"Was that sufficient to provide food, clothing, and shelter for all three of you?" I inquired.

"No, mam, though I managed somehow. I boarded them with an old friend of mother's, who was very kind, and I felt she was never paid enough for her trouble, so you may be sure I was constantly on the lookout for a better-paying job. At last I thought I had struck one, but for a while it would take me away from them, for it was away off in Nevada.

"I answered an ad in the morning paper for a situation in a hotel. The man and woman wanted me right away, as they were leaving on the evening train, and would take me with them, also two others. So I quickly made all my arrangements. Two days later we were there, and it took me no time to see that our principal work would be to wait on tables in the saloon and gambling-hall. I had no money, and was in debt. What could I do but make the best of it? and it is surprising how soon one can."

"Yes, my child. I've frequently heard others make the same sad remark—but proceed with your story."

"I was making quite a bit, besides sending money home to keep the children, when something happened which made me so despondent [she did not say what it was] that one day I quit my job, and one of the girls said, 'Go down to ——, Sarah. You'll be able to get plenty of honest work there, at good wages.' So I left; and, believe me, I hadn't struck —— before some one on the train recognized me as one of the girls who had worked in the —— Hotel. It was all up with me now. In my despair I took this den, for which I pay one dollar and fifty cents a day. I loathe, I hate the business. I am ready and willing to go into anybody's kitchen and work, and work hard and well, for I know how. Do you think you could get any one to hire me?"

As she had been brought up by a God-fearing mother, we knelt together in that vile den, where we both prayed. With the tears streaming down her cheeks, she prayed her mother's God and her God to forgive her for having been so weak as to yield to the devil, all because she wanted more money so as to be able to provide better for the little brother and sister, and implored Him to give her employment where she could have them near her until they were old enough to do for themselves.

Now listen to how God answered that prayer. On the next evening (Sunday), whilst I was addressing a large audience in the Congregational church, I related this girl's experience and then requested honest work for her, emphasizing thus: "She claims to be capable; she looks it; therefore she can earn good wages. Whoever is in need of such a girl, please privately inform me at the close of this service." In less than an hour, that girl could have had her choice of five situations in responsible families. I chose one for her, and for aught I know to the contrary, she may be there still. (Reader, it is impossible to keep track of different ones, there are so many.) She gave such excellent satisfaction that erelong her little brother and sister were provided a good home in her immediate neighborhood, and scarcely any one is the wiser for her unfortunate error.

Thus the rescue worker occasionally sees happy results of the travail of soul for the lost ones; but would to God there were many more Christian employers like the one Sarah found, who treat her so kindly, as well as give her what she is capable of earning, that she makes extra effort to prove her appreciation and gratitude. "But," you say, "there are not many like Sarah." True; also there are not many Christians like Sarah's employers. In fact, they are very, very rare. Many a time have I wearied myself in vain in an endeavor to procure honest employment for some young girl who has been convicted and imprisoned a short time for her first offense and who has told me of her capabilities and begged me to procure employment pending her release, so that she would not have to return to her undesirable home and surroundings, with their accompanying temptations.

"We dare say she means well enough now, but we could not think of hiring her until some one has first tested and proved her trustworthy. Besides, there are other members of our family; they must be taken into consideration," is the frequent excuse. Thus the responsibility is shifted, and, sick and sad at heart, we go away to inform the poor girl who wants honest work that our efforts have proved futile. We then implore her to make her home in one of the refuges until she can once more become established, only to hear her say: "That would hoodoo me for sure. You know as well as I do that scarcely any wages are offered to a girl who is hired out of a rescue home, even if she is quite capable." Reader, it is shamefully true. Oh! why will professed Christians take so mean an advantage of the situation and expect girls who have made some mistake, but have the courage to live it down, to go to work at menial employment for little or nothing? Under such circumstances, what inducement have they who, if encouraged, would do better?

May the dear Lord as never before give us an introspective vision of ourselves as he sees us. This will surely clothe us with the mantle of Christ-like charity, in the event of our determination to live up to our profession and numberless privileges.



CHAPTER XLV.

THE WOMEN PRISONERS OF SAN QUENTIN.

The present kind wardens (Hoyle and Reilly) of the two penitentiaries of California have granted me many more opportunities to enjoy heart-to-heart talks with the prisoners than I am able to relate. In but one of these places (San Quentin) are the women incarcerated. In this department let me endeavor to awaken your interest.

It is situated in a remote corner, inside the prison walls, and is accessible only through the passage-way underneath the central building seen in the illustration on next page. It is built two stories high around a hollow cemented square, with windows looking into the same. It affords no view, excepting barely the tops of the hills, the sky, and the matron's house. Truly these poor women are shut in. Not so with the men, as will be seen in the same picture. It shows a portion of the beautiful garden into which many a cell door opens. One corner of these quarters may be seen on the right, the women's being inside of the building near the tree on the left. Frequently have I, attended by the matron, Mrs. G. G. Smith, a very warm friend of mine, come through that iron gateway in the wall, always to be greeted with smiles and warm words, of welcome by my less fortunate sisters. These meetings were, without doubt, profitable to all concerned. I enjoyed their orchestra (some are very musical), and they enjoyed the songs to my autoharp accompaniment.

