'? 



SAVE 

THE GIRLS. 



BY 

MASON LONG, 

Of Fort Wayne, Ind m 
Author of "The Converted Gambler? 



Eighth Edition— Forty-Fifth Thousand. 



THE TRADE SUPPLIED BY 

MASON LONG, FORT WAYNE, INDIANA. 



ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE YEAR 1880, BY 
I. S. FELGER, 

IN THE OFFICE OF THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS, AT WASHINGTON, 



PRINTED AND BOUND AT 
THE ALDINE PRINTING WORKS, 
CINCINNATI, O. 



Preface. 



We hear of reformed men on all sides ; there 
are reformed criminals of every kind in the pulpits, 
on the rostrums, in the church, telling the story of 
their past lives, that all who hear may heed the 
terrible warning and profit by the example; but 
we hear little or nothing of "reformed women." 
Efforts are constantly being made to elevate and 
save degraded men, but degraded women are left 
by the wayside to perish. The author has long 
pondered over this subject, and wondered why a 
lost woman isn't just as well worth saving as a lost 
man, and why she can not be as easily reached as 
he. In this little volume, I have endeavored, in 
my humble way, to plead the cause of these 
wretched outcasts, and present their claims for 
consideration. Fully aware that the subject I have 
discussed is a most delicate one, I have endeavored 
to handle it in such a manner that no right minded 
person can take any offense. The book might 
better have been written by some abler pen than 
mine, but one thing I beg to say : that no word in 



6 



PBEFACE 



it has been penned with any motive save 
that of doing good. If my humble efforts direct 
the attention of all good people to our erring 
sisters, and lead them to hold up the hands of 
their clergymen in efforts to save these wretched 
beings, I shall feel my book has accomplished its 
object — that my labor has not been in vain. 

MASON LONG. 

Fort Wayne, Ind., August, 1880. 



Table of Contents. 



PAGE 

Preface, - - - - - - . - 5 

CHAPTER I. 

A Page from Real Life — Introductory, ... 9 

CHAPTER II. 
The Principal Causes of the Social Evil, - 32 

CHAPTER III. 
The Evils of Dancing — Sad Results of a Public Ball, 50 

CHAPTER IV. 

A Lost Woman Saved Through her Mother's Love — 
How a Girl was Snatched Prom the Verge of a 
Precipice, 108 

CHAPTER V. 

The Perils of Poverty — Pitfalls for the "Working 
Girls— How They are Led to Destruction, - - 183 

CHAPTER VI. 

Some Temptations of City Life— The Theater — The 
Race Course — Street Flirtations, etc., - - 175 



^ CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Life of a Fallen Queen -From a Palace to an ^ 
Alley, and then to an Insane Asylum, - - igg 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Society Buying a Slave — The Fate of the Outcast— 
Fashionable Immorality— Marital Infidelity — 
" A Harp for the Magdalens." - . . 217 

CHAPTER IX. 

How to Save Our Erring Sisters - Duty of the Church 
— What has been Done in this Field, - - - 233 



Save the Girls. 



chapter I. 

A PAGE FROM REAL LIFE — INTRODUCTORY. 

In one of the large cities of this country, 
a few years ago, resided a man whose life 
seemed to have been crowned with all the 
blessings which this world could bestow. In 
the prime of a vigorous manhood, in the pos- 
session of perfect health, the owner of a vast 
property from which he derived a princely 
income, the occupant of an elegant and beauti- 
ful home, filled with all the attractions that 
money could purchase or the most luxurious 
taste could suggest, he was envied by all as 
one of the most happy and fortunate of men. 
His family consisted of a lovely wife, several 
years his junior, of a son just verging upon 

(9) 



10 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



man's estate, and of a daughter just budding 
into maidenhood. Upon this family the hus- 
band and father lavished all the affection of his 
nature. His wife, who was queen of her hus- 
band's heart, was also a petted queen of society. 
She desired nothing that money would furnish 
which was not given her. She dispensed to 
her friends an elegant hospitality which few 
could rival. Her entertainments were of the 
most elaborate description. She enjoyed all 
the advantages and pleasures of travel, dressed 
in the most fashionable style, had her splendid 
carriage and her box at the opera; in a word, 
she lacked for nothing that wealth could pro- 
cure or the world could give, that would con- 
tribute to her happiness. 

Upon the son and daughter both parents 
showered their love. The mother — as mothers 
always do — fairly doted upon her son, while 
the father worshiped his daughter, and in his 
mind often pictured for her a brilliant future. 
It is hardly necessary to say that this sou 
and this daughter, upon whom so much love 
was bestowed, and about whom so many fond 



A PAGE FROM REAL LIFE. 11 

hopes clustered, were petted and humored to 
an excessive degree. The young man bore his 
father's full name, and was reared with a view 
to becoming the paternal successor as the 
manager of the latter's extensive business. 
His early youth gave promise of a brilliant 
career in the future. Inheriting his father's 
splendid physique and perfect health, he was 
really a model of manly beauty. Possessed of 
a fine intellect, and naturally inclined to be 
industrious and studious, there was every thing 
about him to justify the pride and confidence 
which his parents felt in him. When he left 
home to enter college, his record was pure and 
unsullied ; but the temptations of college life 
proved too strong for him to withstand, and he 
readily succumbed to them. The social glass, 
which had always been tendered to guests at 
his home, possessed a charm for him which 
grew with each succeeding day. The gambling 
table was as attractive and dazzling to him as 
it had proved to thousands who had gone be- 
fore. The seductions of the strange woman 
made him a not unwilling victim ; and in a few 



12 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



short years, the young man who had been the 
subject of so much pride and hope and affec- 
tion was morally, physically and mentally 
broken down, when he should have been just 
entering upon the prime of life. 

Who can paint the deep grief with which 
the fond father, with the burden of advancing 
years just beginning to weigh upon him, saw 
his only son, the boy upon whom he had ex- 
pected to lean in his old age, becoming a 
gambler, a drunkard and a roue? Who can 
picture the heart-breaking agony of the mother, 
as she saw her first born selling his birthright 
for a mess of pottage, passing his hours in un- 
holy pleasures, drinking the forbidden potions 
of vice to the very dregs, wrecking himself, 
morally, mentally and physically, preparing for 
a premature death and a dishonored grave? 
Alas, the anguish of that father, the tears and 
sobs of that mother, over their wayward boy ! 
How they strove to reclaim him to a life of 
dignity and usefulness ! How they sought to 
cover from the gaze of the world his vices and 
his weaknesses ! How they tried to wean him 



A PAGE FEOM BEAL LIFE. 13 

from the degrading passions to which he 
seemed to have surrendered himself, body and 
soul! How they welcomed him home with 
words of forgiveness and pity after a drunken 
debauch, and pleaded with him to forsake his 
evil ways for the paths of honor and virtue ! 
How they hoped against hope that he would 
finish " sowing his wild oats" ere it became too 
late, and live to be an honor to himself and a 
credit to his family ! 

Finally, the young man showed signs 
of remorse. He gave indications of an 
awakened conscience. Broken in health, 
downcast in spirit, crippled in fortune, 
sated with the degrading pleasures of the 
world in which he had wasted the best 
years of his life, he returned to his father's 
home, and settled down to a demure and quiet 
existence. His mother's arms were opened to 
receive him, his father's benefactions were 
showered upon him. The prodigal son, tired of 
eating the husks of sin, had returned home. 
He had squeezed the lemon of vice, and 
thrown away the skin. He had exhausted the 



14 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



attractions of dissipation. In a word, he was 
a jaded profligate; a broken down roue ; hav- 
ing burned the candle at both ends he was pre- 
maturely old. But this young man, tainted in 
body, seared in soul, weakened in intellect by 
the excesses through which he had passed, was 
welcomed back to the elegant mansion; was 
given the seat of honor at the family table, 
was clothed in fine raiment and feasted upon 
the fatted calf. All of his shortcomings 
were not only forgiven but forgotten. In a 
few years he led a pure and beautiful young 
woman to the marriage altar ; and to-day he 
occupies the position of a trusted and honored 
citizen. 

But there was deeper trouble yet in store 
for those parents. 

The daughter, during the years which her 
brother had passed in sensual dissipation and 
beastly indulgence, had reached womanhood. 
Beautiful in face, faultless in figure, charming 
in manners, graceful in movement, possessing 
an affectionate disposition, an ardent, suscep- 
tible temperament and a natural love for gayety 



A PAGE FROM BBAL LIFE. 



15 



and dress, trained in all the polite accomplish- 
ments, it is not surprising that she became, in 
her first "season" a reigning "belle," the 
recognized idol of society. With her disposi- 
tion and temperament she was naturally in 
love with the world, and completely fascinated 
with the allurements of the thoughtless circles 
in which she moved. Her life was one con- 
tinued round of pleasure. Balls, parties, 
operas, theaters, receptions, routs, followed 
each other in quick succession. In the parlors 
of the wealthy and aristocratic, this ardent, 
susceptible maiden mingled with men of 
property and high position, whose morals 
were as low as their social pretensions were 
lofty. Moving in this unnatural and heated at- 
mosphere, breathing an air polluted by well 
dressed libertines and aristocratic rakes, her 
head turned by the flattery and adulation which 
were poured out upon her, what more natural 
than that this fair young woman should err, 
and fall a victim to the lecherous wiles of one 
of those selfish, heartless scoundrels whom 
society welcomes to its drawing-rooms, and 



SAVE THE GIELS. 

feasts in its banquet halls ? The petted 
daughter of fashion, like so many of her sis- 
ters, was led, in an unguarded moment, into 
the meshes of the tempter. From that hour 
her fate was sealed. A blight was cast upon 
her life and happiness, as deadly and fatal as 
that of the pitiless plague upon its helpless 
victim. Her sin was with her day and night. 
A deadly pallor succeeded the lovely tint of her 
rare complexion ; her heavy eyelids and dull, 
leaden eyes, told too plainly of long, sleepless 
nights, and troubled dreams. Unable to 
conceal her shame, she left, in the dead 
hour of night, the home of her youth, with 
all its comforts and luxuries, and went 
out into the world, a miserable, ruined 
girl. 

The parents read the few lines their 
daughter had.penned before leaving their roof, 
with feelings of the most abject despair. That ' 
the fair girl whom father had worshiped and 
mother had cherished with so much tenderness 
and affection; whose life had been a pathway 
strewn with roses; whose every whim had 



A PAGE FBOM BEAL LIFE. 



17 



been gratified and every caprice acceded to; 
that she should bring dishonor and shame 
upon herself and them, was a blow. so terrible, 
so sudden, so paralyzing, that the deep grief of 
the wronged ones could for a time find no ex- 
pression in words or tears. Their mute, dumb* 
agony was of that intensity, that hopelessness, 
which can not be described in words. But 
they determined" to bear their disgrace and 
suffer their humiliation in proud silence. They 
trembled when they thought what society 
would say ; but society, at least, should never 
know how they suffered. They would never 
mention their daughter's name again, even in 
each other's presence. To them she should be 
as one who was dead ; as one whom they had 
consigned to the grave. And so the night of 
gloom and darkness settled down upon that 
once happy home, where before all had been 
light, and mirth, and flowers, and music, and 
happiness. The spacious parlors were closed 
to the world ; the doors of the stately mansion 
no longer flew open to the butterflies of fashion 
and the devotees of pleasure; where before 

B i* 



18 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



had been revelry and feasting were now soli- 
tude and darkness. 

And the erring daughter, what of her? 
Where did she wander when she left, forever, 
the happy home of her childhood and youth ? 
Did she find helping hands and sympathetic 
hearts in her misery and despair ? Did father 
and mother and brother follow her footsteps, 
and endeavor to woo her back to the paths 
from which a single false step had taken her ? 
Alas, no ! She roamed away, in the blackness 
of night and the hopelessness of despair, going 
she knew not whither, tending she knew not 
where. Dark thoughts of suicide entered her 
mind, but fear of the great hereafter stayed 
her hand from the work of self-destruction. 
On, on, she went, anywhere to get away from 
the familiar scenes of her youth and child- 
hood ; away from the imposing palaces where 
she had been so often a welcome and petted 
guest ; away from the long rows of stately 
store-houses where she had been wont to deck 
herself with costly jewelry and fine raiment ; 
away from sights and faces which could but 



A PAGE FROM REAL LIES. 



19 



remind her of the happy past; away to the 
great Metropolis in the distance where, at 
least, she could bury herself among strangers 
and conceal her shame from the companions of 
former years. To the distant city she went, 
and entered upon an unequal struggle with the 
world. The slight resources she possessed when 
she abandoned her home were soon exhausted. 
She had been taught many accomplishments, 
but they seemed of no avail as a means of gaining 
a livelihood. Her slender, white fingers were 
wholly unaccustomed to toil. To household 
duties she was a stranger; and though her 
proud spirit revolted at the idea of domestic 
service, she was ready for any thing but har- 
lotry to avert the starvation which threatened. 
She could sew a little, and sing a little and 
dance a little. She might teach music or 
teach school, but alas ! she could get no pupils. 
She could obtain no patrons as a seamstress. 
Day after day she left the humble lodging to 
which she had been reduced— such a fearful 
contrast with her luxurious apartments of 
former days— and walked up and down the 



20 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



long streets of the great city, asking in vain 
for honest toil by which to gain a subsistence. 
Work was nowhere to be found ; but sugges- 
tions and proposals which brought the blush 
of shame to her cheek, and made the hot 
blood of indignation stir within her, were fre- 
quent responses to her applications for employ- 
ment. 

Hope at last died within the poor girl's 
heart. There seemed but three things before 
her : Death by suicide, actual starvation or a 
life of shame. Prom the last her soul revolted 
in horror, and she determined upon suicide as 
the alternative. But, as before, her courage 
failed her. She dared not plunge into the 
awful gulf of eternity, without a single hope 
for salvation. Her thoughts turned again, as 
they had done so frequently before, to the 
home she had lost ; to the indulgent mother 
and the doting father whose hearts had always 
been so responsive to her every appeal. She 
had often tried to write to them, but as often 
her pen had dropped unused by her side, and 
the white paper was untouched, save by the 



A PAGE FROM HEAL LIE'S. 



21 



tears which fell from her eyes. But now it 
was suicide, starvation or open shame. Would 
an appeal for help from an erring, suffering 
daughter be refused? Would father and mother 
not relent somewhat toward her whom they 
had once so idolized? After a desperate 
struggle she mastered her pride and sent to 
her parents a letter begging their forgiveness, 
and asking, not for the privilege of returning 
home, for that she did not then desire ; not 
for recognition as their daughter ; that she 
dared not hope for ; but for the means of keep- 
ing body and soul together. Weary days she 
waited for an answer, but none came. No word 
of forgiveness, no message of sympathy, no 
means of help came from those parents, 
who had worked for years to save their reck- 
less son, and who had welcomed him, fresh 
from a life of debauchery, and reeking with 
the pollution of his shameless orgies, to a seat 
of honor at the family board. But the daugh- 
ter, who had made a single false step, was to 
them as one dead ; and her letter lay unread 
and unopened. Against her the doors of her 



22 



SAVE THE GIBLg. 



former happy home were closed, and from her 
the hearts of her parents were turned in anger. 

The broken-hearted girl, losing the new- 
born hope which had sustained her for the past 
few days, was again reduced to utter despair. 
While in this frame of mind her eye fell upon 
an advertisement in a newspaper for " fifty 
handsomely formed ladies to dance in the bal- 
let at 's Theater." She was one of 

several hundred to respond to this advertise- 
ment at the manager's office of the theater. 
She appeared before the scrutinizing gaze of 
the stage manager, who passed some coarse 
compliments upon her still beautiful face and 
her fine figure. She was accepted ; and after a 
few days severe training was duly installed as 
a member of the ballet in the gorgeous spec- 
tacle at i — 's Theater. Her wages were tri- 
fling, but were at least sufficient to main- 
tain life, and in the meantime the unfortunate 
young woman sought for other and more con- 
genial employment. The atmosphere of the 
theater was distasteful to her; it was repug- 
nant to her innate delicacy and refinement; 



A PAGE FROM REAL LIFE. 



23 



but no other avenue of employment was open 
to her. In a few weeks she lost even this 
wretched means of subsistence. The spectacle 
was withdrawn and she was left again utterly 
without resources. 

In the ballet her face and figure had at- 
tracted the attention of the manager of a 
variety theater. He sought her out and 
offered her an engagement at his establish- 
ment. At first she declined; but grim want 
was again across her pathway, and as a last 
resort she was compelled to accept. In the 
variety theater she first appeared in the ballet, 
and finally as a "star" dancer and ballad 
singer. To please her audiences, and keep her 
position, she had to gradually relinquish her 
delicacy, and abandon her modesty. She was 
forced to sing indelicate songs, and dance in 
indecent costumes. She repeatedly sought to 
get other and more reputable employment, but 
as often failed. She became a favorite with 
the male audiences who crowded the theater 
night after night. Her picture was prominent 
on the bills and was placarded in the bar- 



24 



SAVE THE GIRLS, 



rooms and saloons. But as she advanced in 
her "profession" so called, she loathed and 
despised herself. She at last began losing her 
self-respect. She was surrounded by the vile 
and depraved of both sexes, and moved in an 
atmosphere of vice and profligacy. She sought 
in every possible way to drive from her mind 
the torturing recollections of the past, and to 
keep from her vision the anticipations of the 
terrible future, to which she felt herself surely 
and rapidly drifting. 

Prom this point her descent was rapid. 
She tried in vain to escape from herself in 
drink, and to bury her troubles in the oblivion 
produced by liquor. Finally she cast off all 
restraint and became desperate and reckless. 
What was there to hope for or strive for? 
Was she not hated and despised by that world 
in which she had formerly moved? Had not 
her father and mother cast her off, and did 
they not regard her as dead to them ? Was 
not the home of her childhood closed against 
her? What was before her but shame and 
death? She abandoned herself to her fate. 



A 3? ROM REAL LIFE. 



25 



In the " green-room " of the theater in which 
she danced and sung, there were none more 
gay and reckless than she. Wine was her 
only solace. She proceeded rapidly on her 
downward path. She had been supplanted in 
the favor of the patrons of the theater by a 
new " star," and was no longer profitable to 
the manager, who therefore refused her further 
employment. Her habits were such that she 
could get no engagement elsewhere, and she 
was soon duly installed as the mistress of a 
notorious gambler. When he tired of her she 
became the inmate of a gilded palace of sin. 
Another step downward and she was the vile 
outcast of the streets, shunned and despised 
even by other fallen women who had not 
reached so low a depth. The last act of the 
tragedy soon followed. 

The story was told in the daily papers as 
one of such frequent occurrence as to be un- 
worthy of extended comment. It was pre- 
faced with the stereotyped headline "One 
More Unfortunate," and it told how the body 
of a young woman had been found in the lake ; 

2 



26 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



how the face was still beautiful, despite the 
marks of dissipation it bore ; how the coroner's 
jury rendered a verdict of death by suicide, 
and how the body was buried in the Potter's 
Field without a single mourner to shed a tear> 
a solitary loved one to cross the hands, or 
smooth with affectionate touch the raven hair, 
or the slightest indication that one person in 
all the wide world cared for the poor, erring, 
heart-broken woman who had sought refuge 
from a life of degradation and misery in the 
cold, gloomy waters of the lake. 

This is no fancy sketch. It is true, even 
to the minutest details. The family referred 
to will be recognized by many who read these 
pages. The history of the poor girl was re- 
lated in full in one of our leading journals. 
Whether the parents of the suicide knew of 
her fate, I can not tell, but I do know that a 
few months after her dead body was found 
floating in the lake, the remains of her father 
were followed to the cemetery by a long pro- 
cession of mourners, affording a striking con- 
trast to her solitary burial. 



A PAGE FROM KEAL LIFE. 



27 



At twenty, a young, beautiful, happy girl, 
the pride of a luxurious home, the pet of so- 
ciety ; at twenty-four, an outcast suicide in a 
great city, even her name obliterated, and her 
star set in a night of blackest darkness ! 

There are thousands upon thousands of 
such cases constantly occurring all over the 
land. The columns of our great daily papers 
teem with the sad stories of such wrecked lives 
and broken hearts. The police records of our 
large cities are full of such sad romances. 

Who is to blame for such grim tragedies? 
Can the civilization of the 19th century, can 
the Christianity which is sending missionaries 
to bear the Gospel to the uttermost corners of 
the earth, can the charity which is trying in so 
many ways to raise and elevate lost humanity, 
do nothing to prevent such mournful sacri- 
fices ? Can society not stay the slaughter of 
innocent and lovely virgins at the hands of 
brutal lust? Can the pulpit do nothing? 
Nor the press ? 

I maintain that much can be done by all of 
these agencies in this direction, and the object 



28 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



of this unpretentious little volume is to do 
something toward awakening public sentiment 
on this all-important matter. I am aware that 
the subject is a delicate one, and one to be 
handled with care, lest what I say may have the 
opposite effect from what is intended. But it can 
not, must not be ignored. If plain speaking be 
necessary, then plain speaking we must have. 
I wish to say nothing which can be regarded as 
offensive, or construed as indelicate. My main 
object is to point out the numerous temptations 
which society throws around young women, 
and to which so many of them succumb. I 
want to show the fatal allurements of the 
dance, the theater, and many other popular 
social amusements. I want to show how so- 
ciety pets and humors and caresses the vilest 
of men, and bestows honors upon wealthy 
libertines, educated roues and aristocratic 
rakes. Can one touch pitch without being de- 
filed ? Can innocent maidens come in constant 
contact with those depraved men whom we by 
courtesy style "men of the world," without - 
being smirched and polluted ? Society wel- 



A PAGE FROM REAL LIFE. 



29 



comes to its privileges and pleasures the jaded 
debauchee, the worn-out profligate, and when he 
leads to the altar a fair and lovely young 
maiden, who is the very personification of 
purity and virtue, society smiles with approba- 
tion. 

In the case above related, the son was 
for years addicted to ill kinds of dissipation 
and debauchery. He reveled in the vilest ex- 
cesses, and plunged into the most disgraceful 
orgies, but his father's house was always open 
to him, his mother's arms were ever ready to 
receive him. Society welcomed him to its ranks, 
and when, jaded with his life of profligacy and 
debauchery, he sought in marriage a pure and 
spotless maiden, there was none to say him nay. 
But the daughter, for a single false step, that 
naturally resulted from the surroundings which 
society had thrown about her, was disowned 
and sent out into the world an outcast. No ef- 
fort was made to redeem her, no attempt to 
save her. She became to her parents as one 
who was dead ; and even her appeals for the 
necessaries of life were unopened and unheeded. 



30 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



Struggling for months to save herself from 
ruin, she was at last literally forced into the 
paths of open shame and driven to a suicide's 
death. Society has her blood upon its hands, 
and the loss of her soul is charged to society's 
account. 

It is a painful truth that a fallen woman 
has scarcely any chance whatever of reforma- 
tion. Thousands of prostitutes would to-day 
abandon their lives of wretchedness and misery 
if there were any other avenue open «o tnem. 
But every door is closed in their faces. They 
are shunned and avoided on every hand. They 
can get no reputable employment if it be once 
known that they have sinned. Their own sex 
is the most relentless and unforgiving in its 
persecution of them. An erring daughter finds, 
as a rule, her father more ready to forgive than 
her mother; her brothers more willing than 
her sisters. Why this is so I do not know, but 
that it is so I do know, and this, I presume, no 
one will gainsay for a moment. 

How different it is with a man. It matters 
not how low, how vile, how degraded he may 



A PAGE EBOM KEAL LIFE. 81 

become, there is always encouragement for 
him to reform. The female sex especially is 
anxious to elevate him, while it would relent- 
lessly turn its back upon any poor, wretched, 
sinning woman, who might desire to abandon 
her loathsome life and enter upon a new exist- 
ence. 

In this little book I shall relate many facts 
and incidents which have come under my per- 
sonal observation, and which, I trust, will open 
the eyes of my readers to the necessity of trying 
to save " fallen women" as well as "fallen 
men." 



32 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



CHAPTER II 

THE PRINCIPAL CAUSES OP THE SOCIAL EVIL. 

Fallen women owe their ruin to a variety 
of causes. A large number of them have a 
natural tendency to vice, which is born in 
them, being inherited from their ancestors. 
Such are, in thought and feeling, prostitutes 
from youth, and, at. the first opportunity, be- - 
come profligate, either openly or covertly. 
Many of them remain chaste in body, owing 
simply to a lack of opportunity to indulge 
their natural propensities, but their minds are 
without purity, their passions and sentiments 
are coarse, and the sexual sin they crave is 
just as much theirs as though actually com- 
mitted in deed, as it is in thought. These 
women, who are naturally * impure, become 
prostitutes from choice. When they are not 
openly profligate they are often secretly so. 



CAUSES OF THE SOCIAL EVIL. 33 



Before marriage they frequently cross the line of 
purity, after marriage they are unfaithful wives 
and heartless mothers. They impart to society 
a low, coarse tone ; they lead in setting the 
fashions and in fastening upon society the 
amusements, excesses and dissipations which 
in turn cause so many weak women to go 
astray; they become the heroines of sensa- 
tional divorce trials and racy scandals, the 
details of which fill column after column of 
our daily papers, and pollute and contaminate 
the current literature of the day. These 
women rear children who inherit their natural 
propensities, and who, in turn, develop and 
disseminate the evil which is born in them. 
The class of women whose natural tendencies 
are lewd, whether they embrace open prostitu- 
tion or indulge in secret liaisons, or even if, 
from lack of opportunity, they do neither (and 
are morally no better than if they did), are, 
of course, the most difficult to reclaim. Those 
who are essentially and inherently bad, while 
they can not, of course, be pronounced beyond 
redemption, are certainly very unpromising 



84 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



subjects, because therfe is nothing in them to 
appeal to, no aspirations for better things to 
cultivate, no leaning towards purity to encour- 
age. 

