $643,878,141; 1,537 institutions failed to report the value of their property. if all the institutions had reported receipts to the census in 1910 the amount would reach two hundred million dollars yearly. if all the institutions had reported the value of their property, and this value should be brought up to date, the amount would be near to one thousand million dollars. the information asked by the census was: (1) receipts from state, county, municipal appropriations, invested funds, donations, etc.; (2) expenditures for general running expense; (3) value of property at close of year. i quote the census of 1910: "on information furnished from the returns it became clear that it would be impossible to obtain the desired information, at least in detail. some institutions evidently did not keep the necessary records, others objected to making public their private finances." property of one billion dollars! annual income of two hundred million dollars! and they "don't keep the necessary financial records and object to making public their private finances." the number of paupers under the supervision of these "benevolent" institutions is more than two millions. two out of every hundred people in the united states are in the clutches of organised charity. it is one of the biggest industries in the united states! [illustration] "borzoi" stands for the best in literature in all its branches--drama and fiction, poetry and art. "borzoi" also stands for unusually pleasing book-making. borzoi books are good books and there is one for every taste worthy of the name. a few are briefly described on the next page. mr. knopf will be glad to see that you are notified regularly of new and forthcoming borzoi books if you will send him your name and address for that purpose. he will also see that your local dealer is supplied. address the borzoi 220 west forty-second street new york 