As I have previously mentioned, the present matron, after much intercession and with the warden's aid, succeeded, a few months following her accession to the matronal office, in prevailing upon the board of prison directors to grant the women prisoners a monthly walk on God's beautiful green hills. In order to prove their appreciation of her kindness, the women banded together to give her an entertainment on the first anniversary of her matronship. To this day they believe the affair to have been a complete surprise, though she was aware of their preparations from the beginning.

The day broke warm and beautiful. Immediately after dinner Matron Smith was escorted to a seat of honor in the yard and the program was opened by an excellent address of welcome (of which I have an exact copy) by E——, whose offense was—well, we won't say what nor how long her term of imprisonment. She is a bright young woman, as the following well-worded and touching speech amply verifies:

Trusting in your graciousness, and with your approval, we, the inmates of the female department of this institution, have taken the liberty of arranging a program for an entertainment to be given in the honor of, and to celebrate this, your official natal day.

Just a year ago today you came to us. To you it means just the passing of time in a sphere of action hitherto unknown to you; but to us a year filled with memories of all things good—easier times, warmer clothing, and privileges until then unknown.

We have enjoyed, through your kind intercession, and the courtesy of our noble Warden, the delight of walking forth into the outer world, even if only for a short time; of seeing once more green fields and hills clothed in nature's gown of green and flowers; of viewing the waters of the bay and inhaling the salt sea air; and of being entertained in your own sweet way, in your own sweet home. At last, but not least, to have the intense satisfaction of gazing at the outside of our prison wall, anticipating the time when we will always be outside of that old wall. And in our daily life together, you, in the discharge of your duties, have been a kind and gentle matron, listening always with patience to our tales of woe. And through all the past year you have been to us our guide, friend, and comrade. We one and all pray that life will give you health, happiness, and prosperity, and all of heaven's good gifts.

Then followed an enjoyable program.

Who could not be touched by such tender sentiment from those whom the world at large regard as well-nigh, if not quite, hopeless cases. Because of this and also because of the receipt of a recent letter (Sept. 14, 1911), I humbly and heartily thank God that I am able to prove that kindness, coupled with good judgment, is very effectual.

Enclosed in this lengthy, newsy letter from the matron are some excellent up-to-date photos of the San Quentin prison, two of which you will find between these covers, and also a clipping from one of San Francisco's daily papers, as follows:

2,000 LEAVE PRISON WALLS.

WARDEN HOYLE GIVES SAN QUENTIN CHARGES AN UNUSUAL PRIVILEGE.

Nearly two thousand convicts at San Quentin prison walked outside the walls on Admission Day and spent more than three hours in God's out-of-doors, while they rooted for rival hall teams playing on a diamond beneath the blue Marin County skies.

No extra guards or precautions marked the first time in the history of a California State prison that convicts have been permitted to leave the walls.

JOKE AND LAUGH.

In orderly procession the men filed out from the prison yard between the great stone gate-posts, laughing and joking like schoolboys in their joy at seeing once more an unobstructed sweep of smiling, open country.

From three o'clock until six fifteen every man in the institution except the sick and incorrigibles, stood or sat on the ground or perched on adjoining sheds while the "Whites" and "Blacks" played ball that would do credit to a fast bush league.

Over at one side sat a row of condemned prisoners, watching their last ball game and forgetting for a few blessed moments that the shadow of the scaffold hung over them.

WOMAN FANS, TOO.

From other seats, the women prisoners saw the game.

For four innings neither side scored. Then the "Blacks" pitcher lost his control, and the two thousand frenzied rooters cheered as man after man slid home. The score at the close stood 7 to 2 in favor of the "Whites."

"It's only part of the new policy of trusting the prisoners and treating them like human beings," said Warden Hoyle today. Hoyle is the man who is responsible for the innovation. "We have no fear for a break for liberty, and the men showed that they appreciate decent treatment. I can't say that we will take the men outside every holiday, but the experiment was a success and will be tried again."

What the glimpse of a world outside the prison walls meant for the prisoners can be appreciated by readers of "The Bulletin" who have read Donald Lowrie's narrative of life within the prison walls.

The Admission Day game marked a new epoch in the history of California prisons.

What an innovation compared with former policies! Surely practical demonstration of these experiments in other parts of the country will have a tendency to reduce criminality. If not, pray tell me what will? Time and again have I heard prisoners and others comment upon the impractical Christianity portrayed, with seldom any exception. They weary of being only preached to. The actions of such men as Warden Hoyle and of such women as Matron Smith will probably have more to do with helping these convicted ones to lead upright lives in the future than will all the preaching of celebrated divines from now to doomsday, and I, a Christian, do not hesitate for one moment to say so frankly. In the name of the dear Lord, let us endeavor to practise what we preach, and thus win numberless blessings from the throne of grace for ourselves and others.



CHAPTER XLVI.

VALLEJO, MARE ISLAND, AND ALCATRAZ.