But, happily, a majority of impure women 
are not of this class. A vast majority of them 
love virtue better than vice, purity better than 
lewdness. They have been led astray from 
various causes, and having taken the one false 
step which, according to our code of social 
ethics, makes a woman forever an outcast, find 
themselves forced into the paths of sin, which 
they tread until they fill prematura, and dis- 
honored graves. Many there are whose ruin 
can be ascribed to an ardent, susceptible 
nature, which has been worked upon by de- * 
signing villains whom society gives free license 
to prey upon the lambs within its ranks. 
These poor creatures have been deceived and, 
in a moment of weakness, have been led astray 
and fallen never to rise again. Their betrayers, 
having accomplished the evil they intended, 
turn their backs upon their victims; society 
closes its doors to them ; the churches practi- 



CAUSES OF THE SOCIAL EVIL 



35 



cally ignore them, and there is nothing left to 
them but shame, and misery, and death. The 
unfortunates of this class — those who have 
been betrayed, rained and abandoned, who 
have sinned with another under a solemn 
promise of marriage, made only to be broken, 
who have "loved, not wisely, but too well " — 
are deserving of all the sympathy which can 
be bestowed upon them. They are not natu- 
rally bad; on the contrary, they have the 
qualities which go to make pure, loving wives 
and affectionate and devoted mothers ; weaker, 
perhaps, than some of their more fortunate 
sisters; more sorely tempted, possibly, than 
others; exposed, mayhap, at a tender age, 
when, without knowledge of the world, they 
were unable to appreciate the dreadful conse- 
quences of the step they took ; too trustful 
and confiding, doubtless, in men who came to 
them with society's endorsement; lacking, 
perchance, the watchful, anxious care of a true 
mother; thrown ofttimes amid surroundings 
which contributed to their fall ; surely these 
unhappy creatures a&e worth saving, and no 



36 



SAVE THE GIKLS. 



effort should be spared by Christian people to 
reclaim them from the lives of awful misery 
which they are forced to lead, and in which 
they find no enjoyment or pleasure. Society, 
which was much to blame for their first 
lapses from virtue, is entirely responsible for 
their subsequent career ; because, having once 
sinned, society pointed the finger of scorn at 
them and said: '"Henceforward and forever 
you are outcasts. No honorable employment 
is open to you. You will be shunned and 
despised by all. You can not come into 
our churches because you are tainted and 
would contaminate others." And society, for 
once, has cruelly and remorselessly kept its 
word. 

Many fallen women have chosen their lives 
of shame because of poverty. Thrown upon 
their own efforts to fight an unequal battle 
with the world, without any resources, natural 
or acquired, to enable them to earn their 
bread, finding all the avenues of employment 
for women greatly overcrowded, toiling, per- 
haps, for a beggarly pittance for wealthy 



CAUSES OF THE SOCIAL EVIL. 3? 

Christian (?) merchants and philanthropists, 
whose donations to public charities are prince- 
ly and munificent; tired, discouraged and 
heartsick, these unfortunate women have at 
last concluded to exchange a life of virtue, 
with its burden of suffering and privation, for 
an existence of vice, with its accompaniments 
of ease and luxury. How many thousands of 
this class have in sackcloth and ashes bitterly 
lamented the desperate choice they made? 
How many thousands would gladly exchange 
their lives of shame for any honorable employ- 
ment, however humble, which would afford 
them the means of existing decently and hon- 
estly ? Surely society is, to a great extent, re- 
sponsible for their ruin also, because their pov- 
erty was one consequence of the false system of 
education and early training which society has 
adopted ; because society justifies the employ- 
er in compelling women to toil like slaves for 
starvation wages, and finally because society 
makes no effort to provide them with that hon- 
orable employment which would have saved 
them from lives of .shame and wretchedness? 



38 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



Surely these unhappy creatures are worth 
saving. 

There are thousands of frail women who 
have been led to embrace their dreadful call- 
ing to satisfy a love of dress and display which 
is a natural failing of the sex. Society has 
fostered and encouraged a passion for ex- 
travagance in attire which they have not had 
the means to gratify, and which has led them, 
by easy stages, and almost unconsciously to 
themselves, over the dreadful abyss into a gulf 
from which it seems impossible for them to re- 
turn. A vast army of the wives and daugh- 
ters of respectable mechanics, laborers, farm- 
ers, clerks and others of moderate incomes 
have been led by the fondness for dress which 
society has encouraged, to sacrifice themselves 
and blast forever their happiness, both in this 
world and in the world to come. Most of 
these weak, erring creatures may be and possi- 
bly are beyond redemption, but something can, 
at least, be done to save others from following 
in their fatal footsteps, by discouraging the 
excessive love of dress which is the bane and 



CAUSES OF THE SOCIAL EVIL. 



39 



curse of American women, by inculcating 
principles of independence and honesty which 
will lead men and women to live within their 
means, and to refrain from vain attempts to 
rival or eclipse those who have the money to" 
warrant expenditures which would prove ruin- 
ous to those of more moderate purses. 

It will be seen that, in my opinion — and it 
is also the opinion of many who have given 
the subject the closest investigation and the 
most careful thought— a very large majority of 
our fallen women are such, not from choice, 
not from inherent badness, not from a predis- 
position to evil, but because they have been 
made such by poverty, by mistaken pride, or 
by undue confidence in wicked men. I am 
not apologizing for them, nor striving for a 
moment to extenuate their failings or gloss 
over their sins. But I think the truth can not 
be too often stated, that these wretched 
women have immortal souls to save ; that with 
all their faults, their crimes, if you will, they 
are still our sisters, they are still human 
beings; that society, which is in most cases 



40 



SAVE THE GrIBLS* 



responsible for their ruin, owes to them every 
effort to reclaim them ; and that the Church, 
which is ever ready to extend the right hand 
of fellowship to the vilest man who expresses 
his repentance, should not fail to labor for 
the salvation of the women who have gone 
astray. 

But there is a still greater work for society 
and the church than the reclamation of these 
erring creatures. It is a frightful thought that 
the great army of impure women receives thou- 
sands of recruits every year. Its ranks are 
kept constantly full to repletion. Every year 
many thousands of sin-stained, broken-hearted 
women go down to fill the dishonored graves 
of courtesans; and every year thousands of 
young girls step forward and take their places 
in the grand cavalcade of shame, despair and dis- 
ease, which is pressing forward to -a terrible 
death, and a still more terrible eternity. It is 
to save these young women from the awful 
fate which seems to await them that society 
should lift its hand, and that the press should 
herald its warnings; that the pulpit should 



CAUSES OE THE SOCIAL EVIL. 41 

raise its voice and that the church should exert 
its energies. There goes a young girl full of 
life and health and innocence, possessed of all 
that is needed to make her a happy wife and 
mother, the pure, devoted queen of some good,* 
man's heart, the center of some cheerful do- 
mestic circle, the mother of lovely children. 
But the libertine, cold-blooded, heartless, and 
fiendish, is on her trail. Her virgin charms 
have awakened his diabolical desires, and he 
has picked her out for his prey. Society gives 
him the opportunities he craves, and he im- 
proves them to the utmost. Young, ardent, 
susceptible, ignorant of the ways of the world, 
innocent of all evil intent, knowing nothing of 
the depth of man's perfidy and wickedness, 
this beautiful young creature is pressing for- 
ward, unconsciously, to her ruin. She meets 
her tempter at the ball, the theater, the rout ; 
her virgin form is ofttimes enclosed in his pas- 
sionate embrace in the giddy revolutions of the 
dance, while he breathes into her willing ears 
his story of love and devotion, told to others so 

often before. She rides and drives with him, 
2* 



42 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



she spends evenings alone with him at her 
father's house, she is already in the toils. Is 
there no one to save her from the fate which 
impends ? Is there no friendly hand to be ex- 
tended to snatch her from the abyss to which 
she is hastening, no kindly voice to tell her 
that this man, this pet of society, is a seducer 
and a libertine who would for ever blast her 
life as he has already blasted the lives of others 
who have threaded the same dreadful path she 
is just about to enter ? Alas, no. The man 
who is pursuing her with the relentlessness 
with which a hunter follows his prey, comes to 
her with society's endorsement. She has 
met him in the parlors of the wealthy, and at 
the tables of the refined. He is a " society 
favorite." He has education, wealth, position. 
He is handsome in face, elegant in dress, at- 
tractive in figure. Society knows the evil he 
has done; society knows the families he has 
desolated, the homes he has invaded, the lives 
he has ruined, the hearts he has broken ; but 
society closes its eyes and pronounces him 
a "splendid fellow/ 5 a "little gay/' per- 



CAUSES OF THE SOCIAL EVIL. 48 



haps a "trifle fast/' but, to tell the truth, 
only more fascinating because of all that. 
He dances divinely ; he is witty and bril- 
liant, and fashionable mothers proudly intro- 
duce him to their daughters, while dignified 
fathers extend to him the freedom of their 
homes. And now he has made another victim, 
and the charming young girl of whom he has 
been in pursuit has succumbed to his wiles. 
He will betray and desert her, as he has be- 
trayed and deserted others. By and by her 
sin will become known ; society will affix upon 
her brow the brand of shame, never to be 
erased ; society will drive her forth to be an 
outcast upon the face of the earth ; father and 
mother will close the doors of their home 
against her ; and another recruit will be added 
to the vast army of the fallen sisterhood. And 
she is only one of the many, many thousands 
who join this same army of shame and death 
every year, to fill the places of thousands of 
others who have just plunged into the dread 
hereafter, with all the burden of sin and misery 
upon their lost souls. 



44 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



The " gay fellow " who worked this ruin is 
a " gay fellow " still ; he is as popular in society 
as ever, and he already has his eye fixed upon 
another victim, upon whom, with the oppor- 
tunities which society so kindly affords him, he 
expects soon to fasten his lecherous grasp. 
The unhappy victim of his lust is shunned by 
the world as if her very presence were con- 
tamination, but he is honored, petted and 
feasted by those who tramp her down in the 
mire. 

Well has a gifted Indiana writer (Dr. J. A. 
Houser) said : 

" Not one good word can be said of the 
seducer; there is not an excuse that human 
benevolence can offer for him. The house- 
breaker, the highwayman, the midnight assas- 
sin, are each and all far better than he — the 
vampire of society, the personification of 
villainy, the embodiment of lust and pollution, 
a moving, walking, breathing lie, with a soul 
blacker than the smutted walls of the infernal 
regions. His thoughts by day should be 
thoughts of woe, his dreams by night dreams 



CAUSES OF THE SOCIAL EVIL. 45 



of despair. The wrongs he has inflicted on 
others should rise up out of the graves of his 
victims and haunt his every step, and continu- 
ally whisper in his ears death and judgment ; at 
night they should gather about his couch, and 
with the wail of a lost soul, wave the torch of 
hell around his bed, until his affrighted spirit 
would cry aloud for mercy, to be forgiven, and 
then for death." 

Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, in his Lectures to 
Young Men, calls them to view this picture : 

" Look out upon that fallen creature whose 
gay sally through the street calls out the sig- 
nificant laugh of bad men, the pity of good men, 
and the horror of the pure. Was not her cradle 
as pure as ever a loved infant pressed? As 
young womanhood advanced, and her foreshad- 
owed graces ripened to the bud and burst into 
bloom, health glowed in her cheek, love looked 
from her eye, and purity was an atmosphere 
around her. Nor does the rosy sunset blush 
deeper than her cheek, at the first thought of evil. 

O Prince of torment ! if thou hast transform- 
ing power, give some relief to this once innocent 



46 



SAVE THE GIELS. 



child, whom another hath corrupted ! Let thy 
deepest damnation seize him who brought her 
hither. Let his coronation be upon the very 
mount of torment, and the rain of fiery hail be 
his salutation! He shall be crowned with 
thorns poisoned and anguish-bearing • and every 
woe beat upon him, and every wave of hell 
roll over the first risings of baffled hope. Thy 
guilty thoughts, and guilty deeds shall flit after 
thee with bows which never break, and quivers 
forever emptying but never exhausted ! If Satan 
hath one dart more poisoned than another ; if 
God hath one bolt more transfixing and blasting 
than another; if there be one hideous spirit 
more unrelenting than others, they shall be thine, 
most execrable wretch ! who led her to forsake 
the guide of her youth, and to abandon the cove- 
nant of her God." 

If society did its duty, the seducer would 
find his occupation gone, and there would be 
so many fewer recruits for the great army of 
shame, so many fewer victims for the annual 
sacrifice of the fallen. If society did its duty 
it would place a brand upon this man, instead 



CAUSES OF THE SOCIAL EVIL. 47 

of upon his prey 5 it would drive him from its 
ranks a disgraced, dishonored man, at whom 
every decent man and woman would point the 
finger of scorn. If society did its duty, our 
" best citizens " and their families would not 
open their doors to an impure man, any more 
than they do to an impure woman. If society 
did its duty it would make the standard of virtue 
just as high for men as for women, and the 
penalty of sexual vice just as severe for the 
former as for the latter. If society did its 
duty in these respects alone, not to speak of 
others in which it now fails, the number of 
women who yearly cross the threshold of virtue 
would be reduced at least one-half. How 
much of shame and misery and suffering and 
disgrace would be saved to the world ! How 
many broken hearts would be prevented ! 
How many murders and suicides would be 
averted ! How strong a check would be given 
to the great carnival of vice and crime which is 
constantly being held from year to year, 
in all the large cities of the land! How 
many immortal souls, now doomed to eternal 



48 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



death, would be saved for a blessed immor- 
tality! 

Surely, there is a terrible responsibility 
resting upon society in this matter, and as 
society is composed of individuals, it is a re- 
sponsibility which each individual must share 
to the extent of his influence and power in 
society. It behooves, therefore, every man and 
every woman who feels a desire to benefit and 
elevate the race, to frown upon and shun the 
licentious men whose occupation would be 
gone were society to ostracise them. It be- 
hooves us, also, to discourage such social amuse- 
ments as are calculated to lead young women 
astray, the most important of which, in my 
humble opinion, is dancing. So long as the 
dance is recognized and maintained as a social 
feature, there will be no lack of recruits for 
the ranks of prostitution. By the dance, I do 
not mean alone the public ball, which is, in 
itself, a prolific cause of ruined womanhood, 
but also the private "hop," the "club soiree," 
the fashionable reception. Of all the devices 
for exciting the most powerful, and* at the 



CAUSES OF THE SOCIAL EVIL 49 

same time the most dangerous, passions of our 
race, I regard the dance as the most artful, 
subtle, and effective. In other chapters I shall 
speak at length, freely and boldly, concerning 
the evils of dancing, and the terrible conse- 
quences to which it leads. 



I> 3 



50 



SAVE THE GIKLS. 



CHAPTER III. 

THE EVILS OF DANCING — SAD RESULTS OF A 
PUBLIC BALL. 

The elegant mansion is all ablaze with ligtifc 
and brilliancy. The air is heavily laden with 
the perfumes of lovely flowers, arranged about 
the spacious parlors with all the profuse lux- 
uriance of nature. Floods of dazzling lignt 
stream forth from scores of gilded chandeliers. 
Soft, velvety carpets relax gently under the 
tread of host and hostess, in their rich attire. 
The costly furniture, the flowing curtains, the 
frescoing and ornamentations of the walls, the 
pictures and statuary which everywhere 
abound, bear testimony to the wealth and 
prodigality of the owner of all this magnifi- 
cence, and add to the brilliancy of a scene 
which, by and by, when it is radiant with 
lovely faces, and flashing eyes, and blazing dia- 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 



51 



monds, and sylph-like forms, and when the 
soft, bewitching strains of music float dreamily 
through the air, will lack nothing of all that 
we have ever conceived of fairy land. 

As we write the scene is changing, and 
growing in animation every moment. At an 
hour when nature dictates a wooing of the 
" sweet restorer, sleep," splendid equipages are 
rolling up to the entrance of the stately man- 
sion and discharging their precious burdens of 
lovely women and gallant men, who are enter- 
ing the imposing edifice with glowing anticipa- 
tions of a night of pleasure. Soon the spa- 
cious parlors are filled with the merry revel- 
lers ; husbands and wives, fathers and daugh- 
ters, brothers and sisters, compose the gay and 
thoughtless gathering; and it is almost mid- 
night when the night's pleasure is begun. 
The musicians have begun their labors; the 
liberal host has opened his sideboard, and the 
gentlemen have inspired themselves with lib- 
eral draughts of wine or liquor, and, flushed 
with the stimulant, enter upon the night's rev- 
elry with zest and energy. When the clock 



52 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



strikes twelve the festivities have scarcely been 
fairly initiated. By and by supper is served ; 
there is more wine, of which both sexes par- 
take , and, inflamed and excited by the effects 
of the rich food and the stimulating drink, the 
guests resume their dancing, and all goes 
" merry as a marriage bell." 

Waltz succeeds waltz ; the " Boston dip " 
is followed by the " glide," and the "glide" 
by the " racket." Two o'clock, three o'clock 
comes, and still the dancers are at their sport. 
The woman of fashion, who has left her. chil- 
dren at home in the care of servants ; young 
girls whose health and happiness demand regu- 
lar rest and sleep ; ladies who are professed 
Christians, but whose love for the world is 
stronger than their love for the church, revolve 
from the embrace of one man to that of an- 
other, and finally, when tired and wronged 
nature asserts itself, are escorted to their 
carriages and driven home, perhaps with father, 
husband, or brother, but oftener with another. 
During the night wine has flowed freely, and 
there is scarcely a gentleman who has not par- 



THE EVILS OF DAHCING. 



53 



taken liberally, and not a few " ladies " who 
have also quaffed the ruby liquid that their 
cheeks might be flushed and their bodies sus- 
tained to withstand the draughts upon their vital- 
ity. The most dangerous passions have been 
excited by the wine and the dancing ; " flirta- 
tions," so called, have been carried on by the 
married and single of both sexes ; improprieties 
have been committed which would be impossi- 
ble in the light of day and without the sur- 
roundings of the ball-room ; words have been 
whispered into the ears of lovely women, words 
of honeyed compliment, of subtle flattery, of 
deep import, which at another time would not 
have been listened to and could not have been 
uttered with impunity. To many a married 
woman, to many a lovely maiden, the night has 
been fraught with a peril which is only increased 
when, jaded and exhausted, she enters the car- 
riage to ride to her home/perhaps in the com- 
pany of a passing acquaintance, a comparative 
stranger. Many will be fortunate enough and 
have strength of mind enough, to escape this 
Peril and the dire consequences which it 



54 



SAVE THE GIELS. 



threatens ; but it will be strange indeed if, in 
future years, some beautiful damsel or some 
fashionable married lady, does not look back 
with remorse and sorrow upon this brilliant ball 
as the cause of all her troubles ; as the origin 
of the broken marriage vow, or the fatal step 
which has blighted her life and wrecked her 
soul. 

The gay and festive dancers have turned 
night into day; the penalty is paid. The 
young man goes to his business after the night's 
revel, in an unhappy frame of mind. His head, 
instead of being clear and cool, as it should be, 
is disordered, confused, and racked with pain. 
He performs his duties mechanically, and where 
it is possible slights and ignores them. He is 
of little benefit to himself or his employer ; for 
his mind is filled with recollections of the 
night's amusements, and anticipations of the 
next affair of the kind. The wife who has 
shone at the ball, passes much of the day in 
her bed, neglecting the duties of the household ; 
the young mother is unable to bestow upon her 
children that care and attention which should 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 55 



be her pleasure, as well as her duty ; and the 
fair maiden, tired and exhausted with the 
excesses of the preceding night, is unable to 
employ her mind or body in any useful occupa- 
tion, or to cultivate those accomplishments and 
develop those practical faculties which would 
qualify her to become in the future a true wife 
and mother. 

Before the exhaustion consequent upon one 
of these affairs has worn off, active prepara- 
tions are in progress for another. The next 
hostess is exhausting every effort to outrival 
the gorgeous display and lavish hospitality of 
the last one. The minds of the ladies are en- 
tirely engrossed^ to the exclusion of their 
home duties, and to the neglect of their fam- 
ilies, with thoughts of the dresses to be worn. 

And so the fashionable world passes the 
u season." The duties of religion, the claims of 
charity, the demands of home are passed by ; 
and the gay butterflies of fashion think only of 
their amusements and their dissipations. Liber- 
tines and seducers are welcome guests at all of 
these fashionable affairs ; and there they are 



56 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



thus thrown into the company of pure young 
women and respectable young married ladies 
whose ruin they often achieve. 

What I have written has been solely 
regarding the fashionable ball, the chosen 
amusement of what are called "our best 
circles." If so much of evil is associated 
with the dance among these surroundings, 
in the parlors of our leading dignitaries, 
bankers, politicians, merchants, lawyers, man- 
ufacturers—many of them members of our 
churches — where the restrictions supposed to 
be fixed by the laws of social etiquette govern 
largely, what of the dance at the public ball, 
where all of these surroundings are lacking, 
where all classes of society are welcome an J 
where all who can purchase a ticket can gab 
admittance ? If wives and daughters of promi- 
nent and wealthy men can charge their down- 
fall to the account of the fashionable ball ; if 
the origin of many divorce trials and sensa- 
tional scandals can be traced to the elegant 
private parties; pray how many women can 
date their ruin from the public ball ? How 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 



57 



many fallen women can truthfully say to-day 
that but for dancing they would now be pure 
and happy, instead of the vile, homeless, friend- 
less outcasts that they are ? Can the reader 
name a single agency which has caused the 
ruin of so many women as the dance ? And 
yet it is the standard amusement of society. 
The dancing master is supported and encour- 
aged by professors of religion, by the leading 
men in our churches, by those who should be 
the moral guides and censors of the communi- 
ties in which they live. The " professor of 
the Terpsichorean art " is taken to the houses 
of our best citizens, and little boys and girls 
are placed in his charge. Dancing is indulged 
in openly by members of some of our Protes- 
tant churches, and no attempt is made to en- 
force the rules of those churches which forbid 
this amusement as degrading and sinful. 

Some years ago there came under my per- 
sonal observation a very sad case, in which a 
beautiful young woman lost her home, her 
happiness, her health, and finally her life, all 
as the results of attendance upon one public 



58 



SAVE THE GIBLS. 



ball. She was young, beautiful and attrac- 
tive ; the daughter of wealthy parents, who 
were active members of a leading church. 
Marie — for that was her name — was the very 
picture of loveliness and the personification of 
purity and innocence. She was an only child 
and the petted idol of her parents, who in- 
dulged her in everything that to them seemed 
proper. Upon her first entrance into society 
she attended several private parties at which 
dancing was a prominent feature. She was 
fascinated with the pastime and begged her 
parents to provide her with a teacher, that she 
might become proficient in the art. Her 
father, who had been stoutly opposed to danc- 
ing, was finally persuaded that there could be 
no harm in it in a private parlor and in good 
company, while he regarded attendance upon 
a public ball as exceedingly sinful. So he 
yielded to Marie's earnest request and engaged 
a dancing teacher for her. Marie, petite^ 
graceful, sylph-like, proved an apt scholar, and 
after a few lessons enjoyed the distinction of 
being the best lady waltzer in the city. A 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 



59 



young people's club was formed and Marie was 
its brightest ornament. She was a regular 
attendant upon its frequent hops, and dis- 
played her new accomplishment to the admi- 
ration of all. Finally the club disbanded, and 
for a time Marie could find no opportunity to 
indulge in her favorite pastime. Then a public 
ball was announced, and many of Marie's old 
club friends declared their intention of attend- 
ing it. Marie, of course, received an invita- 
tion, and was full of anxiety to go. Knowing 

*her father's antipathy to balls, she hesitated a 
long time before asking his permission to go ; 
but as the event drew near she finally mus- 
tered up the necessary courage and made the 

' appeal to her father, who had never yet refused 
her any thing she asked. The father was of 
course startled when his daughter asked him 
for permission to attend a public ball, as he 
had always strongly condemned such affairs. 

" Why, Marie, my dear," said he, " what 
in the world put such an idea as that into your 
head ? " 

" Well, father, I love to dance so well, and 



60 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



so many nice people are going that I am sure 
it will be no harm. Most all the members of 
our old club are going, and some of them are 
real good - church people, you know. Now, 
please, papa, do let your little Marie go, that 
is a real, good, dear, papa." 

The father's judgment and his conscience 
told him that he ought not to allow his daugh- 
ter, who was young, inexperienced and sus- 
ceptible, to attend a ball where she would 
have to mingle with people whom she had 
never known, and where she would doubtless 
be thrown under influences to which she had 
hitherto been a stranger. But the father's 
heart was tender, and he could not long resist 
the earnest appeals made by Marie, who seemed 
bent upon attending the ball. So he. finally 
told her to ask him no more, and referred her 
to the mother. 

Marie's face was radiant with hope when 
she bounded into her mother's room and gaily 
shouted : 

" Mother, I'm going to the ball to-night at 
Arlington Hall." 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 



61 



h Why, my dear daughter, what are you 
thinking of. Don't you know that it is going to 
be a public ball ? " 

" Yes, ma ; but the nicest people in the city 
will be there, and it's just going to be a splen- 
did affair." 

" Well, Marie, what does your papa think 
about it ? " 

" Why, mother, he said to come to you." 

The mother was greatly shocked at the 
idea of allowing Marie to go to a public ball. 
Marie insisted that there was jio more harm in 
it than in going to a club party. The mother 
neither refused nor assented, but Marie, hav- 
ing "broken the ice," went on with her prep- 
arations, well satisfied that her indulgent 
parents would yield at the last moment. 

Before the appointed hour arrived, father 
and mother held an anxious consultation, and 
decided that it would be wrong for Marie to 
go, and that they would not allow her to do so. 
But when Marie stepped into the parlor she 
looked lovelier than they had ever seen her. 
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her 



62 



SAVE THE GIBIS. 



eyes fairly danced with pleasurable anticipa- 
tion, and she looked so radiant and charming 
as she advanced to kiss her parents good-bye, 
that their hearts sank within them at the 
thought of refusing her . the desired boon. 
Finally papa summoned enough courage to tell 
Marie that she must not attend the ball. A 
dark cloud of disappointment settled upon 
Marie's face and she burst into tears. Hex- 
parents had never refused her any thing before, 
and when Marie wept papa relented, and in- 
duced the mother to reluctantly consent to ner 
attendance. 

In a few moments more Marie was on her 
way to the ball with one of her old club asso- 
ciates. She had been allowed to go, against 
the conscientious scruples of both parents, who 
had finally yielded their better judgments to 
mistaken indulgence of their loved one. Both 
of them felt nervous and uneasy when Marie 
left their presence to attend, for the first time 
in her life, a public ball. Both felt that no 
good could result from it, but that much evil 
might come. They felt that Marie might be 



THE EVILS 01? DANCING. 



63 



thrown into the company of people whom it 
would be wrong for her to associate with, and 
whose influence would be bad. And so, in- 
deed, it proved in this case, as it has in so 
many thousands of others. 

Marie found Arlington Hall in a blaze of 
glory. It was brilliantly lighted and hand- 
somely decorated ; rilled with showily dressed 
women and fashionably attired men. The 
orchestra was pouring forth a great volume of 
inspiring music, to which Marie's tiny feet in- 
voluntarily beat time. She was completely 
dazzled by the scene, so new to her maiden 
eyes. Around her she saw a few of the " lead- 
ing citizens," but most of the guests she had 
never seen before, although she had lived in 
the little city from her birth. 

When Marie entered the ball her rare beauty 
and graceful carriage called out many admiring 
glances, and she was soon the center of attrac- 
tion. Her perfect dancing was much admired, 
and, in fact, Marie was the belle of the evening, 
the sensation of the hour. All classes of so- 
ciety were represented at the ball, as is always 



64 SAVE THE GIRLS. 

the case. The "sporting men" and saloon 
keepers were out in force, and there made the 
acquaintance of ladies and young girls whom 
they could never have met at any other time or 
place. It was Marie's fate to meet one of this 
class; a gambler, who sought and obtained an 
introduction to her. In a few moments she was 
waltzing with him, little knowing that she was 
on the floor locked in the arms of a professional 
gambler. 

