The New York Herald Newspaper, February 28, 1869, Page 8

= 8 NEW YORK HERALD, SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1869.-TRIPLE SHEET. —_— -- = THE CYfy’s CHILDREN. i BUDE pErT eT eCU eae ee ean oN ‘sar,” tho people pie HAVE CHARITY. io, Teplied the boy, dejected peo} FRAN mars. tell me that Iam too snail to shovel snow and too sen ai big to T shall have to go home aim-bia ‘pose I "raph Soanes seam oe sedede aia see onan wooed is ome} ve wot a ie to soothe or pity, it anything. No, I won suddenly, while a look of savage recklessness settled upon his pallid features; ‘no, I won't! I have never done any thing wicked yet, but I'll steal—I’ll murder Defore I go home without anything.” “Good gracious, poy!” exclaimed Mr. Seymour, “what are you saying! “Tpon my life you talk like a perfect young savage. Here—here’s some change for you!” And he placed im his hand a few silver coins. pec the nch and gay pass by = Pall of mre Fide, . a ce ane ‘me ull their skires yn OR ‘Then a sullen mood comes o’er her, Reckless she of hy =< or ae Death irom hunger before a She must either starve or steal, She does steal, ond beat biame her, Hunger pangs her vi gnaw, one endeavor to reclaim her," ‘And she violates (he law, ‘Then the pan pn —— fashion Cries, with ae eae “Out upon the Little inter Censors fall of world-wise schooling, Cease to censure and he gpl ab. Tanagressed man’ She obeyed a bigher law. ~ Take her place—teel her temptation— Starved, unk |, NO succor nigh— And, though sure of reprobati Ye would steal ere ye would ! Tue CITY'S CHILDREN ! TORRIBLE APROCITIES t Instantly the look of blank despair vanished from the boy’s face, and an expression of intense satisfac- tion took its place, as, eagerly clutching the money which the rich man held out to him, he hastily ejacu- fated a servent “Thank'ee, air!” and fled away up the street at his topmost peed. Mr. Seymour stood joking after the boy till he saw bim entera baker’s shop on the corner, and then he mechanically followed In the same direction. A LITTLD Gr ‘ST FROZEN OFF! TEE PLES CUT FROM HER BACK! “So he was hungry.’ he muttered, as he walked TERY CHILDIN'S 40D SOCIETY! along, “and perhaps he may be connected with some one who is also hungry. Who can tell? I don’t VILLANY UNDER TE VELL OF CHARITY! TES TRICKERY OF “SAINTS WIENDS WEARING BEAVEN’S LIVERY! SANCTIMONIOUS LEECHES ! RELIGIOUS HUMBUGS EXPOSED ! VICE MORE PROFITABLE THAN VIRTUE! A SAINT'S FACE AND A DEMON’S HEART! HOW LONG SHALL SUCH THINGS CONTINUE? THE MONSTER PUNISHED! RET ON! know that it’s anything to me, but, by George, some- thing which I cannot cxactly understand impels me to follow him, and I will do so, let what will come of it. ‘The boy was hungry. ry hungry—for, as he emerged from the baker’s shop, clutching a loaf of bread in his nervous grasp, Mr. Seymour, who fol- lowed closely, observed that he tore a piece from it and ravenously gnawed it as he started on a ran. Im spite of the exertions made by the “Children’s At length the boy darted up adark alleyway, the Aid Society,” “The Newsboys’ Lodging Rooms” and | entrance to which Mr. Seymour reached just in time aity missions generally, there is still much to do in | to see the object of his pursult enter a tenant build- the matter of relieving the necessities of the suffering | Ing which stood far back in the rear. Mttle ones known as “The City’s Children”—iittle Mr. Seymour also entered the dismal habitation, ‘whitefaced, penury-pinched sufferers, who live in | and after somé delay found himself in an apartment pestilential, subterranean abodes, dark courts and | on the second floor. The room was a small one, Athy, air-poisoned alley-ways, or roam the streets in | and from its position the lighi of day, except at me- the daytime and sleep at night in covered wagons, | ridian (it was about three o’clock then), was almost eoal boxes or any other place they may be able to | excluded. The floor was cleanly scrubbed, the walls steal into—some of whom have neither parents nor | were white and the window panes, whatfew were friends, and others who have relatives, but would be | left, glistened brightly in the sunlight: but save a better off without them. clean board which, resting upon ‘a barrel, served as Rverybody will remember the case of the unfortn- | a table and a bed, which occupied the darkest corner mate orphan girl who, some twelve or fourteen years | of the room on the floor, the partment contained ago, was taken irom the poorhouse bya fiend in | no furniture, human