Mother West's neighbors

Front matter

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MOTHER WEST’S

NEIGHBORS

Contents

PAGB

I. Guptil Alley 5

II. Beautiful Tommy 17

Preface

HEY are greatly mistaken who imagine that mission work in our cities can be done only by the rich, who can win hearts and open them to the story of the Cross, by their gifts.

Indeed, the spirit of our people often shrinks from the visits of those whose homes contrast so strongly with their own, and rebel against anything that seems to savor of patronage. They may doubt the possibility of those who never knew a want, and who never felt the weight of a frown, entering with sympathy into their deep poverty, or pitying their wanderings from the straight path.

We doubt not this feeling is carried too far by the honorable poor, who have struggled vainly for honest independence ; but there it is.

Preface .

To such persons the most welcome visitor may be one who has passed through the same discipline, and who comes to share what he now has with them. God only knows the holy work wrought in the garrets and cellars of our own city by these hidden workers, of whom the world is not worthy !

It is, however, not the lack of gold, any more than it is the possession of it, which fits the Christian for work among the unfortunate and erring. A rich man may be humble and pitiful, and a poor one may be proud and heartless ; it is he or she who goes to the suffering as men to men, as women to women, those who live nearest to Christ, who will, in the great harvest, bring in the heaviest sheaves with rejoicing.

The characters and scenes in this little book are not mere fiction. We have among us missions, from which weary toilers, overburdened with work, are calling in vain for helpers. There are dark, damp cellars, where, amid foul air and often fouler moral surroundings, pale little chil-

Preface .

dren, with immortal souls, are wearing away life, or growing up to curse the generation to come. They call to us in the name of Him who blessed little children, to come and save them.

There are dens of vice within bell-sound of our most elegant mansions and churches, where lights glare, and where the viol, attuned to ribald songs, breaks the stillness of the small hours ; where the ringing glasses, filled to the brim with death, sound like the clanking of Satan’s chain ; and where God’s name is uttered only in oath and curse.

And down there, among the shadows of death, noble men and pure-hearted women are toiling day and night for Christ, with very few to hold up their hands, or to give them even a word of cheer.

Here then, at our very doors, is work- for all who love to work with Christ ; a broad harvest waiting for laborers. Here the most degraded press in where the Gospel is preached, and in one place they hang round the Sunday-school,

Preface .

and then go away because there are not teachers enough to lead them all to Christ ! This is in Christian Boston.

If every church in our city would send one laborer, man or woman, rich or poor, into these missions at our door, the districts which now fill our jails and prisons would soon blossom as the rose, with purity and peace.

We all know what Christ has done for us ; what are we now doing for Him ? He did not scorn to breathe out His pure life between two thieves ; shall we scorn to spend a little of our leisure and a little of our substance among those who are far from God ?

March 7th, 1876.

MOTHER WESTS NEIGHBORS.

I. Guptil Alley

A CITY pastor, in seeking for a poor parishioner one bright June morning, turned into a narrow, dark “ court,” the condition of which was a shame to any Christian community. Alas, that the religion of so many leads them to seek — for the poor — bliss in heaven, without any reference to comfort on earth !

A group of ragged children were playing with a headless doll, on a door-step ; another, of larger and more ragged ones, were kicking an old boot about, by way of a foot-ball, and shouting with all the ardor of champions in nobler games ; neglected little babies, wondering what they had ever been born for, were moaning or shrieking within doors ; while careless mothers were leaning idly out of their windows, chatting with and cajoling each other, as if there were neither work nor want in the world.

An old man with a wooden leg sat eating his breakfast, preparatory to making his morning raid on the charitable, who bought shoe-strings of him, because he needed, but did not ask for, money.

“ Where can I find a Mrs. West in this court, sir ? ” asked the minister of the shoe-string peddler.

“A Mrs. Weston ye mean? Do she hact the beggar in the theatre, sir ; and ’ave she a daughter who dance there? ’Er name is not West.”

“ No, it is an old woman who has been injured by a fall lately, for whom I am looking.”

“ Oh, bless yer ’eart, sir, I know who ye want! it's the hold saint that we calls Mother Watson/ because she live with ’er daughter, — Jim’s wife, you know ? ”

“I never heard of him,” replied the minister.

“ Thank ’Eaven for that, sir ! ” cried the old man, catching off his hat, a mark of respect he had not thought of showing his poor breakfast.

Gup til Alley .

“ Jim is the meanest, hevilest, and unkindest man alive, sir ; though it ’s said ’e war once a gentleman like.’'