Like the majority of his class, George B 

was a dashing, attractive fellow. Gamblers 
make it a point to cultivate their personal 
appearance and manners to the utmost and to 
dress in the extreme of fashion. They usually 
bave a gentle and winning address and a sweet 
pathetic story to pour into the ears of any 
young girl whom they can induce to listen 
to them. Nearly every professional gambler 
prides himself upon these acquisitions as a 
portion of his capital. One great object of his 
life is the ruin and betrayal of young girls 
and in order to accomplish this he cultivates 
every accomplishment and grace which he 



THE EVILS OF DANCING 



67 



thinks will aid him in fascinating susceptible 
maidens. Hence it is that gamblers are more 
dangerous persons for young ladies to meet 
than any other class of men. 

After Marie's waltz with her new acquaint- 
ance a pleasant chat followed. He did his 
utmost to make an impression upon her virgin 
mind. He was with her most of the evening, 
and before parting from her had so won upon 
her affections that when he pressed her hand 
warmly and whispered in her ear that he 
loved her, it sent a thrill of pleasure through 
her entire being. Marie's cheek was flushed 
and her eye flashed, and when she left the ball 
it was with a promise to meet George on the 
following evening. 

It was hardly necessary for George to warn 
Marie against telling her parents. She felt 
that she was doing wrong, but that she was 
powerless to help it. The stranger's face was 
ever before her ; his tender words kept ringing 
in her ears ; it all seemed like a dream. The 
gambler had played his part to perfection, and 
Marie was in the toils. 



68 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



On the following evening Marie told father 
and mother her first falsehood, and leaving the 
house, ostensibly to spend the evening with a 
young lady friend, was soon driving with her 
new acquaintance. He improved the opportu- 
nity to the utmost ; declared to Marie his pas- 
sionate love for her; told how he had wan- 
dered all over the world looking for some wo- 
man to be the mistress of his heart, but had 
never found the one before ; told her that if she 
refused him, his life would be a black and dis- 
mal one until death. 

Marie's senses were bewildered. She had 
never listened to such words before, and her 
youth and inexperience rendered her unable to 
resist the impassioned appeals of her companion. 
She exclaimed : 

"Why, George, do you mean that? Am I 
really to be your wife ? Papa and mamma will 
never consent. I can never ask them." 

"Marie, you must be mine. I can not live 
without you. Marry me, with your father's 
consent if he will give it. If he loves you, as 
you say, he will not refuse. But if he should 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 69 



refuse, we will wed without his consent, and 
then he will relent and bless us both. Marie, 
while there is life in this body and strength in 
this right arm, I will protect, cherish and care 
for you as devotedly and tenderly as a mother 
for her babe." 

When Marie returned home that night she 
had promised George to be his wife. But her 
heart was sorely troubled, because she felt that 
her parents would not consent, and that if she 
would wed George she must do so in violation 
of their command. ^Her mind was, however, 
fully made up. The gambler had played his 
cards skillfully. Marie's heart was completely 
his. After a sleepless night Marie said to her 
mother : 

" Mamma, how would you like to part with 
your girl ? " 

" What do you mean, my child? " 

"Why, mamma," said Marie, blushing, "1 
am in love." 

« Why, my dear girl, you are but seventeen 
years old. And, pray tell me, with whom are 
you in love? " 



70 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



" Why, mamma, with just the loveliest gen- 
tleman you ever saw. I met him at the Ar- 
lington, the night of the ball." 

" What is his name ? " 

" George B — 

" What is his business ? " 

" I did not ask him. But he is so hand- 
some, and so gallant, and so gentlemanly, that 
I know you must like him." 

It was with many doubts and misgivings 
that the mother heard this confession, and it 
was with a heavy heart that she told her hus- 
band what their loved one had said. His sur- 
prise can be imagined. He had never heard of 
the man who had stolen Marie's affection, and 
had serious doubts as to his respectability. 
The directory gave no clue to him, and no busi- 
ness man of whom he inquired seemed to know 
anything of the person. Finally the father 
made inquiry at the hotels, and at the best one 
in the city was told that Mr. B. was their guest, 
and had been for about six weeks. 

"What is his occupation, sir?" asked the 
father, of the hotel clerk. 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 



71 



"Well, sir, he is a 'gentleman of leisure,' 
or, as some would call him, a professional 
gambler." 

This but confirmed the father's worst sus- 
picions. Hastening home in a state of excite- 
ment and indignation, he sternly called Marie 
to him. 

Marie trembled when her father, for the 
first time in his life, spoke harshly to her. 
When she stood before him, she was in tears, 
and her agitation increased as he began speak- 
ing. 

" Marie, my daughter, you have filled my 
heart with sorrow, and your mother is almost 
frantic with grief. The man with whom you 
are in love is a professional gambler, an outlaw ; 
a man whom no respectable person should speak 
to. And is my daughter, the pride of my heart, 
the cherished idol of my old age, the one upon 
whom I have lavished so much care and ten- 
derness, is she to break her parents' hearts and 
ruin her own happiness for life by her affection 
for a miserable, worthless gambler ? " 

44 Father," replied Marie, sobbing, " you 



72 SAVE THE GIRLS. 

must be mistaken. George B is no gam- 
bler. He is the most perfect gentleman I ever 
knew, and much as I love you and mamma, I 
love him so much, and have so much confi- 
dence in him, that I would follow him to the 
end of the earth." 

"Enough, Marie, enough. I now forbid 
you to ever see or speak to him again. I 
shall see him myself and settle this matter 
promptly.'' 

For the first time in his life the father was 
angry with his daughter. It was not without 
bitter self-reproaches that he reflected : 

" This is the result of allowing Marie to 
attend a public ball. My conscience told me 
she ought not to go, but 1 had not the firmness 
and resolution to say no, and behold the con- 
sequences." 

Pursuing these uncomfortable reflections, 
the anxious father hastened to the hotel to see 
the man who was trying to steal his daughter 
from him. 

At the office of the hotel he was introduced 
to the gambler, whom he found to be, in out- 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 73 

ward appearance, a gentleman, just as Marie 
had described him. 

"Sir/' said the old gentleman, in a harsh 
voice, " I should like to see you in private for 
a few moments." 

" With the greatest of pleasure," responded 
the gambler with the utmost ease and self pos- 
session, which fairly took the father's breath 
away. However the latter said, in an angry 
tone of voice : 

" Mr. B , you have met my daughter." 

" Yes, sir." 

"Although an entire stranger, you have 
talked to her of love, without asking my per- 
mission. Sir, I allow no man to 'do that.' 1 

" I have said nothing to her unbecoming a 
gentleman." 

"Well, sir, my daughter is but a mere 
school girl, and your course toward her has 
been anything but that of a gentleman. No 
stranger should presume as you have done." 

" Of course I am a stranger, but I could 
not help it if your charming daughter cap- 
tured my affections. I have traveled all over the 
4 



74 



SAVE THE GIELS. 



world, and never before have I seen a woman 
who so strongly impressed me. I am very 
glad, sir, to enjoy the pleasure of this inter- 
view, as I was about to call upon you and ask 
you for the hand of your daughter." 

^ The impudence, coolness and assurance of 
the gambler somewhat startled the staid father, 
: wno had never come in contact with a sporting 
man before. But in a tone of just indignation 
he forbade the smooth-tongued rascal from 
ever speaking to the girl, and returned to his 
home, thinking that Marie would never see 
the stranger again and that she would in time 
forget him. 

Of course the gambler, with his knowledge 
of human nature, realized that the father 
would never consent to his marriage with 
Marie, but he also realized that Marie, girl-like, 
would be rendered only more determined by 
the opposition of her parents. 

The next night, according to previous ar- 
rangement, George and Marie had another 
meeting. Marie's mind was in a terrible state 
of agitation. Both of her parents had told 



THE STOLEN INTERVIEW. 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 



77 



her never to speak to this man, and declared 
that if she married him she should never cross 
the threshold of home again, or ever be recog- 
nized as their daughter. But she loved the 
gambler with all the intensity and depth of her 
ardent, passionate nature, and he knew it. 
Hence he appealed to her in honeyed words 
and the most impassioned language to brave 
the displeasure of her parents and marry him. 
The poor girl hesitated long between the love 
she bore her home and her father and mother, 
who had indulged her from childhood, and the 
affection she felt for this " gay fellow " she had 
met at the ball. Her better self said to her : 
" Can I trust myself with this man, whom I 
have known but a few days, and forsake father 
and mother and home and all my old asso- 
ciates?" 

"But," he urged, "after marriage your 
parents who love you so dearly will relent and 
forgive us both. Then we will all dwell to- 
gether in peace and happiness, and the little 
cloud which now shuts out the sunshine will 
have passed away." 



78 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



" But, George, if my parents do not relent, 
and if all my old associates refuse me recogni- 
tion, what can I do?" 

" Why, darling, I will stand between you 
and all harm ; I will toil and labor for you so 
long as life and health lasts ; I will take the 
place of father and mother, be ever at your 
side to soothe and comfort you, smile when you 
mile, and weep when you weep ; be all in all 
you, until death does part us," 
These burning words overcame all of 
Marie's scruples and qualms. 

" George, I can not doubt you. If you are 
willing to make such sacrifices I can do no less. 
I will be your wife, and then papa and mamma 
must forgive me, and learn to love you as I 
do." 

u Then go with me to-night, and we will 
be married." 

" What ! to-night, George ! " 

"Yes, to-night. If we delay something 
may come between us and our happiness." 

Marie at last gave the fatal consent, and 
drove with the gambler to a neighboring town, 



THE EVILS OF DAKCING. 



79 



where they were married. At a late hour they 
returned to the hotel. The father, frantic 
with grief, had missed his daughter, and had 
spent the night in a vain search for her. He 
could find no trace of the gambler, and well he 
knew that they were together. Returning 
home he told his heart-broken wife that Marie 
had gone away with the gambler, and they 
bitterly reproached themselves for having ever 
allowed her to attend the public ball, where 
she met the bad man who had stolen her from 
them. But Marie, they said, had chosen her 
lot. She had disobeyed them, had left her 
pleasant home with a man who was unworthy 
of her, and had disgraced herself and them 
by marrying an outlaw. Henceforward she 
was no daughter of theirs. Never more should 
she enter the once happy home she had aban- 
doned. She had sown the wind, she must reap 
the whirlwind. 

On the morning following the ill-starred 
marriage, Marie went to her father's house with 
her husband, told what had occurred, and 
pleaded for forgiveness. But the father was 



80 



SAVE THE GIBLS. 



obdurate, and he told his daughter and her 
husband to leave the house instantly, and 
never, never dare to show their faces there 
again. This the groom had expected, but 
Marie could hardly realize that it was her 
father who spoke those harsh, cruel words. 
Slowly and sadly she turned to leave, for ever, 
the house in which she was born ; where she 
had spent so many happy hours in childhood 
and in youth ; where her life had been show- 
ered with kindness by a father's indulgence 
and a mother's love. 

After returning to the hotel she for the 
first time comprehended her position, and 
understood what a fearful step she had 
taken. She burst into tears and reproached 
herself bitterly. But she consoled herself 
with the thought that nothing could take 
George from her; that she loved him more 
dearly than any one else on earth, and that he 
would keep his solemn promise and protect her 
from all harm. He comforted her by reitera- 
ting these promises, and by predicting that in 
a short time her parents would relent and wel- 



THE EVILS OF I)ANCING. 



come her back to their hearts as in former 
days. Marie found herself ostracised com- 
pletely, not only debarred from her home, but 
shunned and avoided by her old companions, 
who passed her on the street without a single 
token of recognition. " Well," she thought, 
"let them all forsake me, I can still lean upon 
the strong right arm that George has so often 
told me of. He will shield and protect me 
from all the troubles and trials of the world. 
He will never leave me, for he told me so, and 
I believe him." 

Poor Marie had yet to realize that she had 
given herself to a cold, heartless man, who had 
married her only to gain possession of her 
father's estate, which was a large one, and she 
was an only daughter. But only a few weeks 
had passed by, when the sad truth was made 
known to her, and she was brought face to face 
with the consequences of her mistake. One 
day she overheard the landlord of the hotel say 
to her husband : 

« Mr. B , the bill must be paid to-day, 

or you must go elsewhere." 
F 



82 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



A moment later George entered her room, 
pale and greatly agitated. 

" What is the matter, George ? What did 
the landlord mean when he told you the bill 
must be paid to-day? You look so pale and 
seem so much troubled; tell Marie, won't you, 
George ?" 

u Well, I suppose I might as well tell you 
all now as at any other time. You must know 
the truth any how, sooner or later. I have no 
money and can not pay my hotel bill. The 
landlord says I must pay the bill, or leave the 
house to-day. I expected to get help from 
your father, but brute as he is — " 

" Stop, George. Not one word against him. 
He is my father, and has been good and kind 
to me. I will not hear him abused. Don't 
say another word, and I will go to him and see 
what I can do." 

Marie wrote her father a note begging per- 
mission to come and see him, but received no 
reply. Then she mustered up courage enough 
to go to her old home for the first time since 
she had been ordered to leave, never to return. 



THE EVILS OP DANCING. 



83 



She rang the bell, and her father came to the 
door. 

"Father/' said the poor girl, "I want to 
talk to you." 

"Marie," he replied, "did I not tell you 
never to darken my door again? How dare 
you show your face here again after disgracing 
us in the way you have done ? Now you must 
leave the house forever." 

And with these words the father closed the 
door in the face of his unhappy child. 

Poor Marie returned broken-hearted to the 
hotel, where her husband was anxiously await- 
ing her arrival. 

" Well, what success ?" he eagerly asked. 

"My father would not listen to me. He 
turned me away and told me never to return 
again." 

" What did I tell you? I knew he was a 
brute." 

"George, never apply that word to him 
again. But what shall we, what can we 
do ?" 

"Well, to-day we must leave the hotel. 



84 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



Where we shall go I do not know, but I will 
try and find some place." 

That afternoon George and Marie left the 
hotel and went to a cheap boarding house on a 
back street, where Marie was more lonely and 
unhappy than ever. Her trunks and clothes 
had been retained by the landlord of the hotel. 
She was unable to dress herself decently, and 
she passed many weary days and nights in her 
dismal little room, cut off from all human com- 
panionship and sympathy. Her husband began 
to neglect her and! treat her with indifference 
and cruelty. He remained away until late at 
night, and finally stayed all night, while poor 
Marie stood at the window, anxiously awaiting 
his return. 

The first time that he had spent the night 
away from her, Marie said to him upon his 
return: 

" George, where have you been ? What is 
wrong? I have been waiting for you all 
night." 

" Well," said he, " you will have to wait for 
me many nights in the future. I have to do 



THE EVILS OP DAHCING. 



85 



something to support you, as that old father of 
yours won't do a thing to help you." 

i; George, is this the 6 strong right arm ' I 
was to lean upon ? Are you the man that said 
I should be cared for and loved and cherished 
while there was life in your body, if I would 
desert father and mother and home and friends 
for you ? George, I have sacrificed every thing 
for you that made life dear to me. I have 
made myself an outcast from society, I have 
met only sneers and scoffs from those who were 
once my dearest associates. I have felt the 
finger of scorn pointed at me as I passed along 
the street. I have been lonely, without any 
companions or any friends to cheer my droop- 
ing spirits. God only knows what I have 
suffered, and it was all for you, George. 
If I have sinned, richly have I paid the pen- 
alty/' 

46 Well," replied he, heartlessly, " there is 
some consolation for you. You are not the 
first girl who has been deceived. You should 
have had better sense than to believe every 
thing a stranger would tell you. Certainly 



86 



SAVE THE GIBLS. 



your relatives and friends could not have 
thought as much of you as they pretended, or 
they would not have all deserted you." 

These cold, cruel words seemed to Marie to 
sound her death knell. The man for whom she 
had sacrificed all, for whom she had given up 
parents and home and friends, now heartlessly 
turned his back upon her and actually had the 
audacity to upbraid her for her folly. Poor 
Marie was on the verge of despair, for her life 
became more sad and gloomy every day. She 
was cast off by every body, and there was no 
human being to whom she could tell her sor- 
rows, no human heart to which she could ap- 
peal for sympathy. Night after night she sat 
by her window waiting for her husband's re- 
turn, but he would not come until morn, and 
then he would tell her that he had to play 
cards to support her, 

Marie finally found herself in a condition 
of absolute destitution. Her husband failed to 
provide her with the necessaries of life. She 
needed food and fuel ^nd clothing, and in her 
penury she determined to appeal once more to 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 



87 



the home from which she had been driven an 
outcast* 

She wrote a letter to the mother, a pathetic 
letter, telling how she suffered, begging for- 
giveness for the past and praying for permis- 
sion to return to the parental roof. Such a 
letter, it would seem, would melt a heart of 
stone, and it did touch the mother, but she 
would not allow herself to relent, fearing the 
verdict of society if the daughter who had dis- 
graced the family name should be received 
again into her parents' affections. When the 
mother gave the letter to the father and he 
read it, he was deeply touched and said : 

" Mother, what shall we do." 

" "Well, Marie has made her bed, let her lie 
in it." 

" But she may be suffering as she says." 

" I expect she is. But why did she dis- 
grace herself and us as she has done. Let her 
remain where she is. She will never return to 
this house with my consent." 

This settled poor Marie's doom, and she 
felt that there was no longer any use of ap- 



88 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



pealing for aid from home. Her husband 
treated her daily with more contempt and 
cruelty. She passed her nights all alone, and 
her days were without a ray of sunshine. In 
spite of all this neglect and heartlessness, in 
spite of the broken promises and violated 
pledges, in spite of the suffering and sorrow 
which this man had brought upon her, Marie 
loved him yet, and would have borne all 
patiently if he had but given her any proof of 
his affection. 

Finally Marie was tossing upon a bed of 
pain and fever. She felt the delirium approach- 
ing and her brain reeling. 

" George," she pleaded, "if ever you 
loved me, stay at home to-night. I am very, 
very ill, and am afraid to stay alone." 

The fascinations of a gambler's life are 
such that he will sacrifice any thing to enjoy 
them. And so George had important busi- 
ness down town, and he left his suffering 
wife in the care of a little girl, " Dot," and 
hastened to the gambling-room. 

Little Dot attended to Marie's wants as 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 89 

best she could, and poor Marie became much 
attached to her, as she was the only companion 
and associate she had had for many a weary day 
and night. The poor young woman, whose life 
had been so cruelly blasted, tossed about on her 
bed of pain and anguish. The delirium was in 
her brain, and her feverish fancies summoned 
before her visions of the past, as clear and 
distinct as reality itself. Now she was a 
little girl, playing about the beautiful old 
home, walking with mother's hand in hers, 
gathering beautiful flowers. Again she was 
a merry school girl, kissing papa and mamma 
good bye, and tripping off happily to school 
with other little companions, as heedless, 
and thoughtless, and gay as she. Then she 
was an innocent young maiden, developing 
gradually the charms of womanhood, entering 
into society, attending club parties, and learn- 
ing to dance. And then she was asking father 
and mother for permission to attend the public 
ball, and was forcing their unwilling consent 
by her plaintive pleading. And then she was 
being introduced to George, and was waltzing 
4* 



90 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



with him, and he was telling her how deeply 
he loved her, and how he would protect her 
and cherish her in sickness and in health, until 
death should part them. Marie would start 
wildly from her bed, as, in her delirium, she 
lived through these scenes of her past life. 
" George, you do love me," she would repeat, 
over and over again, in her fever. " Give me 
your hand, George," she would cry, and little 
Dot would seize the thin, wasted hand of the 
poor, suffering Marie. And the fever-stricken 
woman would cover her face with her hands, as 
if to shut out some repulsive picture from her 
gaze, and fairly scream : u Oh, father, mother, 
forgive me! Don't say those cruel words, don't 
drive me from you!" And when exhausted 
nature would assert itself and Marie would fall 
into a troubled sleep, her rest would be brief; 
the delirium would come again, and the 
unhappy girl would live over and over the 
scenes of her past life. 

George was gambling while Marie was 
dying. It was nearly morning when he re- 
turned home and Marie said to him : 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 



91 



" Oh ; George, I am so glad you have come. 
I am very, very sick, and I need a physician 
and some medicine, Won't you get them for 
me, George ? " 

" You almost set me crazy with your wants 
and complaints. Your expenses are too much. 
I am not made of money. Why don't you send 
to your father for what you need ? You know 
how good and hind he has always been to you; 
he will help you.' ' 

" George, say no more," said Marie, in a 
feeble, trembling voice ; " I shall not trouble 
you long ; I am suffering, but I deserve it all. 
How foolish in me to leave my home and pa- 
rents and become an outcast, hated and 
despised by all. And then to be abandoned by 
the man who swore to love and protect me 
until death ! Yes, yes ; I deserve all my 
trouble But I feel that the end is not far 
off. I will not be with you long, George ; 
can't you smooth my pathway to the 
grave ? " 

" 0 ? you are always complaining ; I don't 
think you are in any danger. You should not 



92 SAVE THE GIELS. 

i 

have believed a silly love tale told you by a 
stranger." 

"Yes, George, I know I was young and ig- 
norant. But I haven't long to live, and if you 
leave me I know not what I shall do." 

" Well, I am tired and sleepy now, and you 
must not bother me any more. If you are not 
better in the morning I will see what can be 
done." 

With these words the selfish, brutal hus- 
band retired, and in a few moments was soundly 
sleeping. The rest of the night was full of 
suffering and misery for Marie, who determined 
to make one last request of her parents : to be 
allowed to go home to die. 

On the following morning the gambler left 
without saying one word to his victim, and be- 
coming engrossed in a game did not return. 
Marie sent little Dot to her father's house with 
a message that she was sick and suffering, and 
wanted to be taken home. The mother sent 
back a stern refusal. This crushed the last 
hope in Marie's heart, and helped to hasten the 
grim messenger of death, which had for hours 



THE EVILS OF DANCING, 



93 



been hovering about the thin and wasted form 
of the wronged and suffering girl. 

The delirium came again, and through 
another long day the panorama # of her past life 
was spread out before Marie's feverish gaze. 
Ever and anon Marie would call for 44 George," 
and 46 Papa," and " Mamma," but they came not, 
and when she would return to consciousness 
she would pray, O ! so earnestly, for death to 
come and take her from this wicked world, this 
world of wretchedness and woe. 

When night came Marie felt that her life 
was ebbing fast away. She sent little Dot to 
tell her parents that she was dying, and ask 
them to come and grant her forgiveness before 
she entered the dark valley, but the door was 
closed in Dot's face, and the message was not 
received. Dot returned with a heavy heart 
and told her mistress what had occurred. Poor 
Marie gasped : 44 Well, all is over. Stay close 
by me, Dot, and hold my hand. I forgive you, 
George, and papa and mamma, and may God 
forgive me." 

And Marie was dead. Little Dot tenderly 



94 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



smoothed the raven hair over the pale, cold 
forehead ; she crossed the thin, wasted hands 
reverently over the bosom. No husband, no 
father-, no mother had been present to smooth 
the pathway to the tomb for the dying girl ; no 
one but little Dot was there to perform the 
last sad offices of affection for the inanimate 
dead. 

At midnight Marie died, and little Dot sat 
faithfully by the cold corpse until daylight, 
when the murderer came into the room. 

" What, dead ! " the wretched man ex- 
claimed, as he stood transfixed with horror at 
the sight before him. 

" Yes, dead," said little Dot ; " and her last 
words were 4 George, I forgive you.' " 

"My God! what have I done?" screamed 
the gambler, as some faint conception of his 
terrible crime entered his mind. " Marie is 
dead, and I murdered her. And with her 
dying words she forgave me." 

Even this gambler's heart of stone was 
melted and his callous conscience was filled 
with remorse %s he leaned down and tenderly 



THE EVILS 'OF DANCING. 97 

kissed the pale lips of her whose life he had 
wrecked. 

" I loved her," gasped he, " and yet I have 
killed her. What have I done ? What have I 
done?" 

The news spread rapidly over the city that 

Marie B , who but two years before had 

been the prettiest, happiest, loveliest girl in 
the city, but who had eloped with a gambler 
and been disowned by her family, was dead. 
The father and mother, who had set their 
hearts like flint against the poor girl while she 
lived, who had refused to relieve her sufferings 
or listen to her appeals for forgiveness, claimed 
the body and gave it a Christian burial. The 
remains were taken to that parlor from which, 
but two short years before, Marie was taken, 
radiant, blooming and charming, to the public 
ball which had blighted her life and driven hei 
down to a premature grave. The old school- 
mates and associates who had left Marie, living, 
to her fate, flocked to see her remains. They 
ornamented her cold, dead body with flowers ; 
they kissed the mute lips, which could never 
G 5 



98 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



more make response ; they spoke words of love 
and tenderness concerning the dead girl, which 
would have been priceless to her if uttered 
when she lived and suffered. 

And all that was mortal of Marie B — — 
was borne to the grave. And thus was buried 
another victim of the public ball, another dupe 
of the heartless gambler, another sacrifice to 
the demands of society. 

I have told this story in its minutest details 
for several reasons. In the first place, every 
word, even to the slightest incident, is true. 
In the next place, there is scarcely any portion 
of it which is not fraught with a deep moral 
import. There are thousands of such cases as 

that of poor Marie B ; thousands of such 

victims are immolated annually upon the 
altar of the dance ; thousands of such dupes 
are made every year by gamblers and adven- 
turers such as George B . 

Society adopted the dance as its standard 
amusement, and Marie would have been 
spared her horrible fate had she never 
been brought under its fascinating spell. 



THE EVILS OF DANCING* 99 



Society sanctioned the action of her father 
and mother in providing a dancing mas- 
ter for her. Society justified the public ball, 
and regarded the attendance of Marie as per- 
fectly proper. And yet, when the poor girl 
succumbed to the temptations which society 
had thrown about her, society^ turned her 
away, society made her an outcast, society 
compelled her father and mother to drive her 
from her home and tear her image from their 
hearts. And when the poor girl, abandoned, 
betrayed and persecuted, had been driven to 
her death, society gathered about the corpse 
and shed hypocritical tears over Marie's sad 
fate. 

Not all fathers or mothers would be so re- 
lentless in their treatment of an erring daugh- 
ter as were Marie B.'s parents. But there are 
very many such, and my belief is that unless 
they repent, in sackcloth and ashes, they will 
spend their eternity in everlasting blackness 
and darkness, while the spirit of poor Marie, 
refined and purified by suffering, chastened by 
much sorrow, will shine out with the lustre of 



100 



SULVE THE GIRLS. 



a redeemed soul over the transom of Heaven'* 
door. 