shape named Mrs. Mrs. Decker, who resided at Sitting bolt upright upon this latter article was a the time on Staten Island. It will be in the recollec- | Woman wasted away almost to aakeleton. In both Mon of many how this poor, friendless littie creature | her bony hands she clutched a loaf of bread, from ‘was tortured by the wretch who had adopted her ti]] | which she had ravenously torn a mouthful, and, death kindly put an end to to her sufferings. How she | lying prone at her side, with his face buried in tho ‘was beaten till her little Lody ody was & mass of bruises; | pillow and groaning and sobbing Piteously, was the starved till her bones seemed bursting through the | boy whom the rich man had followed. akin; turned out into the bitter cold almost naked, | Mr. Seymour was unable to scan the woman's tai her feet were blistered with frost and her emaci- | features closely, for the bright glare of the sun upon ated frame racked by rheumatism, while ail the | the snow without had temporarily unfitted his eyes while the monster who subjected her to sucn tor- | to view objects in asubdued light, but he saw enough sures attended church regularly and was regardea | to shock him greatly, and stooping down he placed ss little less than a saint by those who did not know | hishand upon the shoulder of the boy and shaking her. ae him gently he said in «kindly tone:— This, as we have said, occurred nearly a score of “Get up, my utde mab, and Tun out for some more years ago; but who can say | say how many similar cases | fitting food than that. You shall want for nothing have happened since—are hay happening every day, in | now; for I will be your friend. See, here is money!” fast? The Mrs. Deckers are not all dead yet—society | And as he spoke he took some silver coins from fe fail of them and their victims, and, what is worse, | his pocket. GET * this will always be the case (11the millennium comes. | Rising from his recumbent position as the first We cannot alter human nature, bat we can do the | tones of the gentleman's voice fell upon his ears, the next best thing—we can expose such atrocities | boy turned and faced the latter, who was surprised ‘when they come to light, and such ts our purpose at | to see upon his features, not a look of gratitude, but the present time. Anybody who will follow us | an expression amounting almost to maligaity. ‘through the following. narrazive of wrong and retribue “Go away !” exclaimed the boy, bitterly, “go away ‘tion will acknowledge the fail force of all which we | and leave me alone. I hate you? have said and will feel ‘themselves well repaid for “And why shou'd you hate me, my poor jaa” in- their trouble as well. quired Mr. Seymour, in a tone of unfeigned surprise; “Please, sir, may I shovel off your siaewalk?” “I never injured you !” “Ro, boy ; go home and teli your mother to take “You have !’* exclaimed ¢ the boy, passionately, eare of you.” “you have always injured me and such as me, I “I oniy want five cents, sir—just five centa—iet | hate you because you are rich and because you don’t me have five cents for if an hour and I'll do any | care who starves 50 Jong a8 you have plenty to eat work you're @ mind to set me at—I don’t care what | and to drink, and to wear ear and throw away. I feel ni.” as though I could kill you, and I may, too, if you “No, I tell you! Gohome and keep out of the | don’t go away; for! have the strength to do it now, streets! Go to school! I don’t see what parents can | although I am only o boy? be thinking of to allow their children to go running “Upon my life I believe the boy is getting crazy 1’ around begging!” exclaimed Mr. Seymour, in @ sort of half soilloguy. The first speaker was a stout bullt lad, who car- | “I believe I am,” returned the boy vehemently; ried upon his shoulders @ rudely constructed wooden | “and it wouldn't be much wonder if! did. IwishI shovel, and the person to whom he addressedhim- ‘was crazy or dead—I wouldn't care which self was the wealthy Mr. Seymour, who occupied a Mr. Seymour was about to make some conciliatory palatial mansion in one of the streets cutting the | reply, but before he could uid do #0 the door opened, Fifth avenue at right angles. and 28 little girl about | nine years of age entered, The boy was about fourteen years of age, and, bearing In her hand & towi of soup. Sne wasa ‘hough shabbily dressed and wretched looking | beautifal, bright looking child, although her clothes enough, there was something about his countenance | were untidy and her