“ Then you know Mrs. West, do you ? ” asked the minister.

“ ’Deed, sir, I ’ave reason to know ’er ! She ’ave done more for me nor ’ave this ’ole Christian city beside ! She ’elps me, she smiles on me, she pities me ; and I ’ave my surmises, — ’twixt ye and me, sir, — that she do pray God to pity and bless ’er poor cripple neighbor. It seem, sir, as hif the likes o’ them two women ought to be favored o’ Heaven, place o’ bein’ tormented by such an evil one as Jim Watson ! ’E drinks and ’e gambles and ’e leads other men into them same evil things. If them women put ’im up every time ’e break the law, ’e’d spend the rest o’ his nat’ral life in jail.”

“ Poor women ! ” sighed the minister.

“ Well, I ’m not so sure o’ that, sir ! They be so lifted above hother folk, that everybody ’ere henvies them. Fire and water don’t usual live together in peace, nor yet do angels and dev — beg yer pardon, sir, them hother kind I mean, — ’bide quiet together. But that old woman she do live ’oly among sinners.”

Mother West's Neighbors.

“That is a beautiful testimony. Now please tell me, my good friend, where I shall find her,” * asked the minister, impatient to be at his work, and forgetting, perhaps, that he was even then at work.

“ Hup there, sir, in that top room,' over there, where you see the flowers and the vines ; see, sir?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“ Well, but a word more afore ye go, — maybe ye don’t yet know all about Granny Watson, as we call ‘ Mrs. West.’ ”

“ Well, she is — but la, sir, it would take me a week to tell ye what she is ! In a word, sir, she ’s an angel among the darkest and sorriest set ye ever see. Do ye think the Lord do sometimes send them ones down here in the form o’ humans ? ”

“ He gives many of His children grace to live above the sin around them, and to glorify Him in the flames of poverty and sorrow.”

“ Aye, ’E do that same for ’er — the Lord love ’er ! But I’m ’inderin’ both myself and ye, sir ; I thank ye for the honor o’ listening so patient to a poor shoe-string peddler, with a small supply o’ brains.”

And he clapped on his old hat and went on with the business before him — eating a poor cold breakfast.

Stairs are among the sorrows of the very poor, and the good minister felt it when he had mounted four long flights in search of his old parishioner, who, although her name had stood for years on the church book, was almost a stranger to him. She had neither demanded nor asked attention from him ; and therefore, in the pressure of work and care, had received none.

The entries and stairs were all untidy except the last flight and flat. A new spirit seemed to reign there, and the cloud rose from the good man’s heart when he heard the cheerful “ Come in,” of the old lady, in answer to his knock.

The room was a barely furnished kitchen ; but it was redolent with that magic power called “ faculty,” whereby some rare women turn dens and hovels into homes. The aged woman sat there performing some light task, but when she saw her honored visitor, she rose, and by the io Mother West's Neighbors .

help of a chair, which she pushed before her, ushered him into an inner room, which was her own. Such taste and order marked the place, that he forgot the surroundings, — unconsciously dropped the mingled air of the pastor and the patron, and assumed that of the gentleman in the drawing-room.

He had often grasped the hand of the tall old parishioner in the poke bonnet, but never before that of the graceful hostess, who now made him forget her garret, her rusty gown, and her coarse cap. Often had he felt himself among inferiors when in the gilded homes of wealth ; now he was with an equal in a garret, at the farther end of Guptil Alley !

“ I owe you an apology for not seeking you out before ; but I only yesterday heard of your being laid up,” he said.

“ I hope you were with those more dependent on outside comforters, and less fortunate than I,” was the quiet reply of Mother West.

The minister started, and involuntarily looked about him, as if to ask, “ Who is less fortunate ? ” but there was nothing to contradict her words of content. A breath of June air came to him

Gup til Alley .

ii over the flowers in the window ; and a row of time-browned volumes smiled on him from a shelf above — old volumes such as only noble souls enjoy, — Bunyan, Rutherford, Baxter, Edwards, and later ones of like spirit.

The minister hardly knew how to begin comforting her, she seemed so lifted above the need of his ministrations. So he asked in a neighborly way, “ What family have you, Mrs. West?”

“ I have only one child living, sir, a frail young creature, that needs just the comfort you could give her if she were only here. Some way, my words fall short of comforting her. She always says, ‘ Oh, mother, you are so far beyond me that you cannot feel my weakness/ She's seen me go through such seas without being overwhelmed, that she thinks me tempest-proof, poor thing.”