The dance is every year making, thousands 
of victims whose fate is even worse than 
Marie's. They are driven into lives of shame, 
and date their ruin from their attendance upon 
the public ball. The gamblers who frequent 
such affairs are the most dangerous men that 
any woman can meet. They make the betray- 
al of unsuspecting, innocent girls the serious 
study, the most important business of their 
lives. Their love stories, told so often, re- 
peated so frequently, are so plausible that 
through them they often win the hearts and 
work the ruin even of those who have had 
much social experience and possess great 
knowledge of the world. Such being the fact, 
what chance has an innocent, unsuspecting 
girl of sixteen to protect herself against their 
designs? And yet society, by encouraging, 
or even tolerating public balls, and sanctioning 
the attendance of respectable people, gives 
these desperate men opportunities to make 
victims which they would not otherwise pos- 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 101 



sess. And when these victims are entrapped, 
society drives them forth and closes its doors 
forever against them. 

The Church should turn its face like flint 
against the dance as an amusement. Its influ- 
ence is evil and nothing but evil. " Thou- 
sands of women dance," you say, " and are no 
worse for it." But is that so ? Thousands of 
men drink who do not die drunkards, but can 
you say they are no worse for drinking ? Is 
there any man who is made better by drink- 
ing ? And did you ever know of a woman or 
a young girl to be benefited by dancing? 
Because every woman who dances does not 
become a gambler's wife or a prostitute it must 
not be inferred that she has not been injured 
by her indulgence in this amusement. She has, 
perhaps, been injured in health, because dan- 
cers turn night into day, and that is a violation 
of nature's laws for which there is always a 
physical penalty. She has, perhaps, neglected 
her husband and her family and ignored the 
duties of her household by reason of her pas- 
sion for the dance. She has certainly spent 



102 



SAVE THE GIELS. 



many hours in the company of gay, worldly, 
thoughtless people, whose motto is " eat, drink 
and be merry, for to-morrow ye die." As one can 
not touch pitch without being defiled, so a pure 
innocent person can not be brought into con- 
tact with gay, reckless men and women of the 
world, without suffering more or less contam- 
ination, perhaps unconsciously to themselves, 
by the association. She has found her moral 
tone lowered, and her ideas of the duties and re- 
sponsibilities of life corrupted by participation 
in the social dance. She has given to the 
dance many precious hours, which if devoted to 
religion, or charity, or literature, would have 
benefited others as well as herself. So, 
reader, I do not think it can be truthfully said 
that any person ever made a practice of danc- 
ing who was not injured, to a greater or less 
extent, in consequence. 

The young person who reads these pages 
may agree with me as to the evils resulting 
from public balls and fashionable private par- 
ties, but declare that no harm can possibly 
come from the social given by the club, in 



THE EVILS OF DANCING. 105 



which but a select few participate. They go 
early and return home early, and the young 
reader will skeptically ask if I believe that at 
such affairs any lady takes a step which could 
result in her ruin ? I can answer very briefly 
this question. In itself I presume, there is 
little or no harm in the club dance. But how 
many young people stop with the club dance ? 
How many there become fascinated by the 
amusement which appears so harmless to them, 
and the love for which finally leads them to 
attend the fashionable party or the public ball? 
Marie herself was taught to look with horror 
upon the public ball, and when she attended 
the first hop little did she imagine that she 
would ever think of going to a ball. But in a 
very short time she was so anxious to go that 
she, by persistent pleading, forced a reluc- 
tant consent from her parents. She went to 
the ball, and the results have been stated. 
Therefore, the objection to the private hop is 
that it causes a love of dancing, and leads 
to indulgence in the amusement under cir- 
cumstances and amidst surroundings which 



106 



SAVE THE GIBLS. 



can hardly fail to result in evil to the partici- 
pant. 

It is a well known fact that in our cities and 
large towns the ball room is the recruiting orifice 
for prostitution. Balls are given every night, 
and many thoughtless young women are in- 
f duced to attend, "just for fun." They are 
mostly those in the humbler walks of life, the 
daughters of small tradesmen, of mechanics, of 
clerks, of laborers. Not one in a hundred of 
the girls who consent to attend these balls pre- 
serves her purity. They meet the most des- 
perate characters, the professional criminals, 
the gamblers, the murderers, the lowest deb- 
auchees. They are thrown into the company 
of vile women, who picture to them the ease 
and luxury of a harlot's life, and offer them all 
manner of temptations to abandon the paths of 
virtue. They meet with men who tell them 
all kinds of plausible stories, and work their 
ruin by various means, not seldom by violence 
or the use of drugs. The columns of the New 
York newspapers contain many sad stories 
of the girls who have been dragged to 



THE EVILS OF DANCIKGL 107 



their ruin by attending the dances at the 
Buckingham and Cremorne Gardens in that 
city. It is a shame and a disgrace that the 
authorities allow such dens of iniquity to re- 
main in existence : and yet society wonders at 
the increase of prostitution ! 



108 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



CHAPTER IV. 

A LOST WOMAN SAVED THROUGH HER MOTH- 
ER'S LOVE HOW A GIRL WAS SNATCHEP 
FROM THE VERGE OF A PRECIPICE. 

Since I began the composition of this book, 
there was related to me a touching story, by 
one who . was acquainted with the facts as they 
occurred in real life, and which, in at least one 
of its features, affords a welcome and refresh- 
ing contrast with the story of poor Marie, 
which I told in the last chapter. This pathetic 
tale, as recited to me, was as follows : 

Some years ago, a family of wealth, culture 
and refinement lived in the city of Philadel- 
phia, and moved in the best social circles of 
the old Quaker metropolis. The parents were 
blessed with several beautiful children, who 
were reared amidst the most elevating and 
refining influences, and who grew up to be a 



JL LOST WOMAN SAVED. 109 



credit to themselves, an honor to their family, 
and universally recognized as bright and shin- 
ing ornaments to the best society of the great 
city. Among the children was a daughter 
especially noted for her beauty, amiability and 
many accomplishments. These gifts rendered 
her a general favorite, and her parents lavished 
upon her all the tenderness and indulgence 
which she could crave. 

Of course she had numerous admirers ; such 
charming creatures always do. Among them 
was a young man of fine intellect and blame- 
less reputation, who succeeded in winning her 
maiden affections, and who seemed to be most 
devotedly attached to her. She was betrothed 
to him, and during the period of the engage- 
ment, she was led, by her passionate love for 
him, his repeated and earnest entreaties, and 
her confidence in his solemn promises of early 
marriage, to surrender to his keeping that 
priceless jewel which is more valuable than 
life to % woman — her virtue. Ardent, loving, 
confiding, innocent, unsuspecting, she sacri- 
ficed her honor upon the altar of love, and 



110 SAVE THE GIRLS. 

trusted, as so many thousands before her, only 
to be betrayed. The same old, sad story — for, 
ever being told and yet forever new — of youth 
and innocence slaughtered by the hands of lust, 
and a woman's loving heart pierced to the 
death by the dagger of unholy passion. 

For a time her affianced husband was de, 
voted, loving and tender; but ere long a dark, 
deep shadow fell across her pathway, and the 
consequences of her sin became apparent — con. 
sequences which would blast her good name, 
wreck her life and transmit the curse of her 
fall to an innocent being yet unborn. To her 
lover she hastened to tell her condition, ana- 
beg that he redeem his sacred pledge, and save 
her honor. He readily complied, and promised 
immediate marriage; but he failed to return to 
her at the appointed time, and she watched 
and waited in vain for his coming. Not a word 
of explanation or apology came to the despond- 
ing girl from the man who had so basely 
wronged her. She could hear nothing of him 
save that he had left the country for « parts 
unknown." The poor girl, despairing and 



A LOST WOMAN SAVED. Ill 



heart-broken, was almost crazed with the 
thought of the disgrace in -which she had 
involved herself and the stain which she had 
cast upon the good name of her family. The 
torture which filled her mind when she realized 
her situation no brain can conceive, no pen 
can portray. Her own shame she might bear ; 
but that father and mother, sister and brother, 
and child unborn, should all suffer because, in 
an unguarded moment, she had sinned, seemed 
more than she could stand. She could not, 
dared not tell her terrible secret to those loved 
ones, and she therefore determined to go far 
away and suffer her shame and disgrace among 
strangers. So the poor erring girl left the 
home of her childhood and wandered out into 
the night. 

It is unnecessary to enter into the details 
of her sad life, after leaving her happy home 
and going out into the cold, heartless world. 
Her story is the same as that of myriads of 
other poor girls who have been seduced, be- 
trayed and deserted ; who have chosen rather 
to bear the consequences among strangers than 



112 



•AVE THE GIRLS. 



to be a witness to the anguish they have brought 
to their loved ones ; who have given birth to 
the children of their sins, far away from home 
and friends ; who, for the sake of their off- 
spring, have tried to gain a livelihood by honest 
toil, but who have found no chance in all the 
world for the worn^n who has sinned ; who 
have finally succumbed in the unequal struggle, 
and, driven by want and poverty and despair, 
have entered the house of shame. 

This is the story of this poor girl ; and she 
remained in the den of iniquity until the bloom 
had left her cheek, and the pallor of disease 
had settled upon it ; until Death had marked 
her for his prey, and the grave was fairly yawn- 
ing to receive her. Homeless, friendless, the 
thoughts of the dying girl involuntarily turned 
to the happy abode which she had left in her 
misery and despair ; to that father and mother 
whom she had dishonored, and whom she had 
abandoned without one word of farewell, and 
oh ! how' she longed to see them once more ere 
she should enter the dark valley ; to fall on her 
knees before that wronged father and beg his 



A LOST WOMAN SATED. 115 



forgiveness, and lay her aching head upon the 
bosom of that heart-broken mother and crave 
absolution. 

The poor girl's mind was impressed with 
the idea that should she return to the home she 
had disgraced, she would meet with naught but 
frowns and curses, where once she revelled in 
love and affection ; would be denied admission 
to the sacred precincts she had dishonored, and 
driven from the door with maledictions and 
imprecations. But there was no other place in 
all the world for her to go ; and she shuddered 
at the idea of dying in the streets. She had 
been abandoned by all her old associates in sin A 
and there was no one to whom she could appeal 
for a word of sympathy or an act of kindness 
in her last hours, but that aged father and 
mother whom she so longed yet so dreaded to 
see once again in this world. 

And so the dying girl started uppn the long 
journey to her distant home. Her mind was 
filled with doubts and misgivings, and she 
trembled at the thought of meeting those she 
hkd so terribly disgraced. At times her fears 



116 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



nearly overcame her, and she was almost ready 
to retrace her steps ; but sickness and hunger, 
sin and suffering, had broken her down in 
spirit and body, and her intense desire to pos- 
sess the poor privilege of dying in the old home 
impelled her to her destination. 

She reached home about midnight, and at 
the threshold she hesitated, trembled, and 
paused. All was quiet ; .not a sound disturbed 
the awful stillness of the night. As the poor, 
wandering girl found herself amidst the familiar 
scenes of her happy childhood, and a flood of 
recollections of joyous years came into her 
mind, she heard a low, sweet voice in accents 
of devotion and tenderness, and peering through 
the open shutter, saw by the dim light of the 
half-extinguished lamp, the form of her aged 
mother on her knees. As the outcast bent her 
head to catch the sacred words issuing from 
the lips of that pious mother and ascending to 
the throne of grace, she discovered that she — 
she, the poor, wretched, sin-stained girl, the 
loathed and despised child of vice and shame — 
was the burden of the petition, the one subject 



A LOST WOMAN SAVED. 117 



of the prayer. Oh ! how that mother prayed 
that God would send her some tidings of that 
wandering daughter; that God would brino* 
the erring one back to the arms that were wait- 
ing to receive, back to the home that was ready 
to shelter ; that He would be with her and keep 
her, wherever she might be; that He would 
bring peace and happiness to her sin-stained 
soul, and bring her back to the fold of His 
creatures. That mother prayed as only a 
mother can pray for a lost child; but little did 
she realize how soon her prayer was to be 
answered, and the child whom she had never 
ceased to love, would be folded once more in 
her arms. 

The wanderers hand was on the knob ; she 
turned it and the door readily opened to her 
touch. Stealthily and tremblingly she entered 
the old home, but once within its sacred pre- 
cincts her emotions overcame her and she fell 
fainting to the floor. The mother, aroused by 
the noise, hastened to the spot As she en- 
tered the room she saw the reclining form 
upon the floor, and asked : 



118 



SAVE THE GIKLS. 



« Who is there ? " 

" It is I, mother, your long lost daughter," 
answered the girl, in accents broken by gasps 
and sobs, " come home to humbly crave your 
forgiveness and to die in your arms." 

The mother's countenance assumed an ex- 
pression of radiance as she realized that the 
answer had been sent to her many prayers, 
and the moment she hail so long looked for 
and prayed for had come at last. As she gazed 
upon the wasted form, the hollow cheeks, the 
sunken eyes, of her erring daughter, the tears 
flowed down her aged face and her body 
quivered with emotion. She clasped the dying 
girl in her arms and murmured : 

" My dear child, my long lost daughter, 
you are forgiven. Thank God, you have re- 
turned home at last. My child, all these 
years I have prayed, night and morning, for 
your coming. Never since the first moment you 
left us, has that door been closed. It has been 
ajar night and day, waiting for you to come. 
Though you may have sinned and fallen to the 
lowest depths, yet you are my daughter, and 



A LOST WOMAN SAVED. 119 



the doors of my house are ever ajar for you, as 
my heart and my arms have ever been ready to 
receive you." 

The mother hastened with the glad tidings 
of the lost one's return, to father and brother 
and sister, and all gathered about the poor 
wanderer and welcomed her home with many 
rejoicings. How "different from the taunts, 
and curses and threats and revilings which she 
had feared ! 

The world frowned ; society sneered; but 
that mother heeded them not. The lost was 
found ; Laura was safe at home ; the mother's 
heart was full of joy. 

The daughter, made happy by the welcome 
she had received, and by the pardons and 
blessings which were showered upon her, felt 
that now she could die in peace. Soon she 
sought the bed from which she was never more 
to rise. A broken heart and a shattered con- 
stitution told the story of her sufferings as 
well as of her sins. But her last hours were 
soothed by the tender care and devoted af- 
fection of that loving mother, who prayed and 



120 SAVE THE GIRLS. 

i * 

wept over her sick daughter ; and as she held 
the thin, wasted hand in hers, told her the story 
of the Cross as she had told it so often in the 
days of her childhood, and fixed her thoughts 
upon Calvary, The mother read the words of 
Holy Writ to the sufferer, and the story of Mary 
Magdalen, and how Christ gave her His bless- 
ing. Mother and daughter pleaded at the 
Throne of Grace for forgiveness, and called 
upon God for mercy, and these prayers were 
answered. The poor sinful girl in her dying 
hours realized that Christ, the Redeemer of the 
world, had interceded with the Father in her 
behalf, and when she passed into the dim eter- 
nity it was with the joyous belief that her sins, 
which had been as scarlet, were washed away, 
and that her robes had been cleansed in the 
Blood of the Lamb. Oh, the smile that hovered 
about the wan lips as the sufferer took her last 
farewell of those who were weeping by her 
bedside. " Mother, father, brother, sisters, I'm 
going home ; wretched sinner that I have been, 
the Saviour died for me as well as for others, 
and I have found peace at last. Farewell." 



A LOST WOMAN SAVED. 121 



There was joy in heaven over the redemp- 
tion of this poor girl, and her redeemed soul 
will be the brightest star in the mother's diadem 
of glory when she crosses the broad river into 
the abode of the saints. How widely did her 
course differ from that of the mother referred 
to in my last chapter ! The one turned from 
her doors and locked out of her heart the 
daughter who had eloped with and married a 
gambler ; the other for years left the door ajar, 
that the daughter who had wandered off into 
the pathway of shame, out into the abodes of 
vice and crime, might return at any hour, 
day or night, and find rest and shelter. The 
one refused to go to her daughter, whose life 
had been free from serious blemish, even when 
she was dying ; the other received her daughter, 
tainted, degraded, and loathsome though she 
was, welcomed her back to the family circle, 
smoothed her pathway to the grave, and was 
the means of saving her immortal soul. The 
one obeyed the dictates of society and the 
world, and disregarded the promptings of her 

heart ; the other heeded only the language of 
6 



122 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



her heart, obeyed the teachings of the Saviour, 
and .remembered only that the fallen creature 
at her feet was her daughter. 

One of the most beautiful young mar- 
ried ladies in a large Ohio city, and a 
very earnest and devoted Christian, had, 
when quite young, a narrow escape from a 
most terrible fate, and owes her salvation 
only to a mother's loving care and confidence. 
Her story, as related to me by a clergyman 
who was cognizant of the facts, was as follows : 

When a mere school-girl — only sixteen 
years old — at her parents' home, in a pleasant 
New England city, she was introduced, at a 
dancing party, to a handsome stranger, of most 
polished manners and pleasing address. He 
seemed deeply impressed with the beautiful 
young girl, and she, who had no experience in 
society, became very much fascinated with 
him. Her parents objected to her intimacy 
with this man, partly from dislike of him and 
partly on account of her tender age ; but they 
did not for one moment suspect their daugh- 
ter's admirer of any dishonorable intentions. 



A LOST WOMAH SAVED. 123 



Having forbidden him to pay or her to receive 
any further attentions, the father and mother, 
reposing every confidence in their daughter, 
left home to be absent several weeks in a 
distant city. Scarcely had they reached their 
destination than they were summoned home by 
a telegram, stating that Julia had eloped with 
the stranger. They hastened back and found 
the elopement of their daughter the sensation 
of the hour. The scandal had deepened, be- 
cause it became known, immediately after the 
departure of the stranger, that he was an ad- 
venturer of the worst description, and it was 
whispered that he had a wife living. Society, 
as is usually the case, wreaked its vengeance 
upon the young woman, and her name was in 
every one's mouth, and was bandied about 
with many jests and would-be witticisms. Al- 
though the daughter had committed a grievous 
error, although she had been guilty of the 
grossest disobedience, and had brought dis- 
grace upon an unsullied name, the parents felt 
that she was still their child, dearer to them 
than all that the world and society could give, 



124 



SAVE THE GIKLS. 



and, following the dictates of their hearts, 
they started for Boston to search her out. 
Several days they spent in the great city be- 
fore they found her whom they sought, and 
when at last they met her, she was nearly 
heart broken. Soon after she left the paternal 
home she got an insight into the real character 
of the man who had fascinated her. After 
reaching Boston she would fain have returned 
to her home, but she had not the courage to do 
so, in view of the scandal and gossip her departure 
had occasioned. At Boston her companion 
used every effort to induce her to comply with 
his wishes without the performance of a mar- 
riage ceremony, but she steadfastly refused, 
and finally, by the aid of an accomplice, she 
was entrapped by a mock ceremony, and was 
duly installed as the Lothario's wife (as she 
supposed). The villain, after a few days, aban- 
doned his victim, taking her valuables and 
leaving her penniless in the great city, where 
she had not a friend or acquaintance. After he 
had left her she was dumbfounded to learn 
that she was not his wife in the eyes of the 



A LOST WOMAN BAYED. 125 



law ; that she had been betrayed and de- 
ceived, and would be regarded by the world as 
an unchaste woman, although she was more 
sinned against than sinning. But sixteen years 
old, she was totally unprepared to support her- 
self. In utter despair, not knowing which way 
to turn, she wrote a farewell letter to her 
parents, and started out with a determination 
to commit suicide. She dared not return to 
her home, fearing that if she did she would be 
refused admission, and would be publicly dis- 
graced and humiliated in the presence of the 
friends of her childhood. As the heart-broken, 
wronged girl was slowly walking the streets of 
the great city, her mind racked with anguish, 
her brain reeling under a torrent of conflicting 
emotions, her courage failing at the thought of 
the terrible deed that she had determined upon, 
she was ripe for the tempter. At that mo- 
ment, when the world looked so black to her, 
and nothing but death was before her, the oily 
seducer, the smooth-tongued libertine, would 
have found her a ready victim. The one 
alternative to suicide was that of a life of 



126 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



shame ; and although the poor young girl had 
not a thought of such a resort, in fact had no 
conception of prostitution as a means of liveli- 
hood, yet her path Was leading her towards 
that terrible fate. Like so many who have 
gone before, she might hesitate and turn away 
on the verge of the river, and be ab- 
sorbed, almost unconsciously, into the great 
army of strange women. 

But, happily, relief came. As she was 
walking slowly, aimlessly about, her mind 
busy with recollections of the happy past, she 
was startled by the sound of a sweet, familiar 
voice, and the words, "Oh, my darling," 
greeted her ears. Lifting her eye from the 
pave she saw her mother rapidly approaching 
her, and her father by her side. She dared not 
meet their gaze, and averted her face, but in a 
moment more she was wrapped in that mother's 
fond embrace, and she felt upon her cheek the 
hot, burning tears which fell from the mother's 
eyes. The scene was so novel and striking 
that it attracted a large crowd of spectators, 
and to escape from them the father, mother 



A LOST WOMAN SAVED. 



127 



and daughter were placed in a carriage and 
driven to a hotel. The daughter soon related 
her experiences since leaving home ; but al- 
though, in the eyes of the world and of society, 
she was a disgraced and dishonored woman, 
the father and mother only remembered that 
she was their child, and rejoiced that Provi- 
dence had so directed their steps that they 
were able to save their loved one from a sui- 
cide's death, or, perhaps, even a worse fate than 
that. The forgiveness she so humbly craved 
was freely granted, and the next train carried 
the parents and their daughter back to their 
home. Society shrugged its shoulders and said 
harsh things of the young girl, and of her 
family; the world frowned and sneered, but 
Julia bore it all in silence and wifli Christian 
patience and humility. Refined by sorrow, 
chastened by suffering, purified by affliction, 
she rejoiced when she thought of the frightful 
doom from which she had been saved as by a 
miracle. For a time she and her family were 
excluded from the circles which they had so 
long adorned, but for that they cared little. 



128 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



Julia's earnest piety, the sweetness and pu- 
rity of her life, the angel-patience with which 
she bore her heavy cross, finally turned popular 
contempt into admiration, and derision into sym- 
pathy. Her acts of self-denying charity were 
numerous ; and her benefactions were prover- 
bial. In the sick chamber she was ever pres- 
ent, a ministering angel, and by the dying bed 
a very messenger from heaven. Wherever there 
was poverty and suffering and want ; wherever 
there were broken hearts to bind up and 
aching heads to soothe; wherever there was 
good to be done or heaven's work to be accom- 
plished, Julia was there, her very presence a 
benediction, her very face a blessing. Society 
for once learned a lesson, and took off its hat 
in reverence for her whom it would before have 
driven from its ranks, with the brand of shame 
upon her forehead, merely because, in a mo- 
ment of weakness, she allowed herself to be 
wronged by one of the infamous scoundrels 
whom society nourishes. 

Before long her hand was sought in mar- 
riage by a wealthy and very religious gentle- 



A LOST WOMAN SAVED. 



129 



man from Ohio. He knew every detail of her 
past, but the knowledge of what she had suf- 
fered only increased his love for her, and she 
? became his wife. She has proved the best and 
truest of wives, is the mother of lovely chil- 
■ dren, and in her new home is an ornament to 
the best society, the very soul of her church, 
and an untiring angel of 'charity. 

Surely that father and mother have found 
a rich reward for their disregard of the world's 
dictates, and their fidelity to the best impulses 
of their hearts and to the teachings of the 
Saviour. Had they left their erring daughter 
to her fate, what years of sorrow and misery 
would not have been theirs ! Had they turned 
their hearts from her and closed their doors 
against her, what remorse and anguish would 
they not have suffered after she had filled a sui- 
cide's grave, or entered upon a courtesan's 
life? 

Thousands of fallen women could have 

been saved from lives of degradation and 

deaths of shame had there been more such 

mothers as she who left the door ajar for her 
I 



130 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



lost child, and she of -whom I have just writ- 
ten. Many women, naturally as pure and vir- 
tuous as Julia, have fallen to the lowest depths, 
because discarded by friends, frowned upon by 
society, and sneered at by the world after they 
had taken a single misstep. Surely an in- 
stance like this — and doubtless there have 
been many such narrow escapes — shows that 
no woman is necessarily lost because she takes 
one wrong step. When she is pondering over 
her error, hesitating what course to take, 
dreading to meet the friends of the past, and 
looking into the future with horror, that mo- 
ment is the turning point in her career. A 
kind word of forgiveness, a mother's embrace, 
a father's welcome, may save her then ; but if 
they do not come, if no hand is extended to 
help her back to the pathway of virtue, the 
seducer, the libertine, the procurer, will seize 
the opportunity and hurry her down into the 
frightful abyss, upon the brink of which she 
stands, trembling and hesitating. 

Father, if your daughter goes astray, do not 
drive her from your home. Mother, if your 



A LOST WOMAN SAVED. 131 



child errs, do not close your heart against her. 
Sisters and brothers and friends, do not force 
her into the pathway of shame, but rather 
strive to win her back into the Eden of virtue, 
and in nine cases out of ten you will succeed. 

The author is indebted to Dr. W. H. Go- 
brecht, of Fort Wayne, for the following very 
beautiful and appropriate poem, by an anony- 
mous author, which was clipped by him from 
the "Family Christian Almanac/' on Aug. 25, 
1868, while on the steamship " City of Boston, n 
800 miles east of New York, on the Atlantic 
Ocean : 

OUR SISTER. 
Up many flights of crazy stairs, 
Where oft one's head knocks unawares, 
With a rickety table, and without chairs, 
And only a stool to kneel at prayers- 
Dwells our Sister. 
There is no carpet upon the floor, 
The wind whistles in through the cracks of the door ; 
One might reckon her miseries now by the score t 
But who feels an interest in one so poor f 
Yet she is our Sister ! 

She once was blooming and young and fair, 
With bright blue eyes and auburn hair; 
Mow the rose is eaten with cankered care, 
And her face is marked with a grim despair— 
Our poor Sister 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



When at early morning, to rest her head, 
She throws herself on her weary bed, 
Longing to sleep the sleep of the dead, 
Since youth and health and love are fled— 
Pity our Sister. 

But the bright sun shines on her and me, 
And on mine and hers, as on thine and thee ; 
And whatever our lot in life may be, 
Whether of low or high degree, 

Still she's our sister, always our sister, 
Pity her, 

Succor her, 

Pray for our Sister. 



THE PERILS OF POVERTY. 133 



CHAPTER V. 

THE PERILS OF POVERTY — PITFALLS FOR THE 
WORKING GIRLS — HOW THEY ARE LED 
TO DESTRUCTION. 