hair was uncombed and fel which could not fail to impresa a close observer straggling around her fuce. Her large tiue ey favorably. were full of gentleness and ic love, seuienadbak Mr. Seymour had just returned from a driveouton | gelic look rested upon her meek, retiring coun- the avenue in his magnificent sleigh, and was about | tenance. gn entering the door of his residence when the boy, who She was somewhat disconcerted upon discovering had been looking wistfully ashe waiked slong at the | w stranger, but, beckoning the boy to a corner, she Windows of the rich mansions tn front of which he [+ sald in a whisper, while a smile of joy lighted up her ‘wan passing, paused and accosted nim. litle, thinfaces About an hour after the above conversation Mr. “Here, Charley, ve brought & bow! of real nice Seymour, again dressed for the street, stood gazing | soup for your mother, aud T know tt Vil do her good, from the window of his front parior. Already he re- | Mrs. Maddox, who lives up otalrs, gave it to me for gretted that he had so rodely answered the boy's | fetehing her ® pail of water; but I'm not hungry, petition, and in tmagination he again beheld the | and tt will be 40 nice for yout poor mother.” plesding face. Suddenly an exclamation, naif of | ‘The boy's lip quivered ashe struggled to subdue fear, Lsif of surprise, burst from his lips as he actu- | some terrible emotion, and he answered st last ins ailg met the mournful gaze of the boy's large, sor- | husky voice: — vowtul eyes. ar | “She don't want it, Maggie 1h 4s UUs 8 nlngle glance, and the boy passed eat it yourself.’ pe offeting to ‘te stop, but soon recovering “Who is that gentleman?” whispered the girl, at sprang to the hall, then ont at the game time stealing « glance at Mr. Seymour. the im an instant was at the boy's side. ‘He is rich man,” anawered the boy aloud, “who —opiven aera lives im a great house up town.” tof on the shoulder, “nave you got what you were | | nOh, J am so glad yy exe xciaime oul ef vet: aanaah igs ys" pone | EI ; BE ; [know she don't; you | |§ THE CITWS CHILDREN. “Of ¢ mse I will, my litle lady,” waid ir. Sey- moor, “thas is what Icame ame here for.” “No, you won't ?? exolaimiea the boy bitterly, “be cause you can’t help her now! If you had given me only five cents when I first asked you it might, per- haps, have done some good; but it’s too late now. Look at her.” And again throwing himself face downward upon the bed he gave way to another pas- sionate outburst of aries A horrid suspicion fasied across the mind of the millionnaire, whose eyes had by this time become ac- customed to the moderate Ught, and, looking directly at the woman, ‘God of Heaven, what a sight broke upon his startled vision ! “Merciful Heaven!” he exclaimed, holding his banas before his eyea to shut out the frightful spec- tacle, “she is dead 1 “Yes,” sobbed the boy, “dead—aead—dead! And when they put her in the coid ground I shall be alone—all alone! There will be no onc to care for me then!” While he was thus wildly lamenting, the little gir, had placed her bowl upon the rude table, and with the tears standing in her muld eyes, bad advanced towards him. Kneeling besics him as the despatr- ing words left his Nps, she threw her little white arms around his neck, and murmured, in a tone of mungied pathos and gentle re proach :— “No one, did you say, Charley? No one at all?’ Instantly the boy checked bis violent grief, and looking up through his tears he replied, as he affec- tionately pressed her hand:— “Ob, I forget you, Maggio—1 forget you; but you musn’t blame me. I was thinking of nothing but her. It ‘will be o very, very hard to see them take her away! By this time Mr. Seymour had recovered somewhat from the first shock which his feelings had sustained, and approaching close to the corpse he began to pe- ruse the features attentively. A thrill of horror shook his frame anew as he did 80, for notwithstand- ing the change which death had made, he felt mor- ally certain he had seen the face before under far dif- ferent circumstances, “What 1s your name, boy?” he asked, excitedly, turning toward the sorrowing lad. ‘The boy was stubborn and would not answer, but his little companion repiied:— “«Hlis name is Charley Hollister, etr.”” “qt 1 she, and we have met again at last, but under what terrible ‘circumstances 1 Oh, whata frightful, frightfal death for her to die Hespoke truly. It was afrightful death, for the woman had died of starvation! Starvationin the midst of plenty! Eager to appease the