“ How long have you lived here, Mrs. West ? ”

“ Three years, sir. Before that we lived in Weldon Street, in quite a different place. When my children were about me I had a lovely little home in the country, with enough income to meet all reasonable wants and — but ” —

“ But you lost it ? ”

“Yes, we lost it; but the loss was small compared with the circumstances that brought it about,” she replied.

Again there was silence, and the air, laden with perfume from the flowers, came in at the window again, and the old books seemed to smile on him.

“ My child married with my consent and my blessing,” she began, “ and I placed my little property in her husband's hands as if he had been my own son. He soon grew weary of a quiet village, sold my home, and brought us to the city. I need not tell you the sad steps by which we went down, after we found out how cruelly we had been deceived by him. Here we are with nothing earthly left but our honor. My daughter goes out to work on a machine, for she will not eat bread earned by sin. We pay the rent, buy our food, and clothe ourselves. My son-in-law comes and goes when he pleases ; and we do all we can to make a cheerful home for him.”

Gup til Alley .

“ But what can you do, — so old and feeble ? ” “ Oh, sir, I Ve had deft fingers in my day, and they have not lost all their cunning yet ! While I could do so I worked on ‘ ready-made clothing ; ’ afterward I found work that accomplished more good for others, if not so much for myself. I manage to do our little work here, and when that is done I mend for those in this great house who cannot or will not do it for themselves. In that way I have made myself friendly with the poor things, and know all their hearts. Those who can, pay me ; and those who cannot, thank me and love me for it Oh, sir, this humble work has opened strange stories to me, and given me ways of blessing others I should never have had without it. There ’s a poor old Englishman, a cripple, living in the alley, and struggling bravely to earn his bread ; I do my part with my needle, and in gratitude to me he has given up drinking ale and taking the name of God in vain. He has not been in a church for twenty years, and is ashamed to go alone now. But if I am ever able to walk again, I hope to get him into the house of God ; you will see him there some day.”

“ But in all this struggle does your son-in-law do nothing ? ”

“ Would to Heaven he simply * did nothing/ sir. He has a place in this alley where young men meet, and drink and gamble and revile holy things. He has plenty of money ; and were we not what we are, by birth and training and the grace of God, we might fold our hands and eat the bread of idleness earned by sin. But God has kept us above that/’

“ Why don't you both leave him, and live at peace by your own work ? ”

“ Because he has a soul, sir. He is my daughter’s husband, and she cannot give him up for lost. I feel that perhaps God sent him to me for salvation. It ’s a hard trial, sir, but only suppose that at last I should be able to present him blameless before the Father ? Is n’t that worth trying for ? Oh, sir, we all do too little to save those who are far below us, — the drunkard, the gambler, and those even viler than they — if that can be. Perhaps we should never labor for such if we were not whipped to the work as I have been. We have gone down step by step, after this poor young

Gup til Alley.

IS man, and have managed, thus far, to keep hold of him without defiling our own garments. I expect to see him saved yet, sir, as I have seen others around me. I am gathering my little harvest in this hard, stony field. If you will come here some Monday evening I will show you my sheaves. You may not think them very comely ones, but they are lovely to me and to Him who has honored my work among these poor neighbors. I have one, a poor negro, who was once far down, but now the wisest saint I know might be glad to serve him with a cup of cold water ; he is so like Christ !

I have had a cripple boy, a heart-broken woman, and many others in this poor court, given to me ; and of late I have had visits from ladies, asking me about my poor neighbors, and getting counsel and help in their charities.

I have been long working under ground ; but I begin to see a task before me in the light.”

While the minister was walking home, he . wondered in his heart, which were greatest in the kingdom of heaven, God’s more public servants, honored for their work’s sake, and surrounded by strong Christian helpers, or these hidden ones, who, like Mother West, are “working under ground” and alone for the souls Christ came to save.

BEAUTIFUL TOMMY.

1\ IT OTHER WEST had never presumed to •*■*■*• ask a visit — and hardly to hope for one — from him who had the care of hundreds of souls. When he had come of his own accord and rejoiced in her joys and entered into her sorrows, it seemed as if an angel had been to her poor home, and, departing, had left a heavenly influence there. The flowers looked fresher, and the air, which swept in over high chimneys and roofs, seemed purer the next day ; and her heart was strangely lifted above the trials which so often caused her to wonder at God’s ways.

Oh, if God’s ministers only knew the joy their presence gives in the homes of the poor, and the blessings which there await themselves, they would not so readily pass such work and its rewards into the hands of layhelpers.

At parting with his parishioner the minister had received a promise of seeing her “ Beautiful Tommy” the next time he came.