In a preceding chapter I have spoken of 
the several principal causes of 'the ruin of 
women. Some inherit their vicious tenden- 
cies ; others fall because of misplaced affec- 
tions ; many sin through a love of dress, which 
is fostered by society and by the surroundings 
amidst which they may be placed ; many, very 
many, embrace a life of shame to escape from 
poverty. In this chapter I shall briefly con- 
sider some of the many temptations to which 
poor young girls are exposed, especially in our 
cities and large towns ; showing how so many 
innocent maidens have been thoughtlessly led 
astray and crossed the Rubicon which separates 
the pleasant land of modesty and virtue from 



134 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



the deep gulf of vice and misery, from which 
not one in a hundred is ever saved. 

The poor girls who are unfortunate enough 
to be born with a natural tendency to vice, are 
certainly to bge pitied. They inherit the evil 
propensities which prove their ruin, from licen- 
tious and profligate ancestors, and are just as 
certain to drift out into the great current of 
sin and shame which is forever running 
through our cities and towns, as the river is to 
flow to the sea. Their vicious tendencies devel- 
op themselves at an early age, and of all the sad 
sights to be seen in the purlieus and slums, on 
the streets and in the alleys, of our great 
cities, none is more heartrending, more sicken- 
ing, than that of mere children, hardened 
courtesans, lost to all sense of shame and 
decency, and as depraved and degraded at the 
age of thirteen or fourteen as the vilest harri- 
dan. These wretched creatures are, for 
the most part, the children of wicked, prof- 
ligate men and women. They are born in an 
atmosphere of vice, and reared amidst sur- 
roundings of the most degrading and demoral- 



THE PERILS OF POVEETY. 135 

izing character. Most of them are raised by 
their parents with no other aim than to make 
them harlots, and at a tender age are sold by 
fathers and mothers into an existence which is 
worse than slavery itself. Startling as these 
facts are, they should be known. These 
wretched creatures are reared in ignorance; are 
surrounded by the most demoralizing influ- 
ences ; are cut off from the blessings of church 
and Sabbath school ; are familiar with licen- 
tiousness and profligacy and crime of all kinds 
in their earliest childhood. The moral sense is 
dead within them. There is nothing in them 
for the moralist or the preacher to appeal to. 
They have no aspirations for purity ; indeed,* 
they have no conception of it. They have no 
comprehension of modesty ; to them it is a 
stranger, and has been from the cradle. These 
wretched outcasts are creatures of the gutter 
and the pavement from birth. They are 46 wo- 
men of the town " from the beginning ; what 
else is left for them ? What can be done to 
save these hopeless human beings ? God 
above only knows. We can hope for them 



136 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



and pray for them, but certainly nothing much 
short of a miraculous interposition of Divine 
power can redeem those who seem so lost to all 
conception of modesty, of decency, and of 
virtue. 

Those I have just spoken of are such as 
have selected their degraded calling, or rather, 
have had it chosen for them in advance, and 
who have no idea of any other kind of a life 
than that in which they were born and raised. 
But they do not, happily, constitute a majority 
of the fallen women of to-day. A large ma- 
jority are those whose natural tendency is to 
virtue and modesty, but who, in moments of 
weakness, have succumbed to the temptations 
which surrounded them, and, having once 
fallen, have been forced by society to follow 
the terrible pathway of open shame. It is of 
these and of the causes of their downfall that 
I would speak in this chapter. 

The temptations to vice, which accompany 
poverty, prove irresistible to many, many thou- 
sands of poor girls who are naturally chaste 
and virtuous, but who are driven by penury, 



THE PEBILS OF POVERTY. 137 



want and starvation, to the sacrifice of their 
most priceless treasure, and the hopeless 
wrecking of their lives and souls, 

" Poverty," says Dr. Houser ; " with that 
word ' poverty ' come the echoes of a thou- 
sand woes and a thousand crimes. Parents, 
too poor to clothe themselves, bring children 
into the world — children for whom they have 
no bread. The girl, more than the boy, feels 
the keen pang of want, the sense of shame for 
lack of clothing. She feels that there is no 
place in all the wide world for her, that she is 
an outcast, brought into the world by parents 
incapable of giving her the comforts and 
blessings of a good home, which are due to 
every child. 

"Upon developing into womanhood, she 
finds seeming friends, believes them real, con- 
fides and falls, may-be forced to a life of 
shame for bread. 

" Many girls thus fall that are naturally 

good, and would have remained so had not 

poverty and cruelty destroyed all of their finer 

feelings, outraged their natures, wronged their 
6* 



138 



SAVE THE GIRLS, 



spirits, crushed their hopes, blighted their fond- 
est expectations, broken their tender* loving 
hearts, and cast them adrift on the surging 
waves of a loveless world. 

" They fall, and may God pity. them. In 
this world, none love and none forgive them ; 
but I believe there is a world, across the valley 
of sunless shadows, where rose-tinted beams of 
eternal light fold like angel's wings o'er the 
dawn of a day that will bring to such of the 
fallen the matchless blessing of ceaseless rest." 

The eminent scientist and physician, Dr. 
Dio Lewis, in bis work on " Chastity 3 " after 
naming some of the causes of prostitution, 
says : 

"The case of the working-girl who loses 
her virtue is still more sad. Hunger and un- 
kindness assail her. Her bloom fades. Her 
future is a black distance into which she dares 
not look. Temptation comes to her whose 
weakness should be a protection against the 
basest libertine that breathes. Warmth and 
comfort and love are offered. Her thoughts 
dwell on the subject incessantly. Virtue be- 



THE PERILS OF POVERTY. 139 

comes at last an idle name to her, not the sym- 
bolic word whose translation is a pure life. 
She falls, and her fatal course can never be re- 
traced." 

In the same work I find the following story, 
which is an excellent illustration of the temp- 
tations to which poor girls are subjected in our 
large cities : 

"A TRUE STORY, 

"Virginia T came to Boston from a 

country town in Maine. She came as thou- 
sands of young women have come, seeking em- 
ployment. Now out of the humdrum of her 
native town, and conscious of ability to achieve 
a career, she wept a farewell to mother and 
sisters, and filled with ambitious hopes, came to 
Boston to seek her fortune. Her neighbors fore- 
told shipwreck, but a young woman, a neigh- 
bor, two years older than herself, had gone to 
New York, when about her age (twenty- three), 
and in a single year had established herself in 
the confidence of prosperous employers. Vir- 
ginia saw no reason why, after always leading 
that young woman in the studies at school, she 



140 



SAVE THE GIBLS. 



might not be able, with her brighter faculties, 
to make her way, and thus be able to realize 
her dead brother's plan of providing for the 
loved parents when they should become too 
old to take care of themselves. 

" So she came. Her first engagement, after 
trying two weeks to find something better, was 
running a sewing-machine in a ready-made 
clothing establishment. She was placed in an 
immense room with a hundred and fifty other 
girls. One of the girls, who seemed superior 
to all the others, immediately took Virginia 
under her wing, for which the country girl was 
very grateful. Nan soon explained things to 
Virginia, and induced her to leave her board- 
ing-house and take a little room near her's in' 
the fourth story, over a business-house where 
there were more than fifty rooms rented to 
young women. Virginia was so unsophisti- 
cated that it was a month before she suspected 
that Nan's companion was other than her hus- 
band, and that the young men she saw about 
every evening were there with illicit purpose. 
She had received such kindness at the hands of 



THE PERILS 03T POVERTY. 141 

her fellow-lodgers that when at length the 
character of the place dawned upon her, she 
thought it was not a bit the horrid place that 
she had always heard described ; and although 
she left it at once, still, when her friend Nan 
and the other girls laughed at her squeamish- 
ness, and assured her that in this way they 
were able to retain all their wages for dress, 
and that if they got into trouble there were 
doctors, enough of them, who could get them 
out of it in a week or two, poor Virginia did 
not shudder at all, as she would have expected ; 
but, being ambitious, she left and secured board 
in a distant part of the city. When by her- 
self, she constantly recurred to the little, 
happy, well dressed community down town, 
and was often shocked that the thought of 
such a life did not bring with it a deeper sense 
of humiliation and shame. 

44 After a few months, she secured a better 
position in a hoop-skirt factory down town, 
and at the end of two years from the time of 
leaving her home in Maine she returned for a 
visit, not only well dressed, but with a full 



142 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



purse. Then came the great fire. She was 
thrown out of employment, and found nothing 
to do, until at the end oi two months she was 
unable to meet her board bill, and had to 
move. In this strait she called upon her old 
friends, and found them as full of card parties, 
theaters, etc., as ever. With many solemn 
vows and painful misgivings she accepted 
their hearty offer to provide for her until she 
could find another situation. Soon she ac- 
cepted an invitation to attend church one 
evening with a pleasant young man, to whom, 
as Virginia afterwards learned, one of her girl 
companions had made a suggestion. Then she 
visited the theater with him. After a week or 
two he proposed marriage. The surroundings 
excited her suspicions, but she promised to 
think of it. In the meantime, he begged her 
to use his purse, and not to be dependent 
upon poor working-girls. Entirely helpless 
and unable to obtain employment, she con- 
sented to borrow a little money, with the dis- 
tinct understanding that she was to return it 
with interest. Before the hard winter was 



THE PERILS OF POVERTY. 143 



over the sum had grown to nearly a hundred 
dollars. 

"Since then about ten months have 
passed; and now she might be heard, after 
they have retired at night, pleading with him 
to have the marriage ceremony performed. 
He says to her : 

" 6 Why, Jennie, we are just as much mar- 
ried as any couple in the world ! My darling, 
don't worry in this way; it will come out all 
right.' 

"He will abandon her at last, and five 
years from now, when she is picked up a 
drunken prostitute, the above true story will 
hardly be believed by those who realize only 
her shame and depravity." 

The same author, whose investigations and 
labors among fallen women have been very 
extensive, tells the following thrilling story, 
which is so touching, so suggestive, so true to 
nature, that I can not forbear reproducing it 
entire : 

" THE BEGINNING AND THE END. 

" One evening there was a knock at my 



144 



SAVE THE GIKLS. 



office door, and a young girl entered whose 
sunken eyes and tawdry dress stamped her as 
belonging to that wretched class whose trade 
it is to pander to the! passions of men. She 
approached me hurriedly, and without any pre- 
liminary words of greeting said : 

44 4 Doctor, I've got a friend who is very 
sick ; I'm afraid she is going to die. Will you 
come and see her ?' 

" Her voice broke and she turned away 
with tears in her eyes — perhaps the purest she 
had shed for many a day. I arose and put on 
my hat. 

44 4 Wait a moment,' said she, 4 I have no 
money and neither has she, but if you can 
trust the likes of me, I'll pay you if I live 
long enough/ 

466 Never mind that,' said I ; 4 let us go to 
your friend as soon as possible.' 

44 She said nothing, but there was an elo- 
quence greater than words in the grateful 
light that beamed in her poor, faded eyes. 

44 She led the way to an old tenement house, 
»n one of the worst streets in the city, up 



THE PERILS OF POVERTY. 145 



flight after flight of rickety stairs, until we 
reached an attic room that bore every evidence 
of extreme poverty. It was a cold winter 
night, but there was no fire, and the wind 
whistled through the broken panes. Upon a 
dirty and ill-kept bed lay a girl whose age it 
was difficult to guess. Her faded and sallow 
complexion and haggard features might have 
belonged to a woman of thirty years; but 
when she opened her eyes, there was some- 
thing in their child-like youthfulness of expres- 
sion that indicated a girl not much past her 
first youth. 

" I made an examination of her condition, 
and soon found that there was no hope of her 
recovery. She expressed no surprise when I 
gave my verdict, though her friend wept 
bitterly.' 

"'Don't cry, Annie,' said the sick girl, 
faintly. 6 God knows I'm glad to go. It's 
been very hard for me, and maybe the Lord 
will be better to me than man has been.' 

" The poor girl lingered for several days. I 

went to see her frequently, and little by little 
K 7 



146 



SAVE THE GIBLS. 



I won her confidence, and she told me her sad 
story. 

" 4 1 was not always as you see me now,' 
she said. 6 O, my God, how long ago it seems 
since I was young and happy on the old New 
Hampshire farm! My father used to say I 
was like a sunbeam in the house, I was so 
light-hearted and gay. He never refused my 
slightest wish, except in one thing : I wanted 
to learn a trade, so that I might have some- 
thing to do in the world, just as if I had been 
a boy. Whenever I would talk to my father 
about this, he would pat me on the head as he 
would a child, and say that the work of the 
world must be done by the men ; that girls must 
get married, and his Jessie should be no excep- 
tion. And so it happened that, although I 
had a good education, and as much natural 
capacity, perhaps, as any young man of my 
acquaintance, yet I had no thorough knowl- 
edge of anything that could serve me as a 
good resource in case of need. 

"By the time I was eighteen years old 
both my parents were dead. It was found 



THE PERILS OE POVERTY, 147 



that my father was in debt, and there was 
nothing left for me. Thus I was forced to 
earn my own living. I came to the city full 
of high hopes. I was ambitious, and deter- 
mined, not only to support myself, but to win 
name and place in the great world. But ah ! 
sir, I soon found that a woman has a hard bat- 
tle to fight. It would sicken you to hear of 
all that I have been through. I commenced, 
by answering an advertisement for cap makers. 
I, with four or five other girls, soon learned 
the trade, and we made quantities of caps. 
And then, as soon as the work was done and 
the rush over, the proprietor turned us all off 
without one cent of pay, as we were new 
hands. At last I secured a place in a store at 
three dollars a week, and out of this I had to pay 
my lodging and board. I managed to live as 
long as my clothes held out ; then I began to 
suffer for the necessaries of life, sir. I went 
without food for two days that I might buy a 
pair of shoes. My health gave way, living as I 
was without exercise, standing all day in a 
heated store, and sleeping in a cold room into 



148 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



which the sun never shone, and in which I was 
never able to light a fire. I grew pale and 
languid and unfit for my duties. And so I 
was not much surprised when, at the end of a 
weary week, a note was handed me from my 
employer, saying that he would have no fur- 
ther need of my services. I went to my room 
near to desperation. I saw nowhere to turn. 
I was friendless and alone. I went to the min- 
ister of the church I had attended, and he 
said he had so many calls he could not meet 
them all, but that he would take my address, 
and if he found anything for me to do he 
would let me know. But in the mean time I 
was starving. Day after day I tried in vain to 
get employment. As I passed along the 
streets and looked with hungry eyes into the 
brilliantly-lighted windows, with their tempt- 
ing array of fruits and eatables, bitter indeed 
were the thoughts that forced their way into 
my mind. I grew to doubt God Himself, feel- 
ing as I did so keenly the inhumanity of His 
creatures. 

" 6 All this time, sir, before God, I never 



THE PERILS OP POVERTY. 149 

thought of turning to vice for a support. Not 
the daintiest girl in the world, nursed in luxury, 
surrounded by loving friends, would have been 
more horrified at a vicious thought than I. 

"'One day I went to a lawyer's office, 
trying to get some copying to do. There was 
a young man in the room who listened with 
some interest as I talked with the lawyer ; and 
when I left the office, he followed me, and very 
respectfully asked for my address, saying he 
might hear of some way to help me. I gave 
him my number in all innocence, and went my 
way with my heart somewhat lightened by the 
first words of sympathy I had heard. 

"'That very evening it seemed to me the 
climax of my sorrows was reached. I had not 
paid my lodging bill for some weeks, and for 
nearly two days I had not tasted food ; my 
landlady was clamoring for her rent. I was 
standing before her, weeping like any criminal, 
when the door opened and the young man 
entered whom I had seen that day in the law- 
yer's office. He comprehended at a glance the 
position of affairs, and coming to my side, con- 



150 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



fronted my landlady and asked what she meant 
by treating me in such a manner, v 

" ' " I want my pay," said she, « and I'm going 
to have it, too, or my fine lady will be turned 
into the streets." 

" < The young man drew out his purse and 
paid her the amount of her bill, while I sank 
to the floor in an agony of shame. 

" 5 " Wh Y> my dear girl," said he, « you must 
let me be your friend. Get your hat now, and 
come and take a walk with me." 

" 6 Well, sir, that was the beginning. It 
went on in that way for some time before 
he spoke of love to me and tried to persuade 
me to give myself to him. O, my God ! think 
of it. He found me starving, cold, desolate 
and alone. He offered me love, warmth, light, 
comfort. He swore by all that was holy to be 
true to me for ever. What could I do? I 
tried to pray, but I guess God didn't hear my 
prayers, or He would have saved me. 

" < You can tell how it ended, sir ; by my 
giving up to him the one dear possession that 
men take without remorse, when they had 



THE PERILS OP POVERTY. 151 



better put a knife to the poor girl's throat and 
drink her life's blood. 

" c For some time I was feverishly happy. 
My lover not only surrounded me with every 
material comfort, but he was so kind and 
tender as to win my whole heart. He told me 
it was not wrong in the sight of God for us to 
live as we did ; that it was not necessary for a 
preacher to pronounce a form of words over us 
to make us man and wife ; that nature and our 
hearts were our best guides. 

" 6 This sort of talk quieted me, and I tried 
to be happy. My lover thought me pretty, and 
delighted to buy beautiful articles of dress for 
me ; he always wished to see my face in smiles, 
and could not conceal his impatience if I ever 
gave way to grief and tears. 

" 4 Things went on in this way for some 
months, until to my horror I discovered that I 
bore in my bosom that which would one day 
be a witness of my sin. No human being will 
ever know what I suffered when this knowl- 
edge came upon me. I had no loving mother 
to whom I might whisper my secret with grate- 



SAVE THE GIBLS. 



ful pride ; no kind husband to share in my 
sacred joy at the first throb of that little heart. 
There was I alone, with no one of my own sex 
near me, my only companion a man who re- 
ceived the news I had to tell him with a mut- 
tered curse; and instead of those happy 
dreams for the future in which expectant 
young mothers usually indulge, the best I 
could pray for my child was that it might grow 
up without the knowledge of the mother 
whose sin it would blush to know. Many a 
time have I cast myself on the floor in 
agony and striven to utter a prayer % for my 
baby, but in vain. It seemed to me that a 
black cloud was between me and Heaven, and 
not a ray of light pierced through the darkness. 

" 6 A worse suffering was to come. My 
lover was bitterly opposed to my having a 
child, and proposed that I should destroy it. 
I repulsed the thought in indignation, and he 
then said that in such a case he could have 
nothing further to do with me. 

" ' " If you have a child," said he, " I run too 
many risks of being compromised." 




THE PERILS OF POVERTY. 155 

64 6 And with that he left me— this man 
who had taken advantage of my helplessness 
and done me the most cruel wrong one mortal 
could do another— he left me because I would 
not consent to become a murderess to prevent 
his being compromised. 

" 6 This grief was too much for my physical 
endurance. I sank under it. My babe was 
born prematurely, and only lived long enough 
for me to feel the little aimless hands touch 
my bosom, the little loving lips touch mine. 
And I vowed in that moment to purify my 
life for my baby's sake. 

"'As soon as I was able I resumed my 
search for employment ; but again the convic- 
tion that I was one too many in the world was 
forced upon me. My every effort was frowned 
do wn by those to whom I would tell any thing 
of my past life. I struggled along, however, 
and finally secured a place as seamstress in a 
wealthy family. Here I began to know a cer- 
tain peace. I was well treated. I had told 
nothing of my story, knowing that to do so 
would secure my being turned out of the 



156 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



house. My employer was named Sedley, and 
I was engaged to assist in making the wedding 
clothes of Miss Grace, the oldest daughter. 

" * One day this young lady came into the 
room where I was sewing, dressed for a drive. 
She was detained longer than she expected, 
giving me directions, and a young man en- 
tered, with the words, " Come, Grace, we shall 
be late for our drive." 

" ' Sir, that man was Edward White, my 
seducer, the father of my child, now the en- 
gaged lover of Grace Sedley. I rose from my 
seat, and involuntarily spoke his name. 

" < " What does this mean ? " said Mrs.. Sed- * 
ley; "what does this girl know of you, 
Edward?" 

" 6 He turned to Miss Grace, saying point- 
edly : 

" 4 " Grace, will you leave the room a few 
moments ?" 

" 6 She did so, and he turned to Mrs. 
Sedley: 

" 6 " This girl, madam — Jessie she called 
herself to me; I don't know what name she 



THE PERILS OF POVERTY. 157 

has given you — is a girl of bad character, a 
very unfit person to have in your house." 

" 4 " How do you know so much about her ?" 
said Mrs. Sedley, smiling slightly. 

" 6 " My dear madam, 59 he said, " when you 
consented to give me your daughter, I told 
you I had been no saint. My past life, I sup- 
pose, has been a little free, like that of most 
other young men; but rest assured the 
purity of your daughter is a sufficient guar- 
antee of my future. As for this person," 
and he pointed to me, *'all I have to say is 
that the sooner she is out of your house the 
better." 

" ' Here he left the room, and Mrs. Sedley 
turned to me with hard, cruel words. 

" 4 " Get out of my house, you shameless 
creature," she said, " and don't dare to apply to 
me for a character, for I shall tell everybody 
just what you are." 

" ' 1 was too broken-spirited to attempt any 
reply, but from my soul I wondered what was 
the wide moral gulf between the oppressed, 
unhappy girl, and the depraved man who had 



158 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



endeavored to make her nature as depraved as 
his own. 

" 6 Some weeks after that I saw the bridal 
party move to the carriages, A velvet carpet 
was spread for her to walk upon ; she was 
crowned with flowers and dressed in white. 
He looked as tender and careful of her as if 
she were too precious for the winds to blow 
upon. I watched them ; I, the outcast, the 
degraded, the wretched. O, God ! was it to 
my blame and her credit that we both stood 
where we did ? Or is there a dreadful wrong 
somewhere ? 

" 4 There isn't much more to tell, sir. I had 
passed through so much that my health was all 
gone, I think. I would have starved but for 
Annie, here. Poor Annie hasn't had much 
chance in life herself. She is what you'd call 
a bad girl ; but if some of the good ones had 
been more like her, sir, I wouldn't have been 
the poor lost creature that I am. 

" 4 I'm very glad to die, sir. I don't know 
what else there is for poor girls like me 
to do.' 



9 



\ 



THE PERILS OF POVERTY. 161 

" Imagine, if you can, friends who read this 
story, the circumstances under which it was 
told, and the powerful effect it had upon me. 
It was not told connectedly, as I have given it. 
but brokenly, with gasps between the sentences 
and long pauses for rest. 

"Comment upon such a story is almost 
needless ; it speaks so loudly of the wrongs of 
a woman's life. The very angels might weep 
to think of poor Jessie in her New Hampshire 
home, as blithe and beautiful as a bird in the 
forest, and then look upon her, ragged, emacia- 
ted and dying a miserable death in a city gar- 
ret. And perhaps, better than man, the angels 
will know how to judge of all such cases, and 
at whose door the sin really lies. 

" The father teaching that marriage is a 
girl's only resource, the employer paying 
starvation wages, the man sacrificing a human 
soul to bis brutal, selfish passion, the fine lady 
pushing a poor creature back to vice for a sup- 
port by closing the door of an honest liveli- 
hood, — these people all represent classes, and 

perhaps, in the long run, it will be found that 
L 7* 



162 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



they have more to answer for than the victim* 
of their false and selfish systems. 

" After my fourth visit to Jessie, I was un- 
expectedly called from home, and did not re- 
turn for some days. I hastened to see her as 
soon as I got back. As I neared the place I 
saw a wagon driving away from it with a plain 
deal coffin tumbled carelessly in it. The one 
mourner was a weeping girl, whom I recognized 
as Annie. I joined her. She told me of the 
last hours of her friend. 

«« Just before she died, sir,' sobbed Annie, 
< she looked up at me with her face all shining 
and peaceful, and she said : " Annie, I think 
my little baby has prayed for me, and maybe, 
after all, God will forgive me, for it's been very 
hard." 5 

" What do you think, my reader ? " 

Dr. Lewis relates a good many instances 
which have come under his observation, in 
which poverty has caused the ruin of innocent, 
pure-minded girls, who had to choose between 
shame and starvation. Tfrey approached their 
doom almost unconsciously, taking the first , 



THE PEBILS OF POVERTY. 163 

steps innocently, the libertine coming to them 
with words of cheer and kindness, the first 
they had heard, mayhap, for many a long day. 
Is it a wonder that these poor creatures fall, or 
that, when every avenue of employment is 
closed to them, every honorable door is shut 
against them, they at last find their refuge in 
the house of shame, and plunge into the vortex 
of disease and death ? 

This class of fallen women can easily be 
saved, if the proper efforts are only made. 
There is not one of them who does not loathe 
and despise her terrible existence; not one 
who would not in a moment exchange her 
life of gilded sin for one of honest (however 
humble) virtue. They are made courtesans 
because, in youth, under our present social 
system, they are not taught any useful trade 
or occupation, by which to gain a livelihood 
when thrown upon their own resources, be- 
cause employers remorsely take advantage of 
their necessities and compel them to work for 
a beggarly pittance which will hardly keep 
body and soul together. The whole world 



164 



SAVE THE GIBLS. 



seems to be turiled against them, and when 
they hear words of kindness and sympathy, 
spoken in the guise of friendship by the heart- 
less libertine and seducer, is it any wonder 
that they listen and fall, only to be betrayed 
and abandoned? Then all efforts to rise are 
futile. If they tell the story of their lives, 
how many men or women, even among profes- 
sors of religion, will open their doors to them 
and afford them an opportunity to support 
themselves by honest t humble industry, and to 
atone for the past by lives of purity and vir- 
tue ? If they conceal their shame, and strive 
to hide their sin, and thus succeed in securing 
employment, is exposure not almost inevitable , 
and then the proud lady of wealth and fashion 
gathers her skirts about her, as if fearing con- 
tamination, and drives the poor creature from 
her house into the streets, as in the case just 
related, cutting off from her reach every op- 
portunity to save herself, and forcing her down 
into the depths of degradation from which she 
has vainly striven to escape. 

In a pleasant little village in Northern la- 



THE PERILS OF POVERTY. 165 

diana, about five years ago, there lived as 
happy a family as I ever knew, composed of 
father, mother, three daughters and three sons. 
The father was in moderate circumstances, but 
being postmaster of the village was able to 
support his wife and children in decency and 
comfort, although not in luxury. In order to 
make some provision for them in the event of 
his death, he had his life insured for a goodly 
sum. About four years ago he was drowned, 
and the widow, who had thought her future 
secure, found to her great sorrow that the last 
payment had not been made on the policy of 
insurance, and that it had become forfeited 
only two or three days before the fatal acci- 
dent. Left entirely without resources, with a 
large family to provide for, the good woman 
was almost desperate. Her daughters had all 
married mechanics of humble means. Two of 
them were provided for, but were unable to 
assist her ; the third, a young and beautiful girl, 
slender in figure, delicate in health, had wed- 
ded a dissipated, worthless cigar-maker, who 
had heartlessly abandoned her just before her 



166 



SAVE THE GIELS. 



child was born, and left her to battle with the 
world and care for her babe, wholly without 
means. Of the three sons, two were little 
boys, and the third, who had attained the years 
of manhood, was idle, dissipated and worth- 
less, a curse rather than a blessing. Then be- 
gan a prolonged struggle with starvation. The 
widowed mother, the worse than widowed 
daughter and her infant child, with the two 
little boys went to the city of my residence, 
and tried in every possible way to gain a sub- 
sistence. The mother, who was in feeble 
health, accepted any employment, however 
hard or distasteful. She scrubbed, and washed, 
and ironed, and nursed the sick, and was 
forced, by the wealthy and affluent, to work 
night and day for the barest pittance. 