frightful cravings of hunger she had seized the loaf and torn from it a mouthful, but even as she essayed to mas- ticate ft the fatal reaction took place; death seized her in the effort, and she,who had once tastea the sweets of affluance, now sat there the victim of cruel want, a stiffened corpse, grim, gaunt and ghastly! ean Casting a look at the children, who, in their great grief, had not noticed his agitation fthe mU/lionnaire rushed from the house and took his way towards the coroner's office. aaah An inquest was held upon the body of @ wretched and—except by the weeping boy she had left behind her—apparently unknown 1 woman; the Coroner's Jury, composed of men who had ‘suddenly been taken from their business and forced into the ser- vice, had promptly and without striving very hard to find out who or what she was, returned a verdict that Mary Hollister, the unknown woman aforesaid, bad come to her death by starvation; a wealthy and exemplary‘citizen had seen U the poor victim of cruel want decently laid to rest in Greenwood Cemetery, all the expenses attending the funeral having been paid out of his own pocket—and four persons had assembled in the room adjoining the one in which Mary Hollister died to taik over the sad event, These were Charles Hollister, the son of the deceased Woman; the little girl, Maggie; Mrs. Bridget Mullins, a washerwoman of unmistakably Celtic origin, and Mr. Philip Ferry, Known im the neighborhood ae “phil, the Philosopher.” “and so the fine gentleman has offered to finds place for you, has he, Charley, dear?’ asked the widow, addressing the deceased woman's son. The poor boy, who, absorbed in his deep grief, sat im an out of the way corner, did not hear her, and little Maggie once more became his mouthpiece. “Don't speak to nim now, Mrs, Mullins, please don’t,” pleaded the littie creature—ne feels so bad he don’t want to talk. Iknow all about it, and 1 answer your questions | Mr. Seymour has offered to find a place for Charley—I heard him.” ‘The conversation was interrupted by & knock at the door, which was opened by Mrs, Mullins, ands tall, bilions looking man, of sinister expression of countenance, wiggled his way into the room, “Eel!” whispered the philosopher, musingly, as ftoon as his eyes fell upon the new comer—"I can see em sticking out all over. Biippery and tricky—twist himself into any shape he pleases and adroitly make his escape through the smallest kind of @ hole. Every halron his head—to be sure there isn’t many of them—ts an eel, and if an eel's eye was magnified to the stz of his with & proper lens I'll venture to gay you couldn't tell one from the other!” ‘The individual concerning whom Phil Ferry thus soliloquized looked sharyly around at the group for & moment or two, without speaking, and then tara ing his gaze toward the widow, he said:— “Bo, she has gone at last, ent” “she 18, Docther McNap,” replied Mrs, Mullins, “phe ts, poor eraythur! Heaven rest her sowl, “And the boy—what will become of him now?" asked the man, while & greedy look lighted up his dull, gray eyes. “I hear that @ rien man—e Mr. Seymoar—has offered to take charge of him. te that 07” 4 polany 1b i4)” sagwored Mire, Mullins, “ous a HE CITYS CHILDREN, divil @ much mesilf “knows about it, But don’t throuble the boy—poor iittie Ally, the thribulashin ts keen on him. Ask Maggie; she knows.” “Oh, yes, Maggie! My dear little Maggie!” ex- claimed the Doctor, with aifected tenderness, as he approached the°child. “he will tell me all about it, She will come and hive with me now, I guess, She won’t want to stay here after they take away her playmate. Won't you come with me, Maggie?” “No, I won't! exclaimed the child with a shud- der, and at the same time 6 e@ crept close to Mrs. Mullins and setzed tigntiy hold of that good wo- man’s apron as though me te ‘ihe feared the Doctor might seize her and forcibly bear he her off. “and why not, my litiie dear?” asked the Doctor, with great blandness, “Because I don’t like you,” replied the child, with great candor; “I’d rather go and live in that dark dungeon where my father died than to go home with you. I’m efraid of you!” “Now, that is hard, iaw’t it, Mra, Mullins” said the doctor, appealingiy. “1 ‘That is really hard, I attended that little girl’s father professionally all through his many fits of sickness without charging him one cent, and now when I want to continue my kindness by givibg her a home she won’t come near Tdare say the boy is just like her. I attended his mother professionally