And now he was mounting those many flights of stairs again, with the vague image of “ Beautiful Tommy ” before him — a fair, pale child with pearly complexion and sunny hair ; such a flower as now and then springs up and struggles on — seeming strangely out of place — amid poverty, coarseness, and sin. But it was no such fairy-like creature that met his eyes as he entered the room. “ Beautiful Tommy ” was a short, stumpy colored man, whose crisp locks were already white around his temples. He sat by a table, pointing out his letters with a knitting-needle and calling them aloud.

“ Tommy, close the book. Here ’s the dear .minister,” said Mother West.

Tommy had no idea of losing his place when it was so hard to find again ; so he tore a bit from the margin of a paper lying by him, and placed it between the leaves. Then he turned round and with a low bow said, “ I Ve heerd you preach forty time, sir, but I never ’spected to grasp your hand ! I ’s mighty honored, sir ! ”

“ But if you ’ve been to my church so often, how comes it that I Ve never seen you, my friend ? ” asked the minister kindly.

“ Oh, sir, it *s bekase I keeps out o' sight — pretty gineral — to the furder end o’ the orgin, and kind o’ behind it ; and I thought de rich ones would n’t be pleased fer to see me dar.”

“ But they would be, and so would I, my friend,” said the minister.

“ The saxtant told me they had gi’n heaps o’ money for the col’d folks to have a church o’ their own, and now they ’spected ’em to keep to it. I went dar, but somehow ’noder de Lord did n’t speak through dat bruder, as He did through you, to my soul.”

“ And have you got good to your soul there, Tommy ? ”

“ Got good to my soul, sir ? yes, and to my body too. I don’t guess your people knows what’s been in dat ar’ church, like I does. Mrs. West, she says it ’s ‘de gate o’ heaven* to her soul ; but I tells her it’s been heaven itself to mine ! ”

By this time Tommy had forgotten the weight of honor with which this visit had at first oppressed him ; and rising up he exclaimed, “ Oh, sir, if I could only once stan’ up in dat ar’ pulpit and tell ’em what I ’s seen dar when dey was fannin’ deirsel’s and shaking deir jewl’ry ’bout and yawnin’, they would be ’mazed ! Oh, sir, God comes powerful mighty into His own house.”

“ Tommy,” said Mrs. West, “ the minister came on purpose to talk to you to-night. Now you must listen.”

“ No, Mrs. West, I came to hear him talk ; ” said the good man. “ Now sit down, Tommy, and tell me who you are and all about the glory you have seen.”

Thus far the good man had been standing ; but Mrs. West offered him the only large chair in the room — one covered with a gay chintz, with a snowy towel pinned neatly over the back of it.

“ Dat ar napkin was put on clean for you — like givin’ a cup o’ cold water, you know.”

The minister smiled and sat down. “ Now, Tommy, let me hear your story,” he said.

Beautiful Tommy.

“ Well, sir, I was borned in slavery as you may see by my ignorance ; and I was borned in sin too. I don’t ’member no fader, no mammy ; but only de folks in de kitchen and massa’s people in de big house. Some of de black folks prayed, and some on ’em swared ; and some agin, did both, — as de ’casion required. But massa he was an awful sinner ; and so was the young gent’men ! Dey used teach de little black chil’n to chaw tobaccy and to swar’ and to lie ; and used to give us boys brandy till we made fools of oursel’s for deir sport !

“ So I growed up. I had a powerful sperit in me ; and massa said, one time, dat he’d break either my will or my neck. But he did n’t do nather ! I runned off and come North, — as big a heathen as grows away off in them foreign places.

“I thought everybody was agin me here, and watchin’ a chance to send me back to my massa. I was afeared o’ policemen and of everybody with good clothes on ; so I begged of beggars, and slept under carts — and such like, and now and then picked up a job.

“ One day a child hailed me, and axed me did I want to lug a ton of coal up four flights o’ stairs ; and dat ar coal, sir, was dis blessed lady’s ! And it was de preciousest load ever I lugged ! It was mighty hard afore I got through, special’ as I had n’t had no breakfast on’y a doughnut and an apple. I axed her mought I sit down on de stairs and rest a bit, kase I was faint. She said, ‘ Come in here and sit down, and drink some hot coffee and eat a good breakfast and rest long ’s you want to/

“ ‘ How much will you ax me ? ’ says I.

“ * Nothin’,’ says she.

“ ‘ Who ’ll pay you for ’t, then ? ’ says I.

“ ‘ Our Fader in Heaven, what feeds the ravens/ says she.