The young daughter and mother nursed 
and cared for her babe, and although delicate 
and broken in health, she toiled with her 
needle through the long days and late into the 
nights, working at the sewing machine until a 
hectic flush mounted her fair cheeks. Her 
sunken eyes shone with unnatural brilliancy, 



THE FEKILS OF POVEBTY. 



and sharp pains passed through her wasted 
body. And when she could get no sewing, or 
fancy work to do, she, too, did washing and 
scrubbing and nursed the sick, and all for the 
most slender wages. Mother and daughter 
wasted away ; their health was shattered from 
exposure, and labor, and lack of food, medicine 
and clothing. All this time this fair young 
girl who, in spite of poverty and sickness and 
labor, was still beautiful, was meeting with 
temptations to sacrifice her virtue. Libertines 
and seducers were on her track, but she re- 
pulsed them all and declared proudly that she 
would rather starve than accede to their wishes, 
rather die than surrender her virtue. But 
darker hours were yet to come. Her mother 
fell sick and was no longer able to toil; her 
babe was ill and suffering for food, and warm 
clothing, and medical attendance and medicine. 
The rent of her humble quarters wa&due, and 
the family would be ejected if it were not 
paid. Her little brothers were ragged and 
hungry. It was mid-Winter, and she could 
get no work; and even had employment offered, 



168 



SAVE THE GIKLS. 



she could hardly have accepted, because of her 
delicate health, and the demands of her sick 
mother and babe. Despair filled her soul, and 
in the presence of the suffering and privations 
of her loved ones, she determined to sacrifice 
herself for their sake. She sallied forth, re- 
solved to sell her soul to whoever would buy; 
and save, perhaps, her darling's life. 

Repeatedly since this girl's surrender, has 
she tried to obtain honorable employment, but 
those who have dragged her down are deter- 
mined to keep her in the depths, and she finds 
herself a shunned and dishonored creature. 

When I last saw her the hectic flush of con- 
sumption was in her cheeks, the feverish glare 
of disease was in her eyes. Death had marked 
her for his own ; and ere many months she will go 
to her grave, another victim to the coldness, 
the selfishness, the heartlessness of society. 
So far from being censured for her fall, she is 
rather to be commended for the brave and 
heroic resistance she made to the tempter. If 
she had a fault, it was that she was too proud 
to beg; but how many of her more fortunate 



THE PEBILS OF POVERTY. 169 

. sisters, who would feel themselves tainted by 
contact with her, could withstand the tempta- 
tions she resisted so long, or preserve their 
virtue amidst such trials as this poor girl had 
to meet. 

Oh ! it is a fearful, thing, in this nineteenth 
century, this age of civilization, refinement 
and Christianity, this period of general pros- 
perity and plenty, that poverty should drive" 
women, naturally pure and virtuous, to sell 
their souls for bread. The blood of these poor 
creatures is upon the skirts of society, and 
society must expect to reap the curse. 

The temptations which are thrown about 
poor women and girls in our cities and towns 
are terrible. 

The factory girls, the clerks, the milliners, 
the seamstresses, in our great cities have to 
toil like slaves for the most beggarly wages. 
The hard labor to which they give their days 
scarcely suffices to procure for them the bare 
necessaries of life. They are compelled to 
dwell in humble apartments, to dress in scanty 
attire, to forego the pleasures and amusements 

8 



170 



SAVE THE GrIBLS. 



of society, and to constantly see before them the 
luxury, the splendor, the wealth which the few 
enjoy. These girls are surrounded by all man- 
ner of temptations and are offered every in- 
ducement to exchange their lives of honest, 
humble industry for gilded, luxurious vice. 
The road to perdition is a seductive and invit- 
ing one. Few, very few, begin to tread it 
realizing where it leads, or expecting to suffer 
any barm. They find it easy for them to make 
male acquaintances ; handsome, polished, well- 
dressed fellows, who invite them out for an 
evening's amusement. They find their exist- 
ence dull and monotonous, and greedily accept 
the opportunity to " have a little fun." 

Alas, the fun. often proves very costly. 
They go to the theater and their mind is poi- 
soned by such pernicious plays as "Camille" 
and " Madeline Morel." They take a ride with 
some new found acquaintance, and he pours in- 
to their ears words of deep meaning and terrible 
import. Next they are invited to an oyster 
supper, with gay companions and pleasant sur- 
roundings. Perhaps they are induced to put 



THE PERILS OF POVERTY. 173 



the wine cup to their lips, and under its influ- 
ence to commit improprieties which would have 
shocked them before they entered upon the 
pursuit of pleasure. The next step in their 
downward career, and they visit the public 
dance halls, those stepping stones to hell, which 
abound in the metropolitan cities, over whose 
portals should be placed Dante's dread inscrip- 
tion : " Who enters here leaves hope behind." 

So it is that thousands of working girls in 
our cities enter, innocently and unsuspectingly, 
into the paths which lead them to the houses 
of evil, or to wander the streets, miserable out- 
casts, doomed to a wretched existence and a 
premature death. 

How true the words of the poet : 

" Vice is a monster of such hideous mien, 
That to he hated, needs hut to be seen; 
Yet seen too oft, familiar with his face, 
We first endure, then pity, then embrace." 

The theater, the drive, the oyster supper, 
the dance hall — these are the mile stones which 
mark the working girl's journey from virtue to 
vice, from modesty to shame. The gay fellow 
who has lavished his attentions upon her, and 



174 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



afforded her a taste of the world's pleasure, to 
which she had before been a stranger, finally 
effects her ruin, she is duly installed as his 
mistress, but in time he abandons her to go in 
quest of other game. Thus deserted, her con- 
science burdened with the knowledge of her 
Bin, her mind tainted and sullied by the experi- 
ence she has had, she loses her pride in her 
work and finds herself possessed of an aversion 
for humble labor. In ninety-nine cases out of 
a hundred her moral descent is rapid from this 
time forward, and a few years finds her the de- 
praved and degraded inmate of a brothel, the 
vile creature of the pave, the occupant of a 
prison cell, an almshouse or an insane asylum, 
or perhaps the tenant of a suicide's grave. 

The saleswoman, the seamstress, the factory 
girl had better, far better, die than take the 
first step in the path which I have just de- 
scribed. Better, a thousand times better, bet- 
ter for this life, better for the life to come, an 
existence of humble, virtuous industry, than a 
single departure from virtue, even though it 
were paid with a fortune. 



SOME TEMPTATIONS OF CITY LIFE. 175 



CHAPTER VI. 

SOME TEMPTATIONS OF CITY LIFE — THE THEA- 
TER — THE RACE COURSE — STREET FLIRTA- 
TIONS, ETC. 

One of the fruitful causes of prostitution is 
the love of dress, which, in the breasts of so 
many women, is the overpowering passion and 
which leads such multitudes of them into 
careers of infamy. Many foolish girls have 
been led by this passion to sell their virtue for 
gold, in order to possess the means of bedeck- 
ing their bodies with gorgeous raiment. These 
silly creatures envy the gaily, flashily dressed 
courtesan whom they pass on the street, and 
imagine that she is happy because of her mag- 
nificent apparel. How little they realize what 
awful misery is disguised by her silks and vel- 
vets. 

Of course those who can ascribe their fall 



176 



SAVE THE GIELS. 



to a. love for dress, do not possess those strong 
virtuous instincts which would protect them 
against these temptations to unchastity. Many 
of them are girls of great personal beauty and 
moderate intellect. They are born of humble 
parents, reared in a modest, simple way, and 
do not possess the means of gratifying their 
taste for personal adornment. Large numbers 
of them are raised on the farm, or in some 
quiet, unpretentious country town or village. 
They see about them those who can afford to 
dress elegantly, and they morbidly contrast 
their own slender purses with those of their 
neighbors. At the village dance they find their 
shabby attire contrasting unfavorably with the 
dresses of other guests. By and by they drift 
to the city. Perhaps they go out to service, or 
to clerk, or sew ; or perhaps, with the false 
ideas of feminine "independence" (?) which 
prevail, they remain at home without useful 
employment, a burden upon an overworked, 
underpaid father. They catch a glimpse of rich 
dressing at the theater, on the streets, in the 
great storehouses of fashion, in the elegant car- 



SOME TEMPTATIONS OF CITY LIFE. 177 

riages which roll past them. By and by they 
come to regard dress as the chief aim and ob- 
ject of woman's existence ; and to possess the 
means to gratify this passion, they are ready to 
exchange their dearest treasure, — that most 
priceless jewel, their virtue. Then the tempter 
comes along, and finds an easy victim. And 
the sad story ends in the house of shame. 

Many wives of men of moderate means— 
clerks, mechanics, engineers, and men of all 
kinds, who receive wages sufficient to support 
themselves and their families in comfort, but 
n.ot in luxury, have proved false to the men 
whose names they bore, unfaithful to the sacred 
vows they took at the marriage altar, and 
abandoned home and children in order to ob- 
tain the money with which to dress richly and 
extravagantly, and to gain access to gay, worldly 
society. A few weeks ago American circles in 
Paris were shocked beyond measure at the 
suicide of Mrs. Annie Wetmore, who had be- 
come famous in the frivolous circles of the gay 
French capital for her rare beauty of face and 
figure, her handsome dressing and her social 

M 



178 



SATE THE GIRLS. 



indiscretions. Her career was a romantic one, 
and carries a moral which should be heeded by 
those foolish women who are not satisfied with 
the love of a poor husband, who find virtue in 
a cottage to be monotonous, and who barter 
their souls and sacrifice their eternal welfare in 
order that they may enjoy a few short years of 
life amid the gilded trappings of vice and 
luxury. 

Her story can soon be told. Some fifteen 
years ago her ambition to shine in socia] life, 
coupled with the beauty of her person and her 
natural sprightliness and vivacity, secured her 
an easy admittance into the gay society of New 
York. Dazzled by social successes, by the flat- 
tery of numerous admirers, and the glitter of a 
gay life, for which her early education and sur- 
roundings had not prepared her, she lost all 
taste for the duties of her proper sphere as the 
wife of a poor but worthy clerk in the New 
York Custom House, became estranged from 
her husband, and finally abandoned her home 
and crossed the ocean to become the victim of 
a social tragedy. The people who knew her 



SOME TEMPTATIONS OF CITY LIFE. 179 

well say that the motives which have guided 
her career for the past twelve years led natu- 
rally step by step to the bitter denouement. 
Many of the residents of Stratford, Connecticut, 
where the unfortunate woman passed her girl- 
hood, remember her as a maiden of rare attrac- 
tions. She was the daughter of William C. 
Dougherty, a commission merchant in that city. 
She was a tall and slender brunette, with lovely 
and expressive features, exceedingly graceful 
in bearing, vivacious in manner, and sparkling 
in conversation. Among her many wooers was 
a gentleman who has since become very wealthy 
in New York, and who still lives a bachelor. 
Some twenty-two years ago, when she was 
nineteen years of age, she was married to 
William Wetmore, son of the president of the 
New York Juvenile Asylum. The fathers of 
the young couple were both in moderate cir- 
cumstances, but, by combining the funds they 
had set apart for a wedding present, they were 
able to present Mrs. Wetmore with a comfort- 
able cottage. Young Wetmore was just enter- 
ing business life as a poorly-paid clerk in the 



180 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



Custom House. His salary was barely sufficient 
to provide the necessities of life, and for several 
years the young people were partly dependent 
upon the generosity of the elder Mr. Wetmore. 
The young wife, her friends say, early became 
discontented with the meagerness and poverty 
of her home. She often upbraided herself with 
her folly in marrying a poor man, and their 
straitened circumstances were the primal cause 
of the coldness that grew up between husband 
and wife. Mr. Wetmore, moreover, was a 
professor of religion, had little or no sympathy 
with the social ambitions of his wife, and 
wished her to go to religious meetings when 
she much preferred more sparkling and gayer 
society. He desired, besides, to practice econ- 
omy, and by perseverance and self-denial to 
make his way, while his wife was extravagant 
in her tastes and had no sympathy with her 
husband's aims. After some seven years of 
unhappy married life, spent in comparative 
seclusion, Mrs. Wetmore blossomed easily and 
speedily into a more congenial sort of existence 
as a society belle. Her circle of society friends 



SOME TEMPTATIONS OF CITY LIFE. 181 

were by no means the most exclusive and 
aristocratic " set " in New York, but they were 
a gay lot, wealthy and pretentious, figured in 
all the leading events of the fashionable season, 
and were altogether congenial to the tastes of 
Mrs. Wetmore. She was intoxicated with the 
homage done her beauty and gay social quali- 
ties. She was one of the pets of the social 
circle which claimed her, was in great demand 
at all the routs and dances of the season, con- 
trived to dress in accordance with the demands 
of her social position, and encountered any 
number of admirers, the devotion of some of 
whom was unmistakable. This sort of life led 
her so completely away from her husband a^d 
home that the couple finally separated very 
quietly. Their paths thereafter led entirely 
apart. Wetmore came West to take a position 
on a railroad, and Mrs. Wetmore, twelve years 
ago, crossed the ocean alone and in an adven- 
turous spirit, in quest of new social worlds to 
conquer. She was then about thirty years old, 
and in the prime of her charms. She has since 
lived in London and Paris, where she has been 



182 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



well known to the American colonies in those 
cities. She made considerable impression in 
some of the gay circles of London, and of late 
years has spent most of her time in the French 
capital. About four years ago she returned to 
America for a short visit, but was not content 
to remain long away from the gayer life of 
Paris. She was particularly proud of her list 
of titled acquaintances, and the society to 
which she was admitted abroad was largely 
that in which the younger scions of noble 
houses were the bright particular lights. It was 
while leading this butterfly life, wholly devoted 
to society, its conquests and its pleasures, that 
Mrs. Wetmore, about three years ago, first met 
the Marquis of Anglesey, then Lord Henry 
Paget, who, with the well-known susceptibility 
of the Anglesey family, became very much 
infatuated with the lovely American. The 
Marquis is one of the handsomest men in Eng- 
land, and his devotion to Mrs. Wetmore was 
by her sincerely encouraged. It is said that 
she was not tempted merely by his title, but 
that she passionately loved the man. She told 



SOME TEMPTATIONS OF CITY LIFE. 183 

some of her intimate friends two years ago that 
nothing but the hateful tie which still bound 
her to William Wetmore prevented her from 
being then the wife of Henry Paget. If this 
was true, it was wofully unfortunate for her 
future that the obstacle of her former marriage 
stood in her way ; for, being unable to legalize 
their intimacy, Mrs. Wetmore, it is stated, 
became the mistress of the Marquis of Anglesey, 
and lived in splendid apartments in the same 
building which he occupied. The relations 
between the two were very well understood by 
their friends, but whether there was between 
them an engagement of marriage to be consum- 
mated when Mrs. Wetmore had thrown off the 
yoke she bore, seems in the minds of her New 
York friends to be involved in doubt. They 
say, however, that she hoped for an honorable 
alliance with the Marquis, and they think she 
believed she would one day be his wife. She 
learned with pleasure, two years ago, that her 
husband had begun a suit for divorce on the 
ground of desertion. He obtained a decree. 
Her father, who has since died, wrote her 



184 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



that if she desired he could have the decree set 
aside because she had not been notified of the 
suit. She replied that she was more than satis- 
fied with the course affairs has taken. She 
could not, however, retain her supremacy over 
the Marquis. The members of the Anglesey 
family have always been great gallants, and 
have never been noted for constancy in their 
love affairs. The intrusion of the Hon. Mrs. 
Wodehouse, nee King, of Georgia, into the af- 
fections which Mrs. Wetmore had held, drove 
the unfortunate woman to despair, and she 
ended her life with poison. In Mrs. Wetmore's 
own words, " My fate should be a warning to 
American women who come abroad without 
their legitimate protectors." 

The sad fate of this gifted and beautiful 
woman should certainly be a terrible warning 
to every one of her sex who allows a love of 
dress and gay society to dazzle her senses, 
blind her judgment and obliterate in her mind 
the great distinctions between right and wrono\ 
Too often weak parents encourage a love 
for dress in their daughters, and the conse- 



2 

a 

H 
b 



SOME TEMPTATIONS OF CITY LIFE. 187 

quences are^frequently of the most terrible na- 
ture. Dr. Dio Lewis tells how three sisters 
were wrecked by this dangerous passion, which 
their parents fostered and nurtured. The story 
is a brief one, and is so appropriate that I can 
not forbear quoting it in full : 

« Mr. S. had six daughters, and they had 
the misfortune to be pretty. As they grew up 
the clothes question became perplexing. The 
father could feed his large family, but not much 
more. Everybody said that if they could be 
handsomely dressed, they would be the most 
attractive young ladies in the country. 6 It was 
a pity that they could not be fixed up in style.' 
The girls clamored for 'something decent to 
wear.' They were too beautiful to go out to 
service, too ignorant to teach anything, and too 
proud to learn trades, as boys would have done. 
There seemed nothing left but marriage. They 
displayed their remarkable charms. Their 
father staggered under the load, and these 
beautiful young creatures, without trade or pro- 
fession, were compelled to bring every attrac- 
tion to the counter. 



188 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



"At length Mary, who was understood to be 
engaged to a young man of means, suddenly 
appeared with a silk dress and a gold watch. 
Her lover invited her to accompany him to 
New York to see his mother, and to stay with 
her a few months, that the family might become 
acquainted with her. Later the older sister 
was invited to visit Mary, who was still staying 
with her future mother-in-law. Susan went, 
solemnly charged by her mother to write all 
about Mary's friends, and to let them know 
when Mary was coming home to be married. 
In due time the letter came, full of disappoint- 
ment and dark hints. Susan promised to return 
home at once. The next letter did not arrive 
under a fortnight; but when it did come, it was 
full of delight with the city and all its wonder- 
ful sights. A varying correspondence was kept 
up between the family and their daughters in 
New York, when at length the girls came home 
visiting. They were splendidly dressed. The 
girls told us that Mary's future mother-in-law 
had a brother who had brought oceans of 
money from the East Indies, and thought all 



SOME TEMPTATIONS OP CITY LIFE. 189 

the world of them, and gave them everything 
they wanted. 

" At the end of a week the girls returned 
to New York. They had hardly reached the 
city before their father, who had followed 
them, walked into their city home. . He knew 
but little of the world, but he was not long in 
finding out the character of the house where 
Ms daughters were stopping. In a long and 
painful interview they confessed all, but re- 
fused to return home. In the city they could 
go to the theater, and their friends gave them 
everything that heart could wish. The father 
pleaded with tears and heart-breaking sobs, but 
they could not think of going back. The 
father threatened and started out for an officer. 
When he returned, the girls were gone, and 
after staying about for two or three days, he 
came back home, bringing sorrow and shame 
to his household. 

" Libertines soon began to call on the other 
girls. The parents, after anxious consultation 
with the minister and other friends, resolved 
to take their family to Wisconsin. After some 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



weeks of preparation, consisting in part of the 
sale of household furniture to secure the 
needed funds, the tickets were purchased, and 
on a certain Monday we gathered at the dopot 
to see them off. 

"But where was Nelly? She was the 
fourth daughter, and the most beautiful crea- 
ture I ever saw. We ran hither and thither, 
but she could not be found. While all were 
wild, a young man came hurrying into the sta- 
tion who had met her driving away as fast 
as horses could fly, with Captain D , a dis- 
sipated man of forty, well known in the neigh- 
borhood. 

" The train cam e and went, and the crushed 
parents sat in a corner unable to move or speak. 
They returned to the house of a friend, where 
they remained two or three days, hoping to 
hear from Nelly. A letter came from her,°not 
to her family, but to a girl in the village. She 
wrote in the happiest temper, said she was to 
be married to a nice man, very rich, and was 
then going abroad. 

"The captain swapped girls with a friend 



SOME TEMPTATIONS OE CITY LIFE. 191 

of his within a month, and Nelly soon went to 
New York. Then we lost sight of the family. 
About two years afterward, Susan, the second 
girl, came back to our village, but oh, how 
changed! She was far gone in consumption, 
and confessed to our village minister that 
drink and the birth of a baby had killed her, 
She brought sad news from beautiful Nelly, 
whose dissipated career was rapidly shortening 
her days. The oldest sister had married a 
gambler, and had been traded four times for 
the wives of other gamblers. She was fading, 
and had contracted a disease which had injured 
her voice. New York consumes several thou- 
sand girls in this way every year." 

Dr. Lewis, whose views upon this subject 
are certainly entitled to great weight, thinks 
that the social evil can be reduced to small 
dimensions, and eventually cured, if girls will 
only learn remunerative trades, as boys do. 
The number of those who pursue a life of 
shame because they like it, is comparatively 
insignificant. But young girls, thrown upon 
their own resources, find themselves unable to 



192 



SAVE THE GIKLS. 



supply their natural wants. « A hundred men 
stand ready to fill their treasury to overflowing 
if they will only consent. That ten girls do 
not lapse where one goes astray, is a trium- 
phant proof of their innate chastity." 

Dr. Lewis wonders why more country girls 
who go to cities, do not prefer the free, inde- 
pendent, healthful life of domestic service, to 
the hard, ill-paid, unwholesome labors of sew- 
ing or clerking. He adds : 

" What musfc be thought of the moral sense 
of these New England girls, when it is truth- 
fully stated that for one who leaves the position 
of sewing-girl for the care of a kitchen, ten 
leave to serve as kept mistresses? I have not 
known of a single one who, with a true appre- 
ciation of the- advantages, has chosen the 
kitchen, while I have known a number who 
have deliberately chosen to respond to the vile 
advertisements which appear daily in one of 
our papers under the head of ' Personal.' " 

Those who allow themselves to sacrifice 
their virtue to gratify a love of dress and gay 
society, are not entitled to the sympathy which 



SOME TEMPTATIONS Oif CITY LIFE. 193 

we should accord to their erring sisters, who 
have been driven to lives of infamy by grind- 
ing poverty, or have fallen from their high 
estate through the devilish machinations of the 
libertine. But at the same time I can not 
refrain from asking the question : " Hasn't 
society a great deal to do with the ruin of these 
foolish women ? Doesn't society encourage all 
manner of extravagance in dress? Doesn't 
society prompt people of humble means to 
attempt a ruinous rivalry with their neighbors 
who possess longer purses ? Doesn't society 
uphold the employer who discriminates so 
severely against women in the payment of 
wages? Doesn't society teach that certain 
occupations in which thousands of poor women 
could gain a decent and honorable , livelihood, 
are not respectable?" All these questions, I 
fear, can only be truthfully answered in the 
affirmative. 

I will here take occasion to briefly refer to 
some frequent causes of women's ruin, other 
than those I have written of in this volume. 

Many women have been led astray through 

N 9 



194 



SAVE T3E GIELS. 



the influence of the theater. The stage is 
seductive and inviting, and young women can 
not guard themselves too strongly against its 
allurements. The drama is corrupt beyond 
measure, and there seems little hope for its 
purification. There are very few pure plays 
on the stage, and they do not prove popular. 
Most of the successful plays of the present day 
are in the highest degree immoral. The heroes 
and heroines are vile characters, and the plots 
are so skillfully arranged as to gain for them 
the sympathy of the audiences. The incidents 
are demoralizing, the language is impure and 
unchaste. The operas are even worse than 
the plays. But in both the indecent display 
of the female form is made one of the chief 
attractions. The burlesques and baUets and 
spectacles which are now " all the rage," are 
worse than either play or opera. They are 
essentially indecent and degrading, and should 
not be tolerated. 

Pure-minded young women can not attend 
. the theater without contamination. There 
they imbibe false ideas of life, of society and 



SOME TEMPTATIONS OF CITY LIFE. 195 

religion, which prepare their minds to suc- 
cumb to the temptations of the seducer. They 
listen to coarse, vulgar language, which at first 
brings the crimson blush to their maiden 
cheeks, but with which they finally become 
familiarized. They see immodest exhibitions 
of the feminine person, and watch the develop- 
ment of vulgar and sensational plots. At the 
theater, too, they are thrown among worldly 
people, and too often it is followed by the 
oyster supper, the wine glass, the dance-house 
— and finally the fall from virtue. Alas, how 
many fallen creatures can date their ruin from 
their first visit to the theater. Although the 
stage is sustained and patronized by many pro- 
fessing Christians, its influence is none the 
less pernicious and demoralizing for all that. 
In fact, it is thus only rendered more fascinat- 
ing, and hence more dangerous by the counte- , 
nance it receives from such people ; and I can 
not forbear raising my voice against it, and 
warning young women who desire to remain 
spotless and blameless, from visiting it. It 
has in the past led many of their sisters into 



196 



SAVE THE GIKLS. 



the pathway of shame, and is still performing 
that dreadful work. 

It has become very fashionable in our large 
cities for ladies to attend horse races. Many 
women who are active in the churches go to 
such affairs, and take with them their daugh- 
ters. In this they do a great wrong, and 
oftentimes the consequences are terrible. They 
countenance by their presence such degrading 
vices as drunkenness and gambling. They 
breathe an atmosphere, at the race track, 
which no pure woman should inhale. Their 
ears are oftentimes saluted with the most 
frightful profanity and blasphemy, the most 
shocking vulgarity and obscenity. They are 
in the presence of gamblers, saloonkeepers, 
seducers, libertines, and in fact all the " fast 
men " in the community. Those who would 
have their wives and daughters and sisters 
live pure, chaste, virtuous lives, should keep 
them away from the race track, for it is the 
scene of all kinds of temptations, and its 
effect is demoralizing and brutalizing in the 
highest degree. 



SOME TEMPTATIONS OF CITY LIFE. 197 



Many promising young girls have been led 
astray by smooth-tongued, fascinating strangers 
with whom they have become acquainted on 
the cars, or by u handkerchief flirtations" on 
the streets, or by answering " personal" adver- 
tisements in the newspapers. No young woman 
should ever make the acquaintance of any man 
by these means. The men who introduce them- 
selves to girls on the cars, who wave handker- 
chiefs at them in the streets, who insert "per- 
sonal " advertisements in the newspapers, 
mean evil and nothing but evil. No young 
woman, who desires to retain her chastity, her 
virtue, her self-respect, will notice them for a 
moment. Thousands of miserable outcasts have 
been brought down to their present level, be- 
cause when thoughtless maidens, perhaps inno- 
cent school girls, they engaged in street flirta- 
tions, or opened correspondence with strangers 
who advertised in the newspapers. Let a 
young woman be observed using her handker- 
chief in a street flirtation, and her reputation 
will never again be what it has been. Her 
name will not be spoken by the young men and 



198 



SAVE THE GIRLS, 



boys 64 about town " with respect, but it will 
become the subject of jest and ribaldry. 