aiso, without receiving any pecuniary recompense save a few trinkets, and I don’t suppose he has any more gratitude than Mag- gie has. Will you come and learn to be a doctor, Charley ?” he continued, addressing the boy. “No, not with you,” seatentiously answered the grief-atricken youth, turning his tear-swollen eyes upon the questioner. “No,” sald Maggie, “Charley and I will go to- gether. Wherever he goes, I will go. If Mr. Sey- mour takes him, Iwill beg Mrs. Seymour to take me.” Dr. McNab had good reasons for feeling interested in the children, and what those reasons were .will appear in the course of our story. It was one morning about a Week after the events just narrated took place that Mr. and Mrs. Seymour sat at the breakfast table, the gentleman reading the morning paper and sipping hi his coffee by turns, while the lady remained silent, apparently in deep thought about something. me. | At length, throwing down his paper and emptying his cup at @ draught, Mr. Seymour said, with a sigh:— “I never take up a paper of late, my dear, that I do not come across the details of some horrible case of destitution and misery.” “I have noticed, Andrew,” sald Mrs: Seymour, “that of late you seem more than usually interested in the sufferings of the poor. My attention, too, has been much attracted to such cases since I heard of your praiseworthy action inn reference to that unfor- tunate woman who died of starvation, Although I must admit that your conduct was commendable, I cannot understand why you have taken such an in- terest in her orphan boy. After superintending the funeral and paying all the expenses you bring two destitute children here to your own home, one of them the unfortunate woman’s son.” Mrs. Seymour paused, in order to give her husband an opportunity to say something in explanation; but he remained silent, and continued :— “And another singular phase of this most singular matter is, that you seem less inclined to converse | | about the boy than you do abont the girl. Without |" any inquiry upon my part you told me all you knew about the girl; but when I ventured to question you concerning the boy you evinced a palpable disincii- nation to converse on the subject and would not give me the slightest satisfaction.” “Well, my dear,” said Mr. Seymour, appearently with great reluctance, “it is true that I have all along tried to avoid this subject; but, as you force me to it, I will admit that there is a mystery about the boy and his mother—a mystery which I have reasons of my own for not wishing to explain, and which could advantage you nothing, even should I doso. Let me implore you, then, as you value our domestic quiet, not to allude to the subject again. ‘The boy will be out of the house shortly; and, after he ls gone, let us cease to talk of the past. I spoke to an employing silversmith about him yesterday, Mr. Barak Jeffries, and Charley is to be placed in his care to-morrow. But how about your little protegé, Maggie? Have you fonnd place for her yet, or do you mean to adopt her? “] would willingly adopt her,” replied Mrs. Sey- mour, who saw at once that it would be useless to atiempt to penetrate her husband's secret, and who assumed a satisfaction she by no means felt, “if 1 could reconcile such's course with my conscience; but Ifear I am growing too fond of her and we should not place our affections upon things of this earth, ‘The fact that our Heavenly Father has nover blessed us with ehildren is the best proof that He intended that I should devote myself entirely to His service, She is ® sweet child, and 1 am happy in having been able to pluck her as a brand from the burning (this was @ favorite expression with the indy); bat I cannot make up my mind vo assume the entire caro of her, and so I think I will permite Mrs. Docket, who has made application to our society for @ litte girl to adopt, to take her. She seems a very pious kind of woman and has pro- mised to bring Maggie up in the fatth.”