"I am sure you will enjoy a trip with me to Vallejo and Uncle Sam's great navy yard, adjacent to it. It is only about an hour's ride from San Francisco and is accessible both by train and boat," I said to my friend, Mrs. Walter C. Show, of Santa Barbara, whose guest I then was, in her lovely villa in that beautiful city by the sea. She had been giving me most interesting accounts of her entertainment of the marines and the cadets at the time when the fleet lay at anchor in the bay. As I was soon due in San Francisco, she accompanied me. Before starting we notified friends; consequently, warm welcome and royal entertainment was ours from the time of arrival.

As this was by no means my first visit, I prepared her for the shock of seeing many, many saloons and other disreputable places for the purpose of robbing hundreds, nay, thousands of boys, far from home and mother, of their hard and scanty earnings. Nevertheless, there is an excellent Marine Y.M.C.A. in Vallejo, with a large membership; but they are in the minority. We saw scores pouring out of the saloons or hanging around their immediate vicinity; scores more that evening coming in or going out of the dance-halls and dens of iniquity and vice. Many were in dreadful stages of intoxication. Alas! the pity, the great pity of it, that Uncle Sam does not wake up to protect those ready to lay down their lives for home and country, not to speak of the hundreds of thousands, nay, millions of our floating population. Where will it all eventually end? where, oh! where?

I contend that the civic clubs of any community hold the key to the situation. If they would strive for the prevention of crime rather than for the reformation of the criminal, the resultant good would soon be tenfold that of the present regime.

The day following our arrival we were taken to inspect Mare Island. As heretofore, the prison-ship was filled with young men serving short terms or awaiting trial for some serious offense. In almost every instance liquor was responsible for their being in trouble. It was heartrending. We realized that, aside from speaking a kind word or giving some motherly advice, we could do little if anything. We were inadequate to cope with the situation. We could pray with them, poor lads; we could sympathize with them; but we were practically powerless in that or in any community that tolerates, licenses, and votes for the means of the downfall of men, women, and children. All we can do is pray and wait, wait and pray. God speed the day when the enemy of souls shall no longer reign over them and laugh at their calamity. God speed the day.

I again made it my business to visit many lost girls in that city, earnestly pleading with them to quit the downward path and stop dragging other souls down to hell along with their own. Most of them appeared to be gospel hardened. One girl, however, seriously impressed me. She was one of the few who would listen.

"I'll tell you how I'm situated," she said, "and then if you don't think I am to be pitied more than blamed, you're different from what I think you are. I've the dearest mother on earth. She lies, a hopeless cripple, in a little cottage in West Oakland. I also have a little brother not old enough to go to school yet. I hire a woman who has known us for many years to take care of them. She is elderly, and, for the sake of a good home, works for small wages. She knows how I live, but would rather die than betray me. Mother thinks I am working in a hotel where I get plenty of 'tips' besides my wages. I go home every Monday to see her. Mother Roberts, I would give the world if I could be able to have my pure mother kiss lips that were clean instead of stained and stained with sin.

"I won't send her to the hospital. I love her better than my life. She'd die there, for the need of nice little things they never provide, and other necessaries. My little brother would have to be reared in some charity institution. I couldn't stand it. I'm the most unhappy girl on earth because of the situation, and don't you forget it; but I can't, I can't earn sufficient honest money to support them and myself properly."

Later, the mother died, and the poor daughter, who had ruined her life to support her, went insane and then took her life.

Some of the girls told me that one man owned nearly all the dance-halls there as well as the girls, and that very few of them had any liberty or money. They were living in hope, but alas! many were dying in despair. Apparently little if any impression could be made on those we did have a chance to talk with. We could only sow the seed and trust our merciful God for results.

All the pastors invited us into the pulpits, where we endeavored faithfully to give such messages as God saw fit to lay on our hearts.

The next day we left for a visit to Alcatraz Island, the isolated military prison situated midway between San Francisco and Sausalito. Oh, what a gloomy, desolate place! Notwithstanding its beautiful situation, excellent discipline, etc., its atmosphere is most depressing. Even before one lands one feels weighted down, despondent for its prisoners, many of whom sit or stand with hats drawn low over their faces, breaking, ever breaking stones by the roadside. Nearly all are being punished for desertion. The sympathetic visitor longs to address them, but is not permitted to do so. He is allowed only a brief visit with whomsoever he has, after much trouble, received a permit for an interview, and then always in the presence and within hearing of the officer in charge. Surely the way of the transgressor is hard, and especially so with the violator of Uncle Sam's rigid army and navy rules and regulations. For this reason Uncle Sam ought to remove the stumbling-blocks that he countenances and legalizes and that cause so many of his otherwise obedient servants to fall into disrepute and, in numerous cases, into untimely graves.

The young man whom we had come to visit, though a refined, intelligent soldier, was a deserter. He had the usual sad story to relate—wine, women, then desertion. There was so little, with the exception of Christian sympathy, with which we could encourage him. The future looked gloomy. I made an effort, through one of my friends in Congress, to obtain this young man's parole, but as this was his second offense, the attempt was futile. It is hard, very hard on the missionary to have to be the bearer of discouraging, often heart-breaking, news; but as this is part of our office, we bear the cross as we alone can, always pointing the disappointed and heavy-hearted to the Savior, the Burden-bearer; sometimes, but not always, leaving them with the load somewhat lightened.