All the temptations I have spoken of in this 
chapter are snares laid by wicked men for 
the purpose of entrapping innocent young girls. 
They should shun these pitfalls as they would 
the serpent's bite, and parents, who desire to 
save their daughters from a fate which is worse 
than death, should endeavor, by every means 
in their power, to keep them from falling into 
the traps thus cunningly devised for them. 



THE LIFE OF A FALLEN QUEEN* 199 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE LIFE OF A FALLEN QUEEN — FROM A PAL- 
ACE TO AN ALLEY, AND THEN TO AN INSANE 
ASYLUM. 

Of all human beings* the professional prosti- 
tute is certainly the most miserable and 
wretched. Her life is a living death, whose 
horrors it would require an abler pen than 
mine to portray. Whether she be the inmate 
of the gilded palace of sin, with its rich Orien- 
tal carpets, its luxurious tapestries and uphol- 
stery, its frescoed walls and ceilings, its costly 
chandeliers, and stately mirrors and ravishing 
pictures ; or whether, in an humbler abode, she 
sells her soul and body for paltry pelf, and sins 
and suffers amidst the accompaniments of pen- 
ury and want ; or whether, in the last stages of 
her hopeless existence, even the miserable 
boon of this humble abode is denied her, and 



200 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



she wanders up and down the streets and alleys 
in rags and hunger, craving food and drink, or 
the stupefying drugs with which she is wont to 
dull her whetted senses and bring rest to 
her jaded form ; whether in the prison cell or 
the mad house, or shuddering upon the bank of 
the deep, cold river, into which she is about to 
make the final plunge, the fallen woman is the 
most wretched, the most miserable, the most 
degraded of all God's creatures. Her home (if 
she has one) is a charnel house, full of woe ; her 
body is racked with the pains and the torments 
which are as sure to follow a life of dissipation 
and debauchery as night is to succeed day; her 
conscience, long blunted, and warped and 
seared by her life of degradation, is occasionally 
awakened to torture her with its reproache^ 
and embitter her life with premonitions of the 
terrible eternity of blackness and woe toward 
which she is rapidly and surely drifting; her 
mind is filled with remorse over her past life 
and a horrible dread of the future. Hating 
herself, she is loathed and despised by others. 
Most women, after they have chosen a 



THE LIFE OF A FALLEN QUEEN. 201 

vicious life, fall to even a lower depth than is 
ever reached by the most degraded men. They 
plunge into the wildest excesses, are guilty of 
the most terrible blasphemy and obscenity; 
pride themselves on their shocking wantonness 
and recklessness, which are ofttimes exhibited 
with a brazenness and bravado that make even 
the most hardened and depraved of their male 
associates shudder. 

After a woman has crossed the line, she in 
a majority of instances cherishes for a time 
the hope of reform, and keeps herself within 
some limits of outward decency and decorum.. 
So long as that hope remains, she is careful to 
stoop no lower than compelled to by her dread- 
ful calling; but let that hope be once taken 
away, let her once imbibe the idea that there 
is no chance for her in this life, and no sal- 
vation for her in the life to come, and she 
throws aside all restraint and plunges as deep 
into the vortex of vice and shame as it is pos- 
sible for a human being to go. It is said by 
those who have made the most patient and 
thorough investigations into the social evil in 



202 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



our large cities, that, in most instances, the 
women who reach the very lowest stages of 
depravity are those who have fallen from the 
highest pinnacle of modesty and virtue. The 
reason for this is obvious. The women who 
have been reared in an atmosphere of vice and 
profligacy, enter upon their wretched careers at 
an early age, when they are already so cal- 
loused to sin that they escape those awful re- 
proaches of conscience, those terrible pangs of 
remorse, those harrowing recollections of the 
past, which crowd the brains of those who 
have enjoyed the happiness of a pure and 
refined home, who have possessed the love of 
father and mother, of brother and sister, who 
have known and experienced the sweet de- 
lights of a life of modesty and chastity, and 
the surroundings of refinement, affection and 
religion. Hence, the latter, when once con- 
vinced that their cases are hopeless, try to hush 
their consciences and drown their sorrows by 
delving into a mad whirlpool of revelry and 
dissipation. They seek relief from their tor- 
turing thoughts and lacerating recollections of 



THE LIFE OF A FALLEN QUEEN. 203 

the past in the bottle. When the bottle fails, 
morphine and opium are brought into requisi- 
tion, until at last their constitutions, hopelessly 
shattered by the severe strain put upon them 
by their heated, feverish, unnatural lives, suc- 
cumb, and (they become inmates of a mad- 
house or a hospital, and ere long fill a nameless 
and dishonored grave. Or if, perchance, life 
survives health and reason, they themselves 
seek the solace of the tomb, and with poison 
or a pistol, end their terrible careers. Or may- 
hap the dark, silent waters of some great river 
receive their wasted bodies and blot out the 
lives that nature had intended for ornaments to 
society and honors to tkeir sex. 

The average life of a fallen woman is but 
seven years ; but what an eternity of woe and 
wretchedness is not comprised within them ? 
The elegant houses, the costly dresses, the 
splendid carriages, the fragrant wines in which 
the most fortunate of these women revel for a 
year or two, are only so many reminders of 
their degradation, so many witnesses to their 
loss of everything that makes life precious to 



204 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



a woman. The assumed enjoyments and pleas- 
ures of these creatures, which have dazzled 
and misled so many young people of both sexes, 
are the reverse of real. They seek self-forget- 
fulness at the theater, on the race-track, and at 
other resorts much frequented by their kind ; 
but the oblivion which they crave never comes 
in this world, save it is brought by the wine- 
cup or the narcotic. 

One day, as I was passing along a Chicago 
street, I overheard two young girls, modest 
and ladylike in appearance, discussing the 
handsome dress and splendid carriage of a 
"queen of the demi-monde," who was just 
passing by. One of the girls, thoughtless and 
frivolous, acfually envied the outcast in her 
velvets and diamonds, and lamented that she, 
too, could not enjoy such luxury without work. 
Alas, poor, ignorant girl ! You knew not what 
you said. Better, a thousand times better, that 
you be clothed in rags all the days of your 
life; that you toil for a beggarly pittance until 
life shall end ; better, a thousand times better, 
that you do all this, than that you purchase 



THE LIFE OE A FALLEK QUEEN. 207 



diamonds and velvets and carriages at the 
fearful price paid by the lost woman whom 
you have just been envying. 

The horrors of the house of shame can 
only be hinted at in such a work as mine. 
Within those walls, are enacted scenes which 
can not be described, or even imagined, but 
which prove to what depths of bestiality and 
degradation lost human nature can sink. 

The story of Blanche Bennett, which has 
been told in nearly every newspaper in the 
country, is a strikingly correct picture of the 
lives of many, many thousands of the fallen 
sisterhood. 

Blanche Bennett, like so many of her class, 
is now waiting the end, an inmate of an insane 
hospital. She was found recently in a St. Louis 
alley, surrounded by negroes, and to the 
policeman who deemed it his duty to remove 
her to a place of safety, she said that her name 
was Mary Miraculous. No one could have 
recognized in the wretchedly clad, unwashed, 
stolid, stupid-looking maniac in her prison cell, 
the young woman who, ten* years ago, was a 



208 



SAVE THE GIBLS. 



belle in Cincinnati. Her father was known as 
the prince of insurance men ; was reputed to 
be worth $1,000,000, and lived with his family 
in Clifton, the world-famed suburb of the 
Queen City. The fetes given at Bennett 
palace were events to be remembered for years. 
The father dearly loved the girl and spared no 
expense upon her education, sending her to a 
fashionable convent, from which she emerged 
a highly finished young woman. She was an 
expert French scholar, a fine singer, of very 
pleasing address, and the life of the social 
gatherings at her father's palace. 

Cincinnati was startled one morning by a 
rare scandal. Blanche Bennett had eloped 
with a young man named Frazier, who was pen- 
niless and without valuable social connection. 

The young couple went to Chicago. They 
did not live happily, and in less than three 
months Chicago was regaled with the racy 
details of a divorce suit. Blanche was very 
pretty at this time, and after the divorce was 
obtained she found no difficulty in securing a 
large number of sympathizing male friends. 



THE LIFE OF A FALLEN QUEEN. 209 

She drifted to St. Louis when in the very 
heyday of her womanhood, and became at 
once the sensation in the world in which 
she chose to move. 

A well-known saloon-keeper, in that city, 
took her from a house of ill-fame and sup- 
ported her in princely style for a long time. 
But her false and feeble nature led her to be 
untrue to this man, and she became the mis- 
tress of a young man of fortune and sporting 
proclivities. At this period in her life she 
began to drink heavily and to take morphine. 
Her mind, one of the brightest of the bright, 
became unsteady, and she attempted suicide 
one day. Her friend had her removed to the 
insane asylum. When released, she made her 
way straight to this young man, and, after 
making an attempt upon his life, shot herself 
in the breast in his presence. After that her 
decline was rapid. Her mind grew cloudier 
day by day. Her wardrobe, once worthy of a 
princess, was replaced by the cast-off cloth- 
ing of negroes, and she has walked through 
the street of St. Louis the most miserable and 



210 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



pitiable of wrecks. People who knew her 
years ago have passed her on the street with- 
out dreaming of her identity. Shortly after 
her elopement her father met with financial 
reverses, and was utterly ruined. Then the 
world openly talked about what it had sus- 
pected for a long time, and that was that the 
mother of the girl, a glorious-looking blonde, 
was untrue to her husband, and had been long 
carrying on a liaison with a celebrated minstrel 
performer. The family dropped out of Cin- 
cinnati history. The mother located in Chicago 
and openly went to the bad. A son, quite a 
young man, of great promise, became the com- 
panion of dissolute characters, and in 1876, 
was locked up in jail for stealing the clothing 
of a friend who had given him shelter, and was 
not permitted to attend the funeral of his 
mother who was buried at the expense of the 
women of the town. The gray-haired, broken- 
hearted father is now occupying a minor 
position in connection with the Western agency 
of a great insurance company, which he once 
fairly controlled, 



THE LIFE OF A FALLEN" QUEEN. 211 



A sadder story than the above was never 
put in type. And yet there are thousands of 
" Blanche Bennetts " throughout the land, who 
have fallen from the high position of queens of 
society to become creatures of the gutter and 
the street. 

In James W. Watson's familiar poem, 

" Beautiful Snow," are three stanzas which are 

supposed to be uttered by such an one as poor 

Blanche Bennett : 

Once I was pure as the snow— but I fell ; 
Fell, like the snowflakes from heaven— to hell ; 
Fell, to he tramped as the filth of the street ; 
Fell, to be scoffed, to be spit on, and beat. 
Pleading, 

Cursing, 

Dreading to die, 
Selling my soul to whoever would buy, 
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread, 
Hating the living and fearing the dead. 
Merciful God ! have I fallen so low ? 
And yet I was once like this beautiful snow. 

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow, 
With an eye like its crystals, a heart like its glow ; 
Once I was loved for my innocent grace — 
Flattered and sought for the charms of my face. 
Father, 

Mother, 

Sisters all, 
God, and myself, I have lost by my fall. 



212 



SAVE THE GIRLS, 



The veriest wretch thaf goes shivering by- 
Will take a wide sweep, lest I wander too nigh ; 
For all that is on or about me, I know 
There is nothing thatfs pure but the beautiful snow. 

How strange it should be that this beautiful snow 
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go 1 
How strange it would be, when the night comes again, 
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain. 
Fainting, 

Freezing, 

Dying alone, 
Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan 
To be heard in the crash of the crazy town, 
Gone mad in its joy at the snow's coming down ; 
To lie and to die in my terrible woe, 
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow. 

Surely there is not one redeeming feature 
in the life of a courtesan from the moment she 
commits her first sin, until the grave receives 
her wasted form; not one moment that the 
mind delights to linger upon ; not one hour that 
the wretched creature, as she is standing upon 
the banks of the river, preparing to seek rest in 
a watery grave, can look back upon with satis- 
faction or contentment. Ah, if she has griev- 
ously sinned, so has she bitterly suffered, and I 
can not close this chapter better than by quot- 
ing Tom Hood's immortal poem, " The Bridge 



THE LIFE OF A FALLEN QUEEN. 213 



of Sighs," the most touching, pathetic and 
powerful appeal to the world for charity to the 
lost sisterhood, ever penned by man : 

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 

"Drowned! Drowned!"— Hamlet. 
One more unfortunate, 

Weary of breath, 
Rashly importunate, 

Gone to her death. 

Take her up tenderly, 

Lift her with care, 
Fashioned so slenderly, 

Young, and so fair. 

Look at her garments, 
Clinging like cerements, 
Whilst the wave constantly 

Drips from her clothing. 
Take her up instantly, 

Loving, not loathing. 

Touch her not scornfully, 
Think of her mournfully, 
Gently and humanly— 

Not of the stains of her; 

All that remains of her 
Now is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny, 
Rash and undutiful ; 

Past all dishonor, 

Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



Still, for all slips of hers— 

One of Eve's family — 
Wipe those poor lips of hers, 

Oozing so clammily ; 
Loop up her tresses, 

Escaped from the comb — 
Her fair auburn tresses — 
Whilst wonderment guesses 

Where was her home ? 

Who was her father ? 

Who was her mother? 

Had she a sister ? 

Had she a brother? 
Or wa3 there a dearer one 
Still, and a nearer one 

Yet, than all other ? 

Alas, for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 
Under the sun ! 

O, it was pitiful ! 

Wear a whole city full, 
Home she had none. 

Sisterly, brotherly, 

Fatherly, motherly 

Feelings had changed— 
Love, by harsh evidence, 
Thrown from its eminence ; 
Even God's providence 

Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 
So far in the river, 
With many a light 



THE LIFE OF A FALLEN QUEEN. 



From window and casement, 
From garret to basement, 
She stood, with amazement, 
Houseless by night. 

The bleak wind of March 
Made her tremble and shiver ; 

But not the dark arch, 
Or the black flowing river; 

Mad from life's history, 

Glad to death's mystery, 

Swift to be hurled— 
Anywhere, anywhere 

Out of the world. 

In she plunged boldly— 
No matter how coldly 
The rough river ran — 

Over the brink of it ! 

Picture it— think of it! 
Dissolute man! 

Lave in it, drink of it 
Then, if you can- 
Take her up tenderly, 

Lift her with care! 
Fashioned so slenderly, 

Young, and so fair ! 

Ere her limbs, frigidly, 
Stiffen too rigidly, 
Decently, kindly, 

Smooth and compose them ; 

And her eyes, close them, 
Staring so blindly ! 
Dreadfully staring 



SAVE THE GIKLS. 



Through muddy impurity, 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 

Fixed on futurity. 

Perishing gloomily, 

Spurned by contumely, 

Cold inhumanity, 

Burning insanity, 

Into her rest ! 
Cross her hands humbly, 
As if praying dumbly, 

Over her breast ! 

Owning her weakness, 

Her evil behavior, 
And leaving, with meekness, 

Her sins to her Savior, 



SOCIETY BUYING A SLAVE. 



217 



CHAPTER VIII. 

SOCIETY BUYING A SLAVE — THE FATE OF THE 
OUTCAST — FASHIONABLE IMMORALITY — 
MARITAL INFIDELITY — " A HARP FOR THE 
MAGDALENS." 

Among the characters in Victor Hugo's 
great novel, " Les Miserables," is a poor out- 
cast named Fantine, who was driven by 
poverty and suffering to sell herself to a life 
of shame. Hugo's picture of her hapless con- 
dition is most thrilling, and his indictment of 
society for her ruin is scathing. I quote : 

" What is this story of Fantine ? It is so- 
ciety buying a slave. 

" Of whom ? Of misery, of hunger, of 
cold, of isolation, of abandonment, of privation. 
Sorrowful bargain ! A soul for a morsel of 
bread. Misery offers, society accepts. 

" The holy law of Jesus Christ governs our 

10 



218 



fc*AVE THE GIRLS. 



civilization, but it does not yet penetrate it ; 
we say that slavery has disappeared from Euro- 
pean civilization. This is an error. Slavery 
exists continually; but it weighs now only 
upon woman, and it is called prostitution. 

" It weighs upon woman, that is to say, 
upon weakness, upon beauty, upon maternity. 
This is not one of the least reproaches upon 
man. 

^ At the point of this painful drama to 
which we have arrived, nothing any longer re- 
mains to Fantine of what she was formerly. 
She has become marble in becoming base. 
Whoever comes in contact with her is chilled. 
She passes, she endures you, and she ignores 
you ; she has a harsh and dishonored face. 
Life and social order have said their last word 
to her, all that can happen to her has happened. 
She has felt all, endured all, experienced all, 
suffered all, lost all, wept all.. She is resigned, 
with that resignation which resembles indif- 
ference, as death resembles sleep. She no 
longer shuns anything. She no longer fears 
anything. Fall upon her all the clouds, *nd 



SOCIETY BUYING A SLAVE. 219 



roll over her all the ocean ! What matters it 
to her ? The sponge is saturated, 

" She thinks so, at least, but it is a mistake 
to imagine that one has drained the cup of fate, 
or sounded the depths of any human contin- 
gency. 

66 Alas ! what are all these destinies thus 
confusedly driven onward ? Whither are they 
going ? Wherefore are they so ? 

" He who knows that sees through all sha- 
dows. 

" He is alone. His name is God." 

Victor Hugo presents the woman of sin 
to us in a state of utter and abject despair. 
She is indifferent as to what this world or 
the next has in store for her ; for, in Hugo's 
expressive words, "All that can happen to 
her has happened." Such, at least, is her be- 
lief, and it is a belief which society has im- 
pressed upon her mind by its treatment of her. 
Public sentiment has regarded her as hope- 
lessly degraded, and irreclaimably lost, and 
because it has so regarded her, she has, per- 
haps, become so in reality. But had there 



220 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



been a different tone of public feeling, an ar- 
dent belief in the possibility of her reformation 
and salvation, her case might have been, and 
probably would have been, more hopeful. So- 
ciety said to Fantine, " Starve or sin." She 
sinned, and then society said, "You have 
sinned. You have crossed the line of virtue. 
You have deliberately enrolled yourself among 
the votaries of vice. You have chosen to sub- 
sist upon the wages of shame. Henceforward 
and for ever you are an outcast, your portion is 
naught but misery in this world as well as in 
the world to come. There is no hope for you 
in this life, none in the life which is beyond the 
tomb." 

That this is the attitude of society, this the 
tone of public sentiment, toward fallen woman, 
none can truthfully deny. It can only be 
changed by bold, persistent, resolute, unyield- 
ing agitation ; by open and fearless discussion 
by the pulpit, by the press, on the rostrums, in 
books and magazines and tracts. Individual 
effort is what is needed ; and it can accomplish 
a great deal. The great truth, that purity and 



SOCIETY BUYING A SLAVE. 



chastity are as obligatory upon man as upon 
woman, must be kept prominent. The fact 
that the Lord lays His injunctions in regard to 
the sin of lust, equally upon both sexes, must 
be constantly brought to the attention of the 
world. The man who commits adultery is just 
as guilty in the eyes of the Lord, as the woman 
who sins with him (and frequently more so), 
however public sentiment may look at the 
matter. If justice were done in this world, 
every lewd man would be held to the same 
strict accountability that the lewd woman is. 
Society would insist that the groom be as pure 
as the bride ; that the husband be as faithful 
as the wife ; that the man who visits a house 
of shame be just as infamous as the woman 
who dwells there. 

It is a startling fact, and one that may 
well cause us to tremble for the future of our 
country, that the palaces of sin which abound 
in our great cities, and wherein dwell the 
slaves of whom Hugo tells us, are largely 
maintained by men who occupy prominent 
positions in society, in politics, in business, and 



222 



SAVE THE OIBLS. 



in the learned professions. It is notorious that 
^ in our cities and towns, judges, bankers, mer- 
chants, railroad officials, leaders in all depart- 
ments of human effort, the men who direct and 
control the material interests of the country, 
are, many of them, patrons of the frail sisters 
whom they pass upon the street with averted 
gaze, as if fearing contamination if they but 
touched the garments of those fallen creatures. 
It is stated by those who ought to know, that 
more than two-thirds of the patrons of the 
houses of shame in New York and Washington 
are men of family ; husbands and fathers, mid- 
dle-aged and old men, men who are regarded 
by society as bright and shining lights. Truly, 
when those who should be the moral guides of 
the community go astray, when those who 
should aim to spread virtue and purity through 
the land help to maintain the greatest evil of 
the day, it is time that the note of warning be 
sounded from every possible quarter. Immoral 
men make our laws in the halls of Congress 
and in State legislatures; immoral men are 
charged with the execution of them, both in 



SOCIETY BUYING- A SLAVE. 228 

federal and State governments. Men of the 
loosest character are at the head of inany of 
our great corporations, such as banks, railroad 
and steamship companies, etc. Many of our 
merchant princes, our great manufacturers and 
our bonanza kings are notorious for their per- 
sonal profligacy and almost open licentiousness. 
But for the class of .men I have named — the 
men of power, of wealth, of position, of edu- 
cation — two-thirds of our houses of shame 
would be closed from lack of support. If 
these men were true to themselves, faithful to 
the great trusts reposed in them, loyal to their 
wives, dutiful towards their families, mindful 
of their religious and moral obligations, the 
number of " society's slaves " would be reduced 
at least one-half. 

It is a great error, although a common one, 
to suppose that the social evil is supported 
mainly by the so-called criminal classes, or by 
those who make no pretensions to decency or 
respectability. Such is not the case. On 
the contrary, it is as I have said, that the 
men to whom we should naturally look for 



224 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



better things are the main support and depen- 
dence of the vast army of fallen women, whose 
sad condition has excited our commisera- 
tion. 

In this connection I feel that a word should 
be said touching the shameful loosening of 
marital obligations in so-called fashionable 
society, not only in this country, but in Eng- 
land and in the countries of continental 
Europe. Royalty itself has set a frightful 
example of open licentiousness by husbands 
and fathers ; and the nobility has not been 
slow to imitate the example of those who 
hover near the throne. 

The story of broken vows, of violated 
pledges, of dishonored promises, made at the 
marriage altar, has been told repeatedly in the 
divorce courts, both of the United States and 
Europe. Among those who have figured in 
these trials are the leaders in society; those 
who set the fashions for the rest of the world 
to follow ; those whose high positions ought to 
make them even more careful than others of 
lower rank in complying with the requirements 



SOCIETY BUYING A SLAVE. 225 



of purity and morality. It is unnecessary for 
me to refer by name to the scandal trials, 
whose details have filled the columns of the 
greatest daily papers in the world, or to 
expand upon the shocking revelations of mar- 
ital infidelity, of gross licentiousness, of unre-* 
strained passion, made in these trials. They 
tell their own story and carry their own moral. 
And yet it is fair to conclude that where 
one case of married unfaithfulness is thus 
brought before the world, scores remain 
secrets in the bosoms of the guilty persons. 
Licentiousness has ruined many of the greatest 
empires and republics in the world's history ; 
and we may well tremble for the future of our 
beloved country when we reflect upon the 
thinly disguised profligacy which prevails 
among the wealthy and fashionable of our 
great cities. 

As to the unfaithful husbands among this 
class, their name is legion ; and there is 
every reason to believe that the number of 
false wives is very much larger than we have 

any conception of. Truly it is a frightful 
P 



226 



SAVE THE GIRLS, 



thing to think of, and demands the earnest, 
thoughtful attention of all whowish to see the 
world better and purer. 

There is not a city or town in the country 
which has not its so-called " fashionable scan- 
dals ; " not one in which the improprieties and 
adventures of beautiful and fascinating women 
in what are called the "best circles/' are not 
subjects of public notoriety or matters of quiet 
gossip ; not one in which the names of some 
of society's queens are not sullied with sus- 
picions and tainted with doubts. This sad 
state of affairs is to be ascribed very largely -to 
the popular social amusements and dissipations 
to which I have referred elsewhere. The 
dance, the theater, the wine cup, the race- 
course, the idle frivolity and sensual luxury of 
the watering-places, all have a tendency to 
draw the husband and wife apart, to make 
them depend less and less upon one another, to 
loosen the mutual obligations which should 
bind them together, to render them more and 
more unmindful of their sacred duties. Alas, 
all the lost women are not inmates of houses 



SOCIETY BUYING A SLAVE. 



229 



of shame ; all the erring sisters are not known 
to the world as courtesans. There are many 
women in fashionable society who carry about 
in their bosoms the burden of guilty secrets ; 
many who, despite their pretensions to purity 
and their external surroundings of propriety 
and respectability, are at heart and in fact as 
vile as those upon whom public sentiment has 
fixed the awful brand of shame ; less excus- 
able, too, because, they have sinned without 
any reason, and succumbed to the wiles of the 
libertine, although surrounded by comforts and 
luxuries and all the restraints of home and 
family and friends. There are skeletons in 
many closets which we do not dream of. 
Society, which admits notorious libertines and 
seducers to its parlors and drawing-rooms, 
while it excludes their helpless victims ; society, 
which fosters such immoral amusements as the 
dance and the theater; society, which toler- 
ates the grossest vices in the rich and the 
powerful, is just as much to blame for these 
scandals, for these dishonored homes, for these 
ghastly skeletons as it is for the sin and 



230 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



wretchedness of the helpless slaves of open 
shame. 

All of these things will continue until the 
tone of public sentiment is materially elevated ; 
until the fashionable amusements which are 
now so popular, are wiped out or radically 
changed; until husbands treat their wives 
with the tenderness and affection they accord 
to sweethearts, and look to home and family for 
the peace and happiness they now seek in 
fashionable excitement and dissipation ; until 
the crime of matrimonial infidelity is constantly 
held up to the world in all its hideousness and 
deformity, and the consciences of the devotees 
of fashion are reached. 

Sexual sin is the crying evil of the day. 
Prostitution, open or secret, is sapping the vi- 
tals of our country's 'greatness, undermining 
its power, corrupting its youth, desolating its 
homes, breaking hearts, wrecking souls. Let 
us all, each to the extent of his ability and 
influence, great or small, do what he can to 
diminish this evil ; to raise the tone of society; 
to save lovely maidens from the snares of the 



SOCIETY BUYING A SLAVE. 231 



tempter; to punish the vile men who prey 
upon youth and innocence ; to keep husbands 
and wives faithful and loyal to each other; 
aye, even to take from the street and the 
brothel the depraved outcast, and lead her to 
the Savior, who said to the erring woman of 
Capernaum, " Thy sins, which are many, are 
forgiven." 