* Poor Maggie! she little knew the fate that awaited her, And had Mra, Seymour been aware of it, her philanthropic heart would ha have thriled with horror, and she would as soon ‘Thave | Rave thought of placing the helpless little one in the Keeping of a wild beast. ‘An hour later, after Mr. Seymour had left the house to attend to business, Mrs, Dockett made her appearance, wishing to consult with Mrs. Seymour sbout taking charge of Maggie. Vila old Gil Joo Sag Sip wH9Y” aatee Mrs | HE € 8 CHILDREN. Dockett, after aqme prelimmary observations had passed between herself and Mra, Seymour. “It ts Impoesible to say, exactly,” replied the latter laay, “for the child does notknow her age. I should suppose her, however, to be about nine years old, “The Gear child!” exciaimea Mra. Dockett, with fervor; “and what is her name, mem?” “Of that we are also ignorant,” answered Mre. Sey- mour. “She ts a poor little waif of whose history we have been able to learn butlittle, About three years ago her father, a besotted creature, who was not ft to have the charge of a dog, much leas tender child, hired a room in the house ftom which we took her. He died miserably in prison not long afterwards of delirium tremens, and from that time till we found her the little unfortunate picked up her living by running errands for the tenants. Maggle is the only name by which she Is at present known.” “The poor darlin’, unfortnit little soul !” exclaimed Mra, Docket, applying her handkerchief to her eyes. “oh, Mrs, Seymour, I must have that child! I feel like 1 could eat her up Low without even seein’ of her. Iwanted to get some poor little waif, as you call it, without no father or mother or any friends to care for it, and I’m so glad I applied to your blessed, heavenly society, you don’t know |” Had Mrs. Dockett known how inextricably inter- ‘Woven was the past history of that ttle unfortunate with her own she would not have been so perfectly self-possessed as she contemplated taking charge of her. But she did not know it and she was happy in her ignorance. ak, “You will treat her in all respects as if she were my child and Thad placed her with you to board, will you?” asked Mrs. Seymour, delighted with the flattering allusion which had been made to the society. ai Mrs, Dockett looked up toward heaven, as though calling the sacrea hosts to witness her sincerity then wiped her eyes energetically, she sighed heavily and then said emphaticaily:— “won't I, though.” “and you will bring her up in the faith!” con- tinued Mrs. Seymour; a will studiously teach her to renounce the pomps and vanities of this wicked world and all the sinful lusts of the flesh? You will see to it that she listens only to sound doc- triner” sae “ara, Seymour,” responded Mrs. Docket, half re- Proachiully, but ecstatically, “if I thought there was one hair in my head that wasn't Episcopal I'd have my head shaved clean on purpose to get rid of that ene, and wear a horrid cap for the rest of my cays.” (irs. Seymour wanted no further proof of her visit- or's fitness for any work which she might be called upon to do, after she had given such powerful evi- dence of “the faith that was in her,” and 0 “the ee- cond waif” was furnished with a mother, ‘The next morning when the children met each other in the kitchen the eyes of each were red with weeping. “We have got to go to different Places now, Char- ley,” sald Maggie, laying ber hand upon hs arm and looking tearfully into his face. “Yes, Maggie.” replied the boy, sadly; “I am sorry we can’t be kept together; but it is better that we should do something for ourselves.” “I suppose it 1s,” replied the little creature, de- jectedly; “but I never thought of parting from you, Charley.” : “Never mind,” said the boy, hopefully, and a bright smile overspread his fine features as he spoke: “ewe shall see each other often. Mr. Seymour has promised me that already. He has told me where Mrs, Dockett lives on Long Island, and if 1 work smart perhaps I shall be allowed to visit you every week, Who knows?” “qh, if Lwas only sure of that! excisimed the child, joyfully. “Besides,” continued the boy energetically, “I am tolearn @ good trade and I am to have plenty of overwork. Who can tell how much I may be able to save up? Why, I might beable to pay your beard and buy clothes for you in a Iittle while, and then you could come and live in the city, where I could see you every day. Oniy think of that, ‘Magaie.” Poor children! Their happy suticipations were but short-iived! They had always been familar with misery; but there was m “deeper deep” of wretchedness for them still. Mr. Seymour had placed Charles Hollister with the silversmith for » fortnight on trial, at the end of which time, if all parties were satisfied, he was to be duly spprenticed; but the boy.had not been under the charge of his employer # week before he dis- covered that there was something wrong about the man, although the latter tried hard to appear exces- sively parent-like and amiable. Among the apprentices who operated in the “nee- hive,” as the shop was termed by