as he didn't show them any way by which they
could earn their living honestly.

So, like a sensible man, in the first place he took a shop, and got a
great many coarse shirts to make, and told these poor women if they
would come in and make them, he would pay them money, and then they
needn't steal. And they came, too; for many of them were weary enough
of such a wretched life. Nobody likes to be dirty, instead of clean;
nobody likes to be despised, instead of loved; nobody likes a
police-man's hand on his throat, instead of the twining arms of the
good and pure.

No, indeed! Nobody _likes_ to be afraid to look up at the holy stars,
lest their bright eyes should see into their dark souls; nobody likes
to drink till they are senseless as a beast, to stifle the sweet voice
of conscience; nobody likes to be hungry, or thirsty, or sick and
diseased, or so miserable that death would be a blessing.

No, no--no, no! my dear children. So, these poor creatures came
flocking to Mr. Pease's shop, _glad_ to work,--glad of a _chance to
be honest_,--glad to see somebody, like Mr. Pease, who would reach
out his hand and _pull_ them out of this SEA OF SIN, instead of
standing on shore, with his hands folded, while they were drowning,
reading them a tract. They saw that he was _in earnest_,--they saw that
he didn't think himself too good to come right down and _live_ in that
dreadful neighborhood, if he only could help them. And then, when he
had shown them how to put honest bread in their mouths,--when he had
found the way to their hearts, (for these wretched creatures _have_
hearts,)--_then_ he talked to them of God and Heaven, till the tears
rained down their cheeks,--then he asked them to promise him to "go
and sin no more;" and they have kept their word, too. Isn't that good?

Another good thing Mr. Pease has done: he opened a school in this house
of his, for the children in the neighborhood, and I asked him to take
me in to see them. So, he opened a door, and there sat the little
creatures on low benches;--some black as "Topsy;" some white as you
are; some barefoot; some with shoes; some so small that their little
feet didn't touch the floor from the low benches; some sickly looking
and pallid; some rosy and bright; but all with clean hands and clean
faces.

At a signal from the lady teacher, they all began to sing, "A brighter
day will dawn to-morrow." I had to cry. I couldn't help it.

Some of the children had such pure,