From this sad place we, with heavy hearts, proceeded to San Quentin. After spending two hours (for our time was limited) we then departed for San Francisco, where we visited various points of interest to the consecrated ones. Then, after an absence of ten days, we returned to beautiful Santa Barbara, where church and other engagements were awaiting me.

Thence I traveled up the Coast, ever with the one object in view—"the Master's service." I visited jails and the avenues that lead to that place, and held many meetings, always being well received by pastors of various denominations, civic societies, etc. In the name of the Lord, yet with the spirit of love, I endeavored to place the blame for the downfall of the masses where it belonged and belongs—at the door of the licensed saloon.

When I reached San Luis Obispo, I learned, to my great joy, that the Columbia Park Band Boys of San Francisco, forty of whom were on a walking tour from that city to Los Angeles, were due the following day. At Chittenden (my home), just before I left, my friends had delightfully entertained them with a picnic on their beautiful grounds. There we learned what an effectual (prevention) work was being carried on for the reputable lads of the public schools of San Francisco under the leadership of the Piexotto brothers, who arrange for entertainments, outings, and treats throughout the year, thus appealing to all the better instincts and qualities of many of the rising generation. It is truly a most practical, worthy enterprise, one which should be adopted in all large cities for the encouragement and the promotion of better citizenship.

A sad case was awaiting trial in this city—a fifteen-year-old girl prisoner accused of the murder of her babe. I visited her frequently. She was finally sent to Whittier Reform School. Much comment on this is out of the question; suffice it to say, the girl, because of her pre and post-natal environments, was far more to be pitied than blamed.

I was next due at Santa Maria. During my brief sojourn there I was the guest of the president of the Women's Improvement Club, who, with many others, was making a strenuous effort to abolish the saloon from their midst. I there became acquainted with a very enthusiastic, fearless child of God, a converted Jew, whose name I can not recall at the time of this writing, but whose help I greatly appreciated. He was leaving no stone unturned for the elimination of the local liquor traffic.

Returning to San Luis Obispo for a brief stay, I was much gratified in renewing the acquaintance of Dr. Bulgin, a successful evangelist, with whom, in various places, I have had the pleasure of being more or less associated in the work.

S——, the city where I was on the morning of the earthquake, was once more, for a short time, my stopping-place. As something that had just occurred, so dreadful yet so interesting, occupied all my time and attention during my stay there, and as it furnishes ample material for another story, I will relate it in the following chapter.



CHAPTER XLVII.

IRENE'S AWFUL FATE—"THE WAGES OF SIN."

After very warmly greeting me, the landlady of the hotel in which I was staying at the time of the earthquake introduced me to several, with the remark, "This is the lady of whom I was speaking a while ago—the one who occupied the room in my house in which the plaster was not even broken on that morning of the earthquake. I've always claimed God had a hand in that, for every other room and everything else here was practically destroyed, as many can testify." This being corroborated by a number sitting or standing around, she next said:

"Did you come to investigate last night's murder?"

"What murder?" I inquired. "I have not as yet heard of it."

"The awful, cold-blooded murder of a young woman they call Irene, down on —— Street, by a drunken lad twenty years of age. It's the worst ever!" she exclaimed.

"Do you know the parties, either of them?" I asked.

"Not the girl, only by sight. She was about twenty, and as pretty as a picture. She and her sister were leading awful lives. One lies murdered, and, now that you are here, I guess it won't be hard to induce the other to quit. They have been well reared, in as nice a family as you could wish to know. It's too bad, too bad!" mourned my landlady.

"What about the lad who has committed this awful deed? Do you know him?" I inquired.

"Yes, almost ever since he was born. He is an only child. His mother is a widow, and one of the nicest women you ever met. But he always was bad, even when a small boy. Let me tell you what he once started to do. He took a kitten and was in the very act of skinning it alive, just as you would a rabbit, when he was caught, and the poor little animal quickly put out of its misery. He seemed to delight in being cruel to anything that came his way. He'd take a fly and pick a wing or a leg off at a time, and then turn it loose to enjoy watching it trying to move about. When he got older, his mother couldn't make him go to school much, although she did everything to coax or bribe him. He got beyond her control, and would leave home for days and weeks at a time, then suddenly put in his appearance and demand money from her, which she always gave him; otherwise she would have no peace. Then off he'd go again, to turn up again just as he did yesterday morning, when he came in on the train and began to make his brags that he meant to paint the town red before he left it, and he certainly has—with human blood."



"Is not his home here?" I inquired.

"Not now. It used to be, but they moved away to —— —— some time ago, all owing to his bad actions," she replied, and then added. "My but I'm awful sorry for his poor mother! One of the nicest Christian women you ever met, Mother Roberts. I can't understand how God could punish her with such a child. I can't, indeed!"

Inquiring my way, I soon found myself at the jail, where this twenty-year-old murderer was being held. The sheriff was very kind; but he considerately informed me that the lad was in such a shocking state of inebriety as to be loathsome even to them, and also that they preferred to let his mother, who had not yet arrived, have the first interview.