Mr. Jeffries, was a ttle, pale-faced, consumptive-looking boy, about the age of Chatten Hollister, Who at once attracted the attention and excited the commiseration of the newly entered apprentice, who felt # secret satistac- tion when he was informed that the boy in question, whose name was Richard Manners, was to be his roommate, The two boys became fast friends the very first night that they slept together, and they grew more and more attached to each other as their intimacy became closer, ‘Tho first effort of the new apprentice, naturally enough, was to gather from his companion some idea of his employer and of hls fellow apprentices, but, strangely enough, the boy would never aliow himself to be drawn into a conversation on that sub- ject. He would talk freely enough on any other themo, but the moment the shop was broached he ‘was dumb; nor could ‘ail the ingenuity of young Hollister put him off his guard, Jt was the night before the one upon which the mn I ee THE CITYS CHILDREN. expire, and he and his roommate bad retired to their room. Hollister was the fret to throw his clothes of and the latter. The boy was never at any time disposed to be prep, at naw his face wore a look which poke source of regret, and geting Into into bed , contrary to his usual cus tom, carefully looked under it and around the room. and, finally, he opened the bedroom door and looked out into bog street, “What's the matter, Dick #” askea Hollister, when the latter had at length stretched uimself out at his side; “You ain’t afraid of burgiars, are you?” No,” Teplied the boy, im a wulspery ys Waseen- What. is it, then?” asked Holhster. “Come, ron out; don’t be ashamed 1” ‘Hush-b-h !’? whispered he boy, trembling as he- spoke; ‘don’t speak so loud—he migut hear ou.” “and who is he?” asked Hollister, without alter- ing his tone, pee: wou’ talk to you, Charley,” replied the boy, in whisper so low as to be almost inaudible, “if you don't Pod lower. 1 know he is around somewhere, orwell, then ” whispered Hokiste ‘ho, willing to whi lonister, w! eratity the iad, brought his voice down to the lowest tae “I wit speak low; and now tell me who ra You are so much afraid of??? “The Boss,” replied the voy,” in a frightened tone; ‘and rene be id too, af you kuew him as on tvell, T don’t like him very much mvself, pee replied Hollister; “but I don’t see anytt to be frightened at, and I don’t see a3 we've me to complain about, He uses us pretiy well, We've t pleniy to eat and to drink’ tw wear, and don’t “On, yes." whispered: Dick, om es,” whispel ic) ificantly, ‘that’s teos thee got @ new boy on rae we aller do have a high old time whenever a new boy comes; but we have to pay up for it afterwards. It seems to me al- most as if you were my brother, Charley, and I will bederrnn Sitey hae you, I die for it—don’t you be “What i sl whispering about there, Richard?’ broke In the shrill voice of the king bee from the en- try outside; “1 am afraid { will have to curtail your sleeping Roars; you've got too much ume for sleep- ing, you have.” “I knew he was around!” whispered the little un- fortunate. “Oh! won't! catcn 1: for ths?’ And turning his back to his companiaa, he refused to say another word, The boy's warning was not without its eftect upon. the mind of foung. Hollister; but, uaving once re- solved upon his course of action he wus not easily to be swerved therefrom, and beiore closing his eyes in sleep he determined to carry out the original pur- dics but what would happen, which he subsequentiy had not been an tndentured apprentice ee hours when he bitterly regretted, not hav- taken his little roommate's aavice. ‘rom the moment the documents were signed which placed Charies Hollister beneath the entire control of Mr. Jeffries for sevon years, the demeanor of the latter toward his apprentices area? 0 complete a change that the newly aa ee, although Ling ore to witness sso.net tg 4 the ki from what Dick Manners had said, was greatly astonished. Ignorant of the world, and thoroughly artleas and honest himself, he never imagined that any one couid exercise such periect hypocrisy. During the whole Ee sop while he was on trial he had noticed that the boys were treated with great consideration. All this Was ¢changed, however, as soon as the neophyte became a full-tiedged “bee”— then tasks were imposed upon the ill-starred ap- prentices the completion of rien wok them from twelve to sixteen hours lay, and they were compelied to submit daily to a Ptaana harrowin pieces of injustice which were