I can not conclude this chapter better than 
by publishing a beautiful poem by Winona 
Rivers, of Fort Wayne, Ind, which holds up 
to the daughter of shame bright hope of salva- 
tion: 

HOPE FOR THE FALLEN. 

"If any among ye be without sin, let him cast the first stone." 

I know there's a harp lying low by the river, 

Its sweet beauty dimmed by a Magdalen's tears ; 
She kneels there in sorrow, her frail arms extended ; 

She pleads, but in vain— they turn a deaf ear ; 
She is pleading to tell them the sorrowful story 

Of a pure, perfect love, that knew nothing of sin ; 
A love that might have been any man's glory* 

She shyly and tenderly lavished on him. 

But her sisters pass by her —they scorn her sad story ; 

The harp lying dark by the waters of sin 
May lie there forever; they will not restore it, 

Nor make her dark life what it once would have been 



232 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



Had not the base tempter, with sinister cunning, 
And vile, hellish arts, by pure ( ! ) woman upheld, 

Stole into her Eden and plucked the bright jewel, 
Leaving her to her sorrow, whatever befel. 

But listen, from whence come those sweet strains of 
music 

The vibrating air wafts low where she lies? 
Her tear-bedimmed face she uplifts to the moonlight, 

With one pale, slender hand she shades her dark eyes; 
She looks in on a scene that tills her with hatred,— 

She sees her seducer, the cause of her sin, 
The center of honor, all eager to hear him, 

While wide through the land the earthly harps ring. 

Christian mothers smile on him,— they bring their young 
daughters ; 

In honor they place them upon his right hand, 
While she, the poor victim, left alone in her sorrow,— 

Do you wonder a demon's let loose in the land ? ' 
Then let us remember the words of our Savior, 

Nor scorn her who sits where the dark waters glide ; 
The sweet harp of heaven shall not ring its full num. 
bers, 

Till redeemed, in her whiteness, she stands by His 
side - Winona Rivers. 

Fort Wayne, Allen County \ Ind. 



HOW TO SAVE OUB EBBING SISTEBS. 233 



CHAPTER IX. 

HOW TO SAVE OTJB EBBING SISTEBS — DUTY 
OF THE CHUBCH — WHAT HAS BEEN DONE 
IN THIS FIELD. 

In the preceding chapters I have en- 
deavored, in my feeble way, to point out the 
main causes of the social evil ; to describe the 
manifold temptations by which young girls are 
constantly surrounded, and which result in the 
ruin of so many of them ; to show how society 
is responsible for the existence of so many of 
these temptations, and how unjustly and 
wickedly public sentiment forces girls who 
have taken a single false step, down into the 
mire, and remorselessly keeps them down, 
closing the doors of all honorable avocations 
against them. I have related a number of sad 
stories from real life, each of which points its 
own moral, in connection with the most vital 

10* 



234 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



and important subject upon which I have been 
writing. It is my purpose, in this concluding 
chapter, to make a few suggestions as to the 
duty of Christian people with reference to 
fallen women ; and in relation to all the great 
problems of this most important subject. 

A little over three years ago, I was in the 
pursuit of a wild and reckless career. For 
many years I had been steeped in all kinds of 
vice and debauchery ; I had been a professional 
gambler, engrossed in all the evil practices and 
low amusements which that class of men revel 
in. My life had been for fifteen years a suc- 
cession of hideous orgies and Bacchanalian 
revelries. One night I wandered into a tem- 
perance meeting in the city of my residence. 
Scarcely had I entered the building than I was 
surrounded by young men and women, who 
earnestly implored me to sign the temperance 
pledge. Every one knew my personal char- 
acter and past career ; but, in spite of all that, 
they extended the right hand of fellowship to 
me, welcoming me heartily to the meeting, and 
used every effort to induce me to abandon 



HOW TO SAVE OUB EBBING SISTEBS. 235 

intemperate habits, and join the grand army of 
total abstinence. 

I attended the meetings for several even- 
ings before I concluded to make an effort and 
sign the pledge , I finally took that step and I 
have never regretted it for one moment. In 
another work* I have c told the story in detail ; 
told how I was lifted up and encouraged by 
the temperance people of both sexes, how 
Christian men and women opened theiv doors 
to me, invited me to their homes, and endeav- 
ored, by every means in their power, to sur- 
round me with pure and holy influences and 
keep me in the better paths, which, after long 
wanderings in the highways of sin, I had 
chosen for the rest of my life journey. With 
these surroundings, I was soon led to embrace 
the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and enlist myself 
as an humble follower of the Lamb. 

No words can express my gratitude to those 
noble people who labored so hard to lift me up 
out of the degradation in which I had so long 
been steeped, and place my feet upon the solid 
* lt The Converted Gambler," by MasonLong. 



236 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



rocks of temperance, virtue and religion. I 
shall never cease to bless them, and honor 
them, and pray for God's blessing upon them, 
while I live. I am but one of many men who 
had fallen very low, who have been redeemed 
through such agencies; and the good work 
still goes on. 

But ever since my reformation I have been 
constantly asking of myself: "If fallen men 
can be thus saved, why not fallen women ? If 
men who have for long years been sunken in 
vice and debauchery, who have rioted in the 
blackest and most degrading excesses, who 
have scoffed at religion and sneered at virtue, 
whose consciences seemed to have died within 
them,— if such men can thus be reformed 
and become virtuous, sober, religious, good 
and useful members of society, can nothing be 
done for the wretched women, who, like them, 
have been following a course of profligacy and 
recklessness ? " 

In my humble opinion much, very much 
can be done to save fallen women. I have 
conversed upon this subject with a great many 



HOW TO SAVE OUR ERRING SISTERS. 237 



ministers of the Gospel, and with scarcely an 
exception they agree with me that much can 
be accomplished in this direction, and that the 
church should be alive to its duty. 

In my opinion one of the most important 
things to attempt in this connection is an ele- 
vation of the tone of public sentiment. It is 
as important to save tens of thousands of young 
women, now pure and innocent, from joining 
the ranks of the fallen, as it is to rescue those 
who have already plunged into the vortex. 

How is this to be done ? I answer, " In 
many ways." We must look for the causes 
which lead to prostitution, and if possible de- 
stroy them in their incipiency. We must en- 
deavor to remove the many temptations which 
society now throws about young girls, and 
thus lures them to their ruin. The pulpit 
must thunder against the theater, the wine 
cup, the races, the dance, and the many other 
fashionable amusements of the day, which, 
seductive and fascinating as they may appear 
to the young, yet result in many wrecked and 
blasted lives, many disgraced and deserted 



238 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



homes, many broken hearts, and many lost 
souls. If you would have your daughters 
modest, pure and virtuous, teach them to shun 
these attractive pleasures as they would the 
crawling serpent. So long as these fashionable 
amusements are encouraged, or even tolerated, 
so long will libertines and seducers ply their 
devilish arts with success, and gather in thou- 
sands of fresh victims 5 so long will myriads of 
pure, modest young maidens be tempted across 
the line of virtue into the dwellings of shame ; 
so long will the great procession of disease 
and death move on, leaving woe and desolation 
in its pathway, and sweeping many precious 
souls into an eternity of blackest night. 

A great step can be taken in the way of 
saving young women from ruin, by affording 
avenues of useful and honorable employment 
to all who desire to earn their bread without 
shame. I have pointed out, in this volume, the 
sad fact that a very large proportion of our 
fallen women are made such by poverty. They 
are unable to obtain work, and even if they do 
succeed, in a majority of instances they are 



HOW TO SAVE OUR ERRING SISTERS. 239 

scarcely paid enough to keep body and soul 
together. The sewing girl, toiling twelve or 
fourteen hours out of the twenty-four in a 
close, ill-ventilated room, bending over her 
machine and contracting those fell diseases 
dyspepsia and consumption; the saleswoman, 
standing upon her feet as many hours in each 
day in a crowded store; the factory girl, toil- 
ing the livelong day at arduous work; these 
and many other poor women, working like 
slaves and not earning enough to purchase 
proper food and suitable clothing, turn at last, 
in. despair, to the paths of forbidden sin, and 
exchange starving virtue for feasting vice. 
When the glad day comes that all girls are 
educated with a view to possible dependence 
upon their own resources, and when public 
sentiment will not justify employers in paying 
men what they earn and women only half so 
much; when that day comes one of the great 
fountains of prostitution will be dried up. But 
until that day women in want will look upon 
the full purse of the libertine with envy, and 
will fall. 



240 



SAVE THE GIKLS. 



Of course, so long as we tolerate in men 
what we condemn in women, so long will the 
ranks of vice be filled. When we apply the 
same standard in judging men that we now use 
in judging women, there will be a great purifi- 
cation in our morals. When libertines, seduc- 
ers and adulterers find themselves excluded 
from decent society, debarred from official posi- 
tion, and shunned by the refined and the virtu- 
ous, when pure young maidens demand of their 
would-be husbands as chaste records as they 
themselves possess; when the vows taken at 
the marriage altar are held to be as binding 
upon the man as upon the woman ; when these 
desirable changes are brought about, the domain 
of sexual vice will be handed over to the 
exclusive possession of those who make no 
claims to respectability or decency, and the 
social evil will find itself confined to narrow 
boundaries. I admit that this day seems far 
distant, but each can do something toward 
hastening it. The churches can do much, 
and I know that, as a rule, our clergy- 
men would gladly take the lead if their 



HOW TO SAVE OUR ERRING SISTERS. 241 

hands were not shackled by public senti- 
ment. 

I have just touched upon the various means 
which may be adopted to save young women 
from becoming prostitutes ; now let us consider 
how we may reach those who* have already 
fallen. I have conversed with a number of 
clergymen upon this subject, and they all seem 
anxious to do what they can in this direction ; 
but they complain that they can not get the 
sympathy and support of their congregations. 
Those who are the most earnest and active in 
their efforts to save fallen men, who are ever 
ready to give to the most besotted drunkard 
the right hand of fellowship, who are zealous 
in every good work but this, shrug their 
shoulders and stand aloof when the claims of 
the fallen sisterhood are presented to their 
attention. With very few exceptions, it is 
almost impossible to interest women in their 
unfortunate sisters. Women who will use 
every effort to lift the drunkard out of the 
gutter, and to reform the most vicious and des- 
perate of men,— women who are foremost in 
Q ii 



242 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



every charity,— seem to have little compassion 
upon their wretched sisters. If a clergyman 
tries to do anything for these poor outcasts, 
his motives are ofttimes impugned, his char- 
acter is questioned, and not seldom he finds his 
usefulness in other fields of labor at an end. 
Women generally seem to have unlimited con- 
fidence in the success of efforts to save fallen 
men, but none at all in' dnj project for the 
elevation of the fallen of their own sex. They 
proverbially say that it is no use to try ; that 
the courtesans of the city are hopelessly 
degraded, and that there is nothing to be done 
but let them drift on to destruction. So long 
as this spirit is alive among the female mem- 
bers of our churches, so long will our ministers 
find it very difficult to accomplish much in 
trying to save fallen women. In any good 
work the clergyman must have not only the 
sympathy, but the prayers, the cordial support, 
the active co-operation of his flock ; but when 
instead of these he meets with sneers, and 
shrugs, and covert opposition, and sly innuen- 
does and predictions of failure, he can of course 



HOW TO SAVE OUR ERRING SISTERS. 243 

accomplish little. In my conversation and cor- 
respondence with ministers, I have found them, 
almost without exception, alive to the great 
importance of this field of labor ; fully con- 
scious that it is being neglected, and exceed- 
ingly anxious to do something. Many of them 
have tried to awaken the sensibilities of their 
congregations in this matter, but their success 
has not been up to the measure of their 
expectations. A great many of them have 
undertaken systematic labors among the women 
of shame, with varying success. Most of them 
report that there are many difficulties to over- 
come, and so there are ; but with faith and 
prayer and steady, persevering work these 
obstacles can be removed. All who have done 
work among this unfortunate class, report that 
they find some women so utterly degraded, so 
completely abandoned to all sense of decency, 
so entirely reckless as to be, apparently, beyond 
the reach of any human agency. But these 
are not in the majority. In most of the fallen 
women something is found which can be 
appealed to ; some tender chord in their bos- 



244 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



oms which can be touched ; some sweet recol- 
lection of youth and home which can be 
revived ; some memory of a father or a mother, 
of a sister or brother, or perchance of " a dearer 
one still and a nearer one yet " which may be 
called up ; some deep yearning after modesty 
and virtue, some inherent aspiration for a 
better life, some hope of salvation in the future 
which may be resuscitated. Many times the 
■impressions thus produced may prove transi- 
tory and fade away, but the tender chord has 
been touched, the better feelings have been 
once more aroused, and there is something to 
work on. In such cases perseverance will be 
almost sure to bring a glorious reward, and the 
woman in whom so much remains that is good, 
may be saved from her life of ignominy. 

Those who have labored in this vineyard 
are surprised at many things they learn of the 
secret lives of fallen women. In a majority of 
instances these unfortunate beings have many 
noble traits of character, which shine out to 
especial advantage in contrast with their reck- 
less and dissolute lives. Very frequently they 



HOW TO SAVE OUR ERRING- SISTERS. 245 

have children whom they dearly love, and 
whom they are educating at schools and col- 
leges and bringing them up in ignorance of 
their mother's shame or even of her identity. 
These women keep aloof from their children, 
whom they would give all their treasures to 
see, in order that those loved ones may enter 
the world without any idea of their origin. 
Not a few young men and young women are to- 
day attending our best educational institutions, 
whose mothers (whom they believe to be dead) 
are inmates of houses of sin in our large cities. 

In a great many cases fallen women de- 
vote much of their earnings to the support of 
indigent relatives, perhaps of parents, or sis- 
ters, or brothers, and not infrequently of more 
distant relatives. In other ways these fallen 
creatures show generosity and charity. Of 
course these things do not in the least excuse 
their manner of life, but they show that there 
is something of good left in them, some foun- 
dation for better things, some encouragement 
for those who seek to elevate them morally 
and socially. 



246 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



A great many instances might be related of 
women who have been lifted from the lowest 
depths, taken out of the very slums, as it were, 
and have become active, consistent Christians 
and useful members of society. 

The great evangelist, Moody, who has la- 
bored so much among this unfortunate class in 
our large cities, in a sermon to erring women, 
related the following incident : 

At one of my meetings in Philadelphia, a 
fallen woman came into the inquiry room and 
threw herself down on the floor. The Christ- 
ian helpers talked and talked to her, but could 
get nothing out of her ; they couldn't do a 
thing with her. The Hon. Geo. H. Stuart 
came to me and said: ; We wish you would 
come, we don't know what to make of her.' 
Sheggras weeping bitterly, and as far off as I 
was, xrcould hear her sobs all over the room. 
So I went and said : 4 What is the trouble ? ' 
At last she spoke, and the bitterness of her 
despairing voice went to my heart. 6 1 have 
fallen from everything pure, and God can not 
save me ; there is no hope.' I told her ten- 



CHILDHOOD'S INNOCENCE, 



HOW TO SAVES otjb ebbihg sisters. 249 

derly that God could still lift her up and save 
her. I said : 4 Are you only just willing to be 
forgiven ? A merciful Father is waiting and 
longing to pardon.' She said at last, she could 
not abandon her course, as no one would give 
her a home. But that difficulty was got 
around by my assuring her kind friends would 
provide for her; and then she yielded, and 
that same day was given a pleasant place in 
the home of a Presbyterian minister. But for 
forty-eight hours after entering her new home 
that poor reclaimed woman cried, day and 
night ; and we went for her mother, and on 
hearing her story she clasped her hands and 
cried : 

" f Has my daughter really repented ? Thank 
God for His mercy ; my heart has just been 
breaking. I've prayed so long for her without 
result ; take me to her.' And that reformed 
daughter of sin has lived consistently ever 
since, and when I last was in Philadelphia, she 
was one of the most esteemed members in that 
Presbyterian church." 

In one of the thriving towns of northern 



250 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



Indiana, two or three years since, a large num- 
ber were savingly converted, and added to the 
Baptist church of that place, the pastor of 
which was a most ardent and zealous Christian 
worker. 

Several fallen men were brought into the 
fold, and a great many of the world's people 
were blessed with a change of heart. Among 
those who attended the meetings and exhibited 
the deepest interest, were two women of the 
town. They were present at every meeting 
and seemed greatly impressed. 'The pastor, 
noticing their constant presence at the services 
and their evident earnestness, but knowing 
nothing of their characters and past history, 
did his utmost to bring them into the fold. 
Soon he found that he was severely censured 
by many of his congregation, because of the no- 
toriety these women had attained. But he was 
satisfied that they were under conviction, that 
they had repented, in sackcloth and ashes, of 
their sins, and were yearning to lead better and 
purer lives in the future. He felt it his duty 
to do what lay in his power to assist them, and 



HOW TO SAVE OUR ERRING SISTERS. 251 

hence he labored with all his zeal fox their con- 
version. The result was all, and even more 
than he could hope for. The fallen sisters 
made a public profession of Christ, and in spite 
of the lack of confidence on the part of a num- 
ber of the church members, were admitted to 
the church. They met with little recognition 
or encouragement, but so pure, consistent and 
blameless have been their lives, that they have 
now forced the respect and confidence even of 
those who sneered and scoffed at them when they 
first attended the revival meetings. The pas- 
tor informed me that he had among his flock no 
more zealous, earnest and active Christian than 
one of these women, who so long traveled in 
the forbidden paths of sinful pleasure, and 
seemed to all external appearances to be hope- 
lessly lost, 

A clergyman of the M. E. church told me 
of an incident somewhat similar to the above, 
which occurred during his pastoral experience. 
He was conducting a series of protracted meet- 
ings. A feeling of deep religious interest per- 
vaded the community, and a rich harvest of 



252 



SAVE THE GIBLS, 



souls was being reaped for Christ. At one of 
the meetings, several women of bad reputation 
entered the church and took their seats. Dur- 
ing the exercises of the evening they were 
greatly affected, and were evidently under deep 
conviction. They wept freely, and seemed to 
feel a profound sense of their lost condition. 
After the preaching it was customary at these 
meetings for the pastor to invite all who were 
desirous of the prayers of God's people to go 
forward to the mourner's bench. On the even- 
ing in question he was requested by several 
prominent members of his church not to make 
the usual announcement, "for if you do," they 
said, "those women will come forward, and 
will want to joint our church. This will cause 
a great scandal." The minister very promptly 
told these "prominent members" that salva- 
tion was open to all, even to fallen women, and 
that they were not the kind of soldiers that are 
needed in the army of the Lord. The fallen 
sisters went to the mourner's bench, and asked 
for the prayers of God's people. These prayers 
were answered, and the repentant courtesans 



HOW TO SAVE OUR ERRING SISTERS. 253 

were admitted to the church, and are still use- 
ful and consistent members thereof. 

An humble but devout member of one of 
the leading churches of Fort Wayne was, but 
five years ago, one of the most vile and de- 
graded of women. Ever since she was admit- 
ted to the church she has given every evidence 
of sincere, heartfelt repentance, and her life 
has been as pure and blameless as the most ex- 
acting critic could wish. 

I might multiply these instances almost in- 
definitely, but * enough has been related to 
show that the vilest harlot of the streets is not 
beyond the reach of Divine Grace. If our 
churches would but sustain the clergymen in 
their efforts to reach this most miserable and 
unfortunate class, very many of them would 
be saved from lives of degradation, and become 
useful members of society. The great trouble 
seems to be that, having once determined to 
reform and to lead better and purer lives, 
they receive so little encouragement from those 
who should lend them helping hands. On 
the contrary they are beset with obstacles at 



254 



SAVE THE GIRLS, 



every step, and are discouraged and disheart- 
ened by the sneers, the jibes and the unkind 
predictions, uttered by those whose solemn 
duty it is to aid these erring ones in every 
possible way. 

Away off in Jerusalem, nearly nineteen 
hundred years ago, our Savior one day " sat 
at meat" in the house of Simon, a wealthy 
Pharisee. As He entered this house He was 
followed by a sinful woman of the town. And 
in her hands she carried " an alabaster box of 
ointment, and stood at His feet behind Him, 
weeping, and began to wash His feet with her 
tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her 
head, and kissed His feet, and anointed 
them with the ointment." Of course, the 
Pharisees, then as now, marveled greatly that 
the Savior would allow a poor, lost woman 
to come near Him. But He rebuked them, 
and, after one of His beautiful parables, 
said: 

" Simon, seest thou this woman? I en- 
tered into thy house, thou gavest me no water 



HOW TO SAVE OUR ERRING SISTERS. 255 

for my feet ; but she hath washed my feet 
with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of 
her head. 

" Thou gavest me no kiss ; but this woman, 
since the time I came in, hath not ceased to 
kiss my feet. 

" Mine head with oil thou didst not anoint ; 
but this woman hath anointed my feet with 
ointment. 

u Wherefore, I say unto thee, her sins, 
which are many, are forgiven; for she loved 
much; but to whom little is forgiven, the same 
loveth little. 

" And He said unto her, 'Thy sins are 
forgiven ; Thy faith hath saved thee ; go in 
peace.' " 

One day while the Savior was teaching in 
the temple on the Mount of Olives, the Scribes 
and Pharisees brought before Him a woman 
who had been taken in adultery, caught in the 
very act, there to receive the sentence which 
the Jewish law provided for fallen women : 
that she be stoned to death. The man who 



256 



SAVE THE GIRLS. 



sinned with the woman was not taken. He 
was allowed to escape, and the poor victim of 
his passions was left to bear all the burden, 
all the shame, all the punishment. There she 
stood in the Temple, before the vast multitude 
who were listening to the Lord's preaching, 
awaiting her doom. In all that great crowd 
there was no one to speak a word for the 
adulteress ; none to extend a kindly hand to- 
wards her ; none to demand that her infamy 
be shared by the man who had seduced her. 
The crowd clamored for the stoning of the 
woman, but Jesus uttered those memorable 
words : " He that is without sin among you, 
let him first cast a stone at her." But the 
stone wasn't thrown. One by one those who 
had been clamoring for the fallen woman's 
blood, slunk away, rebuked by their own con- 
sciences. " And when Jesus lifted up His eyes, 
He saw the woman standing before him all 
alone. And He said : 

" < Woman, where are those thine accusers? 
Hath no man condemned thee ? ? 



HOW TO SAVE OUR ERRING SISTERS. 257 



"She said, 4 No man, Lord.' 
, " And Jesus said unto her ; 6 Neither do I 
condemn thee ; go and sin no more.' It was 
not the business of Christ to take the law into 
His own hands and enforce it ; that was the 
duty of the Jewish magistrate ; hence he 
said : " Neither do I condemn thee ; go and 
sin no more." 

Reader, there are thousands of fallen 
women all over the land who can be saved, if 
but the proper effort is made. There are 
thousands of pure women who can be pre- 
served from the awful fate to which they are 
hastening, if we but stretch forth our hands. 
Shall we try ? Or shall we continue to open 
our doors to the seducers and the libertines, 
and drive out their wronged, helpless victims to 
shame and infamy ? Shall we still honor those 
vices in men which we loathe in women ? 
Shall we go into the highways and byways, 
pick the fallen men out of the gutters and 
leave the fallen women to perish ? Shall we 

forget that most of these miserable outcasts, 
R ii* 



258 



SAVE THE GIELS. 



whose wrecked womanhood awakens our dis- 
gust, were made what they are by the diabol- 
ical machinations of wicked men ? God pity 
them ; God help them to rise out of the mire 
in which they are so deeply sunken, and turn 
their faces heavenward. 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR: 



THE 

Converted Gambler 

BEING A 

Life of Mason Long, written by Himself. 

PRICE, - - $i.S°- 

Copies can be obtained by addressing the Author at Fort Wayne, Ind. 



This interesting little book has had a large sale. The first 
edition of 5,000 copies has been exhausted and a new edition 
is now in press It describes the author's career as a 
" white s! ave : " as a soldier ; as the manager of a minstrel 
troupe and proprietor of a variety theater ; as a professional 
gambler ; as a turfman ; as a drunkard ; his conversion to the 
Murphy cause ; signing the pledge ; public profession of faith 
in the gospel, etc., etc. 

[From the Fort Wayne (Ind.) News.] 
The story is told in plain, straightforward language, just 
as Mace talks, without any effort at flowery embellishment. 
The book reads like a romance. It is full of thrilling 
episodes and abounds in interesting incidents. It is a valuable 
acquisition to any library ; for it deals with a hitherto un- 
written subject, in that it is a complete expose, of the methods 
and tricks by which gamblers rope in and fleece their victims. 
It must be of incalculable value to the youth of our country, 
since it warns them of the dangers of gambling, and frequent- 
ing variety hells. 

[From the Lafayette (Ind.) Courier.] 
It is a very graphic account of the author's life and exper- 
ience. The book abounds in thrilling incidents in the life of 



a gambler and sport, and words of advices, and warning to 
young men. It is well worthy perusal. 

[From the Warsaw (Ind.) Republican.] 
It is truly one of the most interesting books of the day, 

[From the Northwestern Review of Chicago^ 
There are few who, having the leisure, will take up this 
book and lay it down before they have read it to the last line. 
Mr. Long's manifest intention in the publication of this story 
of his life was to be of benefit to young men by warning 
them of the fearful evils and hazards of the gambler's life. 

[From the Fort Wayne {Ind,) Gazette.] 
This book has met with splendid success. It is a useful, 
entertaining and instructive work, a credit to any library. 
It narrates in a graphic manner the eventful life of a man 
who but recently was a curse to the community, hut who is 
now one of our most useful and highly esteemed citizens. 

[From the Grand Rapids (Mich.) Eagle.] 
As you read the first chapter your interest becomes so 
great that you can not stop until you have read the last 

[From the Fort Wayne (Ind.) Sentinel.] 
This is a remarkable book, or rather the condensed history 
of a remarkable life. It is well written, full of interesting 
episodes, and as fascinating as the most skillfully constructed 
novel. 

[From the Kansas City (Mo.) Star.] 
This is one of the most brilliant and interesting of recent 
books. The "Converted Gambler" is the story of a really 
remarkable life. It is full of adventure and incident, contains 
thrilling and and graphic descriptions of exciting scenes ; is 
written in vigorous and pleasant style ; and holds the readei 
spellbound from the first page to the last. 



SONGS 

OF THE 

PILGRIMS. 



A collection of the choice popular hymns and 
songs sung by the "Pilgrim Quartette" in Mason 
Long's meetings, embracing solos, quartettes, and 
choruses. 

These hymns and songs, carefully selected from 
the whole range of modern musical literature, 
especially for their popularity and worth, have 
proved exceedingly pleasing and valuable. Few 
collections contain as much of pleasure and profit. 
There is not a " dead" song in the book. 

35 CENTS PER COPY, POST-PAID. 

Special rates to Sunday Schools, Lodges, etc. 

Address orders and correspondence to 

MASON* LOlSTGr, Publisher, 

Fort Wayne, Indiana. 



1