Thence I wended my way to the district in which this awful crime, at nearly midnight the previous night, had been perpetrated. I first called at a respectable house in the immediate neighborhood, in order to get my bearings and necessary preliminary information; then soon I rang the bell of the door where the poor murdered girl had been lodging, but received no response. Some one next door, however, heard and answered, then invited me in.

Five girls, all huddled together, their faces still blanched with horror, confronted me when I entered that room. Never was a missionary more warmly welcomed. Never was a better opportunity to comfort and warn, then point to the "Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of the world." Never were more humble prayers or promises of reformation. Every one of them had homes to go to, and every one promised to go as soon as the funeral was over. Then I inquired where I could find the sister of the murdered girl. They told me. They also gave me particulars concerning the murder.

The lad, it appeared, loitered around that neighborhood before dark, apparently semi-intoxicated, and then went into one of the houses, where he still more freely indulged. Upon leaving, he pointed his pistol and carelessly fired, "just for fun," into a window up-stairs. The bullet missed a girl's head, singeing her pompadour. Returning at dark, he renewed his wild revelries. About midnight, because his victim would not continue to drink with him, he shot her without one word of warning. Screaming at the top of her voice, she ran through every room of the house, he after her, still shooting. He emptied every barrel of his weapon into her poor sinful body. Every girl and youth under that roof fled at the first shot. The murderer, after doing his worst, coolly walked out, went up-town, and entered a saloon. There, as he called for a drink, he laid his weapon on the bar, bragging as he did so of his terrible deed. He was immediately arrested.

When the officers arrived at the scene of the crime, they found the bloody trace of the victim in every room, and when they finally discovered her, she was quite dead. She was kneeling by her bedside, her head buried in the clothes, her hands tightly clasped as though she had been trying to pray as her poor soul passed out into eternity.

I found her sister and had a heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul talk with her—one that I shall never forget. She was so silent, so uncommunicative, yet I talked on until I felt the Spirit say, "Enough." I have seen her since. She was still leading the kind of life which had been instrumental in sending her sister's soul and others' souls by the thousands to eternal perdition. She received me kindly, but she would not heed, notwithstanding she admitted that she was haunted the livelong time. She would give no reason for continuing on the road to hell.

"Who were these sisters?" you ask. Daughters of parents who were in comfortable circumstances and stood well in their community. I was told that both girls were inveterate novel-readers, patrons of every show that came to town, good dancers and dressers, and—reader, it is the same old sad, sad story. They confided in any one rather than their parents; and hence were easily persuaded to take the first step downward.

And what about that boy, whose mother wept and mourned and questioned why this awful trouble should have been put upon her, she who had never wronged anybody in all her lifetime.

Listen! poor afflicted mother. You have forgotten that when you were young and newly married you did not want to be burdened with motherhood for a long time to come. You wanted to continue to enjoy social functions in the very pretty dresses your fond parents had provided toward your wedding trousseau; you had no intention for many a long day to settle down to the usual routine incident to motherhood; in fact, you purposed to have a good time for the next two or three years, before your pretty clothes went out of fashion; besides, you did not particularly take to children anyhow, and if you had had your own way, you would never have had any. You said it, and you know it, that a woman is so tied down who has babies to take care of.

The time came when the greatest boon conferred on woman was to be conferred on you. What did you do? How angry you were as you, for months nursed your grievance, because God was going to have his way in spite of all opposition. One day the little babe was laid in your arms. As he was a goodly child to look upon, you were resigned; but, oh! poor, poor, untutored mother! you had unawares robbed your darling of his birthright, and, furthermore, you had brought into the world a being with murderous tendencies. Yes, you were converted at that revival meeting, and knew that all your past sins were blotted out by the efficacy of the precious blood of Jesus. Yes, we know you are living a Christian life so far as you know how, but "your sins have been visited upon" your poor child. The germ was in his being, and now he must pay the penalty for your crime of a little over twenty years ago. For crime it was, and you can not call it by any other name. "Others have been alike guilty," you say. Alas, yes! by the thousands; but that never for a moment excuses you.

You didn't know? No; not altogether, for you were not taking a look, a long look into the future. You had no instruction from your own fond, indulgent, falsely modest mother regarding these God-given functions, capable of producing a soul, a wonderful soul; and so you ignorantly, selfishly erred.

Never was mortal sorrier for another than I am for you. Never was mortal more anxious to help bear another's burden than I am to help bear yours; but it is well-nigh impossible for me to do so. Only Jesus can ease your broken heart. Only Jesus can comfort you. Only Jesus can heal your terrible, terrible wound, poor, weeping, afflicted mother. All I am able to do is to sympathize with and pray for you.