calcalated to woun ride and lacerate ane feelings of any boy pos- ing the slightest It was on the osting ot of the second day of young Hollister’s apprenticeship, and he was busily em- ployed at the side of Dick Manners, under whose juition he had temporarily been Placed, when Mr, Barak Jeffries entered the “beehive,” and, ee was his wont, began the exercise of his daily Liang Walking from one to the other of his apprentices bestowed upon each, as he passed along, some biti inuendo or soul-cutt remark, wich admitted no reply, tili atlength he stood’ beuind Dick Man- ners, who felt his presence aJthouzh he did not see him, and who shuddered as he continued his work Myer ain nor? yueaked the 1 late proprietor ras mmacu! of the ‘beehive. a At the sound 1a of his voice both boys looked up, and Hollister noticed that the tyraut held in his hand a Bid na which, till then, he had kept concealed be- dJeffriés, “you did not finish Bie a ee ere thimbles last night 1” ;”” replied the boy, appreuensively, “if you please, sir, I couldn't.” “Couldn’t !” exclaimed Mr. Jeffries, assuming s look of offendea dignity; ‘couldn't, sir? Do you mean to tell me to my face that | have imposed a task upon one of boys which he couldn’t per- form? lam i—I rarely am Srieved, Richard Manners—to find ind thas Byouiare sich .s hard oi a kun! and advisin’ of you, of Foe, Wink pacvundir you to So ntiaer Ican't Ee sich conduct in my ‘beehive,’ wir, ‘and, alth Tam ready to shed tears when T think of doin’ of it, I shall have to punish you ee Ive very tryin’ toa man of my seusibi ee i shall have todo it. I can’t help lag wea 4 dooty 1 owe to you and your mother, an myself.” He took the poor, trembiing’ ed rs the shoulder as he spoke and elevated his whip tn tue air, but before ‘he had struck a blow Hollister, who was at first ren- rise, exclaimed tnplo — we it was three o’clock this m before he got eo bed. je couldn't get to g for an hour after he laid down.” fries dropped his uplifted arm and stood gazing a te new apprentice with a look of perfect amazem “Is it possible that Ican be in my right senses?’ he exciaimed at ; “have I acted as prinelpat Of the ‘beehive’ up to this late day to have a fresh made apprentice a given’ ot advice, a Hollister, you have committed a very fence, sir; a offence, sir, which nothin’ ‘but our ix norance of my rules and regulations could in no me to overiook. I will forgive you tuis time, sir, look out in fatur’ how you Ventuc’ to speak afore you're spoken to, as for this ‘ere boy, i can’s for- dive him; I wish Icouid. I shafi have to give him wome wholesome punishment, and | shall Seed mueb against my wishes, be obliged to report his outrage- ous conduct to his mother 1” This last sentence was one of Mr. Barak Jeffries’ master strokes in the exercise of torture. 1t pierced like a sharp knife the heart of the boy, and the flend knew it would when he uttered it. Mra. M: the boy’s mother, was a widow, aud he was her only son, the chiid of her old age. She idolized him, almost, and before she Lope bum to the mon- ster of the ‘‘behive”’ she fondly hoped that he would by his fellow men and a tara hee poor boy as @ very monster of disobedl- and ingratitude—a juveniie fleaa, in whose character it would be hard to discover one redeem- [ao peck women aid not wish to belleve these ter- rible stories; but wuen they cawe from a man of such ung Tespectavuity as Barak Jef- Lg man who dwelt upon her son's shortcomings ¢ reluctance—how ‘cvuld she refrain him by the memory of his dead fa- ther not to add the sin of falsehood to his other mis- deeds Cae the charges wiica were alleged en and de! as and dead to al feeling hy the devilish skill of Marat dearest How many thieves and assassins aud desperate ruf- 06 their dispusitions from such establishments as the ‘Beenive ?’’ No cry of he lips of Kicharad Man- ners, as the who held him in his gripe pro- i to he jerked the ¢ whip ‘rom his han farthest corner of the room, and in B. voice hasky with emotion shrieked out— and large hammer the it aloft and taeda wicked blow at the ‘The continuation of this truthfal and deeply inter- esting narrative will be found in a serial story en- titlea “MAGGIE, THE onaKitY CHILD,” pubiishea in No. 17 of the NEW YORK WEEKLY, now ready. The NEW YORK WEEKLY is beantifully situstrated and contains forty lo jumns of closely printed Feading matter, making the NEW YORK WEEKLY the best story and sketch | etch paper published, The NEW YORK WEBKLY la forsale by every news agent throughout the Union ad Ceuades,