“ ‘ Missus, you ’s foolin’ ! ’ says I.

“‘No, bruder, I isn’t/ says she. ‘You look sick and tired. De Lor’ has sent me enough and more than enough for dis day’s bread ; and I ’ll share it wid you for His sake/

“ ‘ For whose sake ? ’ says I.

“ ‘ Why, for Christ’s sake,’ says she.

“‘Oh phool’says I. ‘ I’se heard lots o’ pra’rs wound up, “ for Christ’s sake ; ” but I never seen nothin’ done for His sake/

Beautiful Tommy .

“ ‘ Do you love Him ? ’ says she.

“ ‘ I ain’t acquainted with Him/ says I.

“ ‘ Poor, dear soul ! ’ says she, as tender as if I was a sick baby. I looked at her, sir, and I thought her face was shinin’ like silver ! By dis time she had spread a white cloth on dis ’ere table, and put bread and meat and coffee on to it. She axed me to sit by, and she sat down too and axed de Lord to give me daily bread, every day ; and to give me de bread o* heaven, too. I tell you, sir, I was n’t half so wicked when I got dat breakfast eat up ! I was ready to hear ’bout God, as I was n’t wid that awful gnawin’ inside o’ me !

“ Well, sir, she got a chance for me to live in dis yere cellar kitchen. And then she got jobs for me. She began to teach me to read ; and she got me warm clothes — dat was winter time — and mor’n dat she alius called me ‘ friend’ or ‘ bruder.’ Every time I looked at her, or ’membered of her, I thought o’ her words — ‘ for Christ’s sake ; ’ and soon I begun to think dis yere Christ was worth lookin' arter ! And I looked arter Him. I sarched for Him in de dark; and by’m-by I found

Him ; and here I is to-night, sir, Happy Tom ! I would n't change places wid old massa as he was afore de war ; but if I knowed whar’ to find him and de young gent’men I’d walk down to Nor’ Ca’liny, and I take 'em all in my arms and carry 'em to Jesus. I love de whole worl’, sir, wid such love dat it 'pears like I would n’t go to heaven widout takin’ dem all long wid me!"

“ Tell the minister where you first found Christ, Tommy,” said his patron.

“ In your great church, sir. I 'd been many days a sarchin’ for Him, and cryin’ for Him, when one Sunday mornin’ I crep’ in by de orgin and yur preached, * He is nigh unto every one o' you.' And just at dat minute 'peared like de roof was lifted off, and I see Him cornin' down in de clouds. He come and stood by side o’ me, and I was in heaven, sir ! I looked down and see de gran’ folks all calm — like jis as if nothin’ had happened. Dey fanned and yawned and shuk deir ear-rings, and did n't know Christ was dar ! I did n't hear no more dat you say, dat day ; but when de church broke up, I come home, like I had company all de time by my side.”

Beautiful Tommy .

“And ever since that day, sir, he has been doing something 'for Christ’s sake.’ Not a day passes but he lugs up coal, or brings water, or tends a baby for a tired mother, or gives food to the needy. If every one who names the name of Christ did as much in proportion to his ability as Tommy does, there would soon be no poverty in the world. I ’ve learned, and am still learning sweet lessons from him. Strangers round here call him ‘ Black Tom ; ’ but I call him ‘ My beautiful Tommy ; ’ and I know he is beautiful in the eye of Him who has redeemed him and set His seal upon him,”

III. Kitty Mccosh

TV /T ANY whose lot has been cast on the ^ ^ flower-clad hills of life, imagine that all in the valleys below them is misery, gloom, and discontent ; that peace never lurks among shadows, nor joy among the mists. But this is not so. God giveth to all men liberally. His refreshing rains and His life-giving sunbeams pierce the clouds of poverty and feebleness ; and light up many a poor home, which to the charitable visitor seems devoid of all comfort. The cases are very rare where life has no present joy, no alluring hope.

Across the end of Guptil Alley were three houses whose doors opened directly from the brick sidewalk, and were protected from the invasion of horses by a rude railing, a few feet from the front windows. This railing had its disadvantages. The boys turned somersaults over it, and idle young men perched there to

Kitty McCosk.

chat and smoke, when doing nothing worse. And such visitors did not add to the cleanliness of the premises. Tobacco juice, peanut shells, pop-corn papers, and the like were scattered there daily, and left to accumulate before most of the doors. Every evening one walk was swept and garnished by the plump little hands of Kitty McCosh, who said, every time she assailed it with a broom and water, “ If I must be' poor, I will be clean.”