After this heart-rending experience I was glad to rest a few days at Chittenden and enjoy the fellowship of its cherished owners. Ah! how kind, how very, very kind they were! but the mail was constantly bringing calls that were more or less, urgent; sometimes to quickly locate a wandering girl; sometimes to come to a juvenile court session, or perhaps to a hospital or jail; and one was to assist in the work at Portland, Ore. Whilst considering the latter call and praying for leadings, I took time to hold some meetings in an interior town. Following a mothers' meeting there a young lady urged me to visit her and have a confidential talk with her upon a matter which was of vital importance. I did so, and this is what she said:

"What I am about to betray would lose me my situation if it were known; therefore I shall rely on you to respect strictly the confidence I am about to place in you, as to the source from whence you received it. I have a position in the telephone-office, consequently, I hear many conversations, some of which are utterly demoralising.

"There is a certain woman in this city whose business it is, at least so I judge, to corrupt, morally and physically, young school and messenger boys, as you will surmise by a conversation which took place this very morning, and it is not her first offense. She called for her party, and as I could not get them at once, I asked for her number, so as to be able to call her as soon as I could. Presently I succeeded, and soon she was asking:

"'Is this Harry?'

"Some one at the other end of the line replied:

"'Yes. Is that you, Cora?'

"'Of course, you little dunce. When are you coming down again? Didn't you...?'

"'Dandy. But say, Cora, it's awful risky. I'm not fourteen yet. What if I should get nabbed?'

"'No, you won't if you'll mind me. Now listen. Come in at the lower side entrance. I'll give a tip to the bar-tender. If the coast is clear, you can come up the back stairs; if not, he'll hide you until I say so.'

"'What time?'

"'Tomorrow after you're out. You know. After three. So long.'"

The case was sickening, revolting; but it demanded immediate action. After prayerfully meditating for a few minutes, I called up the chief of police, asked for audience without delay, and soon thereafter was in his private office. After listening attentively to my recital, he at first thought to wait until the morrow and then arrest all parties concerned; but upon reflection he decided that that course would never do, as the boy's parents were of high social standing. The arrest would ruin them. Moreover, it would never do to wait until the morrow. One of his private detectives was immediately deputized to call on Miss Cora and give her twelve hours to leave town, bag and baggage. He was to tell her the real reason and to inform her that if she refused to go she would be arrested and severely punished for enticing and harboring minors. Short as the time was, she managed to dispose of her things. Her house was permanently closed, and the saloon soon afterward.

As to the boy, I waylaid him on his way home from school and told him what I had found out, so that he was perfectly willing to go with me to the chief of police, who, I am satisfied, gave him much fatherly advice as well as a thorough scare, calculated to last as long as he lived and also to aid him in warning his schoolmates and friends having similar evil tendencies.

But I must return to Chittenden. Several letters from Oregon had been forwarded. I felt that I must answer this call, God willing. I decided to help there, at least temporarily. Accordingly, one morning, bright and early, I started.

As I boarded the train, Mr. and Mrs. Chittenden handed me a letter, the reading of which brought tears of love and appreciation. Here it is, word for word:

Chittenden, Cal., Nov. 15, 1909. Dear Mrs. Roberts:

We do not wish you to cross the State line into Oregon without carrying a few words from home with you—that is our excuse for the writing of this letter.

You have been one of us at Chittenden since you were invited to make our home yours last spring. Our wish was, and is, that Chittenden should be your home in all that the name implies—a place to which you could always turn for rest and recuperation from your unselfish labors; and from which you could go forth again to your chosen task to battle against evil, cheered by kind words, and knowing that warm hearts and a warm welcome were waiting for you when you again needed rest.

You have been with us now for over half a year, and your presence here has been most agreeable to us. Our respect for you has ripened into regard, and our regard into affection, and now that you are leaving us, we realize how much the home spirit has worked to bind us all together, and we know that we shall miss you and shall often wish to have you with us again.

Well, Oregon can not claim you all the time. Some time you will feel weary and overworked—some time you will need rest—and when you do, just remember that there is a little green and flowery spot along the railway down in California—a place where the door stands always open, and where sincere friends are always waiting to welcome you—and—come home.

Sincerely your friends.

Ida H. Chittenden.

T. Chittenden.

I stopped off at several places: at San Jose and San Francisco, to visit the rescue homes and dear friends, particularly dear Sister Kauffman, whose house had been dynamited and destroyed at the time of the fire following the earthquake, but who still sheltered many a girl in temporary cottages on the land where the home had once stood; next Berkeley, where lives my hospitable friend, Mrs. J. T. Anderson, whose beautiful home I enjoy the freedom of whenever in her neighborhood; then Sacramento, to spend one night with dear Mrs. Trefren, already referred to as one of my warmest friends; then Redding, my old home, where I rescued little Rosa, and which was the scene of many battles and victories in the name of the Lord. At this latter place there awaited me a royal reception from my many former friends and associates. It had been more than a decade since I had held up on the rear platform of the train that Bible with its blessed parting message from Gal. 6:9. All through the interval the Master had graciously permitted me to sow and to reap. Though there had been much more sowing than reaping, yet there had not been a great deal of fainting, for the grace of God had been all sufficient. Hallelujah!

Before I had been many days in Portland, I received a telegram telling of the death of Mr. Roberts. (Reader, I have refrained from stating in this book under what circumstances and at what time Mr. Roberts came back into my life, simply because that matter has no direct reference to the title of the book and also because it recalls too much pain and distress of a private nature. This I will say: With the other duties an added heavy cross was mine, owing to his mental and physical condition—a cross which, I regret to say, I did not always bear as patiently or as cheerfully as I might have borne it. It lasted from February, 1905, to November, 1009.) A caved-in tunnel near the State line prohibited my return, but Pastor Harper, of San Jose, and other kind friends relieved me of all final responsibilities regarding my late husband.

Until my return to California three months later, in the direct interests of the prison commission work, I worked even more laboriously than ever before. As ever, the Lord raised up many friends for me in Portland and vicinity; yet, at the same time, I was bitterly opposed and well-nigh overwhelmed by the enemy, who resorted to all sorts of means and devices to crush both soul and body. Did he succeed? No, indeed; for God was "my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." His not the Lord promised that "when the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord shall lift up a standard against him" (Isa. 59:19)? What blessed assurance for those who truly love and try to serve him! Hallelujah!

My last meeting before leaving Oregon was under the auspices of the Woman's Christian Temperance Union in a suburb called St. John's. An account of the service was made in the local paper, The Review, Feb. 4, 1910, as follows:

The Woman's Christian Temperance Union of St Johns planned a treat for the women of this place which proved a grand success. Mrs. Florence Roberts, better known as "Mother Roberts," spoke for an hour to over one hundred and fifty women in Bickner's Hall Tuesday afternoon. The most strict attention as paid, for it was a most solemn message she gave to us. After the meeting refreshments were served, and the ladies lingered a while to get acquainted. Five new members were added to the Union.

I left there that same night for California, and the next meeting that I shall mention was that held the following Sunday evening in the fine hall of the ex-prisoners' home, 110 Silver Street, San Francisco. On this occasion I had the prayers of many former prisoners that God would bless me as I went forth to interest the people in their behalf and to open hearts and purses to aid in lifting the mortgage on this home—"Golden Rule Hall." In this interest I remained in San Francisco for some time, being occupied exclusively in interviewing responsible business people and portraying the need of their cooperation, financially and otherwise. During this time I was the guest of Brother Charles Montgomery, president of the board of prison commissioners, at his hotel—The Brooklyn. Afterward I visited San Mateo and Burlingame, with the same object in view. At the former place the young pastor of the Methodist Episcopal church, Rev. C. B. Sylvester, was just commencing a series of revival meetings. Upon learning my errand to San Mateo, he and his wife urged my cooperation in the evening services, and to this end invited me to remain under their roof. As I acceded to their wishes, double duty for the kingdom now confronted me, but the realization that our Lord never imposed too heavy a burden was now demonstrated. Those precious meetings closed in two weeks, with most blessed results. This records my first active, actual revival work.

To the glory of God, let me make mention that hundreds of dollars was the result of the daytime labor for the payment of the ex-prisoners' home.

During July and August, 1910, I was in an interior town and was laboring under an indescribable burden for certain souls. I believe I know what untold soul-agony is. Whilst almost sinking beneath my load, I received a letter from one whom, with his bride, I had been brought into Christian fellowship with in the early days of rescue experience. The missive had followed me from one place to another until only the last address could be plainly deciphered, owing to numerous erasures. Other letters had often miscarried and failed to reach me. This one was, by the hand of God, safely guided through. The father, with four little helpless children on his hands, wrote of the mental derangement of their mother, of his inability to find help, and of his pleading to God to send some one consecrated enough to assist them in their time of trouble. He was a poor man, but had a home and was working industriously at his trade to support his little flock, the youngest of whom was not four years old, the eldest ten.

Positively I knew of no one to go to the rescue. Whilst I was praying earnestly for the Lord to find some good woman to mother those little ones pending their mother's recovering, I received the impression, "Go yourself." Surely there is work everywhere—just as much in that distant town as where I was. I admit I shrank from so trying an ordeal, but, do my best, I could not silence the impression, "Go yourself." I prayed that if no other door opened within the next three days, God would let me regard this as a sign that his voice was bidding me take up this cross. Such was his will. I wrote, saying, "Expect me [date] on evening train." For nine weeks my immediate duty was with those little ones. Still further to try me, there was added to my domestic labors, measles. No sooner had one child recovered than the next was taken with them, until all had been similarly afflicted.

Some of the neighbors, having learned that "Mother Roberts" was quietly sojourning at this brother's house, called; and soon I was assisted with very necessary sewing, etc. After the three oldest children were once more able to go to school. I received a unanimous invitation to hold revival meetings in that town. About this time God sent the brother a splendid housekeeper, an elderly Christian woman, who relieved me of domestic duties, so that I was able to accept the call mentioned.

On February 1 of this year (1911) I received from Wheeling, W. Va., a telegram which filled me with indescribable joy, for it informed me of the birth of a little grandson. (My first grandchild and little namesake I have never seen. God took her when she was nine months old.) I longed to hold this dear little one in my arms and prayed God to grant my heart's desire, if according to his will. And he did. Bless his holy name! Following the revival services already mentioned, came a call from another town not far distant. At the close of this meeting a free-will offering enabled me to take the desired trip. On March 7, 1911, in company with a lady who was going within a short distance of my destination, I boarded the train and before long was with my precious little family. My cup of happiness was now filled to the brim, my heart overflowing with gratitude to God, as I embraced my dear ones and their precious little son.



CHAPTER XLVIII.

MY RETURN TO THE MISSIONARY FIELD.

In a few weeks a longing to return to missionary work was again taking possession of me. In vain I sought for the undenominational rescue hall usually to be found in large cities. Apparently Wheeling had nothing of this kind, though surely very much needed. Moreover, the requisite encouragement for the starting of one was not forthcoming.

Sundays would find me with my treasured auto-harp in the jail, work house, or infirmary at the afternoon services, which for years have been conducted by consecrated Christians, longing as much, nay, even perhaps more than I, for the necessary places of refuge for discharged prisoners and others. God speed the day when these needed institutions shall be amply supplied.

A lengthy conversation with one of the local judges, who is specially interested in juvenile offenders, elicited the fact of there being no place of detention for erring children except with the professed or habitual criminals. Comment upon this is superfluous; it is sufficient to say that in nine cases out of ten disastrous results are inevitable. Owing to a lack of interest, of means, or of cooperation, perhaps of sufficient good citizenship, maybe of all four, the judge and his coworkers seem to be unable at present to cope with or improve the situation. In a few years hence, this and other cities similarly situated will be facing a problem well-nigh impossible to solve, unless unusual efforts are made to provide for detention homes and schools for the delinquent children, now so numerous everywhere, excepting in towns and States where the awful liquor octopus, so largely responsible for crime and criminal tendencies, is absolutely abolished. Let us not for a moment forget that these youthful offenders are, in the main, the offspring of lovers of drink and its accessories. Thus the sins of the parents are visited upon the children, and upon the children's children, unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate God; but he says that he will show mercy unto thousands of them that love him and keep his commandments (Deut. 5:9, 10).

A pastor, describing the situation, informed me with the tears in his eyes that, notwithstanding all the efforts put forth for children's spiritual instruction, the results were very meager, owing to the indifference of parents—fathers and mothers who send their little ones to Sunday-school in the morning and then undo all the good in the afternoon by supplying them with nickels and sending them unchaperoned to the moving-picture shows, in order that they (the parents) may be free to indulge in worldly pleasures and amusements. Fortunately, a Sunday-closing movement in this direction has recently been crowned with success.

Some time in April as I was taking a streetcar ride between Wheeling, W. Va., and an adjacent town just across the river in the State of Ohio, my soul was uplifted when my eyes alighted upon this sign: "City Gospel Mission." Upon getting off the car at the next corner, I soon learned from the one who was superintending this work of the need of more consecrated assistants. I therefore at once volunteered my services. God saw fit to keep me in this field for three months, or until the time came for him to trust me still further along in his glorious light and liberty, thus giving me greater realization than ever before of what "the steps to His throne" mean literally as well as spiritually. To explain: My attention was attracted to a little band of workers quietly, unostentatiously living remarkable lives of humility faith, and prayer, depending absolutely upon our heavenly Father for all necessities, health of body as well as of soul, and, in fact, literally following God's Word, in spirit and in truth. Investigation convinced me beyond a doubt that my Lord had very much more of his riches for my enjoyment here on earth than of what I had already partaken, if I would be willing still further to humble myself.

For days the adversary contended with my soul. Everything calculated to discourage me was brought to bear, but praise God forever for victory! On the day it was gained, I informed my loved ones that I was soon to leave them in order to answer the call of God in an entirely new field of labor, where opportunity would shortly be granted me to give the world the benefit of a few of the numerous experiences of the past fifteen years. Through the consecrated humble little band already referred to, I learned of the Gospel Trumpet Home and Publishing Company, situated at Anderson, Indiana. I wrote to them, and shortly afterwards received a cordial invitation to visit them for an indefinite period. About the middle of August I was lovingly greeted by a family of about two hundred and fifty children of God, mostly young people of both sexes, all consecrated faith workers; all cheerfully and gladly giving the Lord their time and talents in this beautiful spot and being abundantly provided for materially as well as spiritually.

Here, whilst writing these experiences, I am enjoying blessed rest of both soul and body, such as I had never dreamed of; for, like many, many others, I had no idea of there being such a foretaste of heaven oil earth as this which is being daily and hourly demonstrated by the many members of the church of God (Col. 1:18) sojourning under this roof of prevailing prayer and practical faith. Best of all, every one is given cordial invitation to investigate personally; to satisfy himself beyond a doubt that the God who so wonderfully fed the Israelites in the wilderness in Moses' time, and that the Christ who multiplied the loaves and fishes, who went about healing all manner of divers diseases as well as speaking the word of life to the sin-sick soul, is positively, absolutely, "just the same today." These people, so I learn, are to be found scattered broadcast. Look them up. They are known as the church of God. They are those who have come out from confusion and sectarianism into the only church God will ever recognize—the body of his only begotten Son, Jesus Christ. I praise him with all my soul that through his wondrous grace I am now in this glorious light and liberty.



CHAPTER XLIX.

SOME