That Last Waif; or, Social Quarantine. Fletcher Horace

      The author dedicates the proceeds of the sale of this book, and whatever personal effort may seem to be useful, to the home cause, with the hope that his readers may enjoy the same happiness of sympathy which has inspired the appeal, and join in a comprehensive movement, with their mite or in the fullness of the strength they are blessed with, to close up the present narrow gaps in social quarantine through which all disease and disorder come, and thereby assist the noble army of pioneers—the kindergartners and the social settlement missionaries—to effectively stamp out the germs of epidemic disorder which are now a shameful reproach to our manhood and a constant menace to our happiness.

      But there is still a brighter hope than that of a quickened humanitarian conscience. There also is strong evidence of a quickening of Christian conscience, which prompts the putting aside differences of creed and uniting in efforts to apply the Golden Rule of the Master to all helpless ones in need, in response to the prophecy and command: "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." "And the Last shall be First."

      We have won a battle in the cause of freedom abroad; and, while the spirit of rescue is still keen, let us turn our burning search-lights inward and purify our home conditions in a manner worthy of the ideals we champion.

      Among the recorded utterances of Christ there was no more direct prophecy than, "And a little child shall lead them." That prophecy will surely be fulfilled. Why not now?

      "Within the past twenty-six years nine thousand five hundred and fifty-six trained boys and girls, the flower of my flock, have been placed out in situations in the colonies, and have been continuously looked after and supervised ever since by a company of devoted and experienced men and women. Results recently tabulated in reports to and from the government of Canada show that the failures among these emigrants is less than 2 per cent. (actually only 1.84 per cent.) of the whole."—Thomas J. Barnardo, F.R.C.S., Ed. Founder of the "Doctor Barnardo's Homes," London, England.

THE LOST WAIF

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      "The simple and salient fact is, we do not get hold of little children soon enough. An unfortunate childhood is the sure prophecy of an unfortunate life. Implant lessons of virtue and well-doing in earliest childhood, says Plato. Give me the child, says Lord Bacon, and the state shall have the man. Let the very playthings of your children have a bearing upon the life and work of the coming man, says Aristotle. It is the early training that makes the master, says the German poet. Train up a child in the way he should go; and, when he is old, he will not depart from it, says the Revealed Word."—Sarah B. Cooper, before the National Conference of Charities and Correction.

THE LOST WAIF

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      It was our first night in an American city after the breaking out of war between Spain and the United States.

      The States had undertaken the war for the purpose of freeing Cubans from cruelties perpetrated by Spanish officials, and it was currently reported that the government was spending more than a million of dollars daily to accomplish the rescue. There was no doubt in the minds of the American people of the justice of the American cause and no one regretted the cost. Seven hundred and fifty thousand men had volunteered to serve in the army or navy and Congress voted money as freely as it was asked.

      Let these facts stand as a background for our story.

      Coming from Europe, as we had done, between two Wednesdays, without passing through New York City, our first impressions of a wildly enthusiastic patriotism, as manifested by the advertising class, were gained in Chicago, and were especially striking by contrast with the quiet of the lands we so recently had left. We had been studying social questions in Germany, Holland and England during the past year, and were therefore more observant of varied expressions and contrasts in social life.

      In the evening we strolled on the streets in company of a friend from New Orleans, who was the first to greet us on arrival, to see the wonderful window illuminations and color displays that made the pavements at night brighter than day. Crowds of men, women and children, representing every stratum of society, promenaded past these shows or lingered before them. Behind great panes of plate glass were groups of ghastly wax figures representing naval engagements or camps of starving Cuban reconcentrados. The favorite mottoes displayed were "Suffering Cuba Must Be Free," and "Remember the Maine." In drinking places there was added to the last motto, "Down with Spain."

      The show windows were continuous for many blocks and each shopman tried to eclipse the displays of his neighbors by the novelty, brilliancy or sensationalism of his own. Every known electrical device was used in the effects and nothing that we had ever seen abroad—in the Orient or in Europe—approached the wonder of these advertising conceits. They were more marvelous than anything Madame Toussaud ever designed. They formed a veritable Patrio-Commercial-Midway-Plaisance and continued to attract a street-full of people until long after midnight. Our New Orleans friend declared that "they had done more to excite popular sympathy for the Cuban cause than the jaundiced newspapers themselves."

      At several points we met companies of Salvation Army men and women on street duty. The old army under the command of General Booth and the new American division under the Ballington-Booths were both in the field. They were waging quite a different kind of warfare, but with an enthusiasm not to be outdone by the newer cause. With drum, tambourines, singing and prayers they tried to draw an audience from the stream of the promenade to listen to appeals in behalf of starving women and children reconcentradoed in alleys, areas and cellars within a quarter of a mile of the scene of all this patriotic extravagance. The appeals of the Salvation soldiers were earnest and pathetic, but their cause was no novelty and had lost its effect by a monotony of iteration and reiteration, and the victims of abuse and neglect that the army sought to rescue were too near to the feet of the crowd to be seen and pitied. A few small coins, principally from visiting countrymen, were collected, but scarcely enough, it seemed, to support the commissariat of the army itself. The protests of the speakers corroborated this seeming. Here were exhibited, side by side, expressions of far-away charity and near-to neglect of it; an incomprehensible inconsistency; a contrast, indeed!

      But this is not the contrast royal of our story, which furnishes us with our text. We were yet to witness an evidence of barbaric neglect such as the bull ring does not engender and that even the cruelty of the Dark Ages did not equal.

      Our party had drifted with the crowd until nearly midnight, when we turned toward Michigan Boulevard and the lake for quiet and fresh air. We were full of the idea that Cuba would be made free, and proud of America for realizing her destiny of being the pioneer in the vanguard of progress toward universal freedom; but we were soon to be called back to facts, and home realities, by a revelation of cruelest neglect that must continue to haunt us until the possibility of such neglect has ceased to exist. Under the shadow of the portal of the Pullman Building, which serves as general offices of the Pullman's Palace Car Company, we met an adventure that showed an appalling contrast to the patriotic enthusiasm that blared in the thoroughfares we had just quitted. We were arrested by the plaintive voice of a child in the toils of a six-foot policeman.

      "Please, mister," wailed the child, "lemme go. I didn't swipe none ov dem cakes; 'twas me brudder and de odder kids dat swiped 'em; I ain't done nothin', and I won't do nothin' no more if you'll only let me slide; I won't never come out annudder night—honest I won't—if you'll let me go. Me brudder an' de udder kids'll go home widout me an' I don't know de way. Please, mister cop, lemme go; please! please!!—"

      The child could not have been more than four years of age, but his small vocabulary was as full of the slang of the slums as it was deficient in the terms of childhood and innocence. The policeman was kindly disposed, but felt compelled to administer some sort of correction, and this is how he did it: His reproof was well meant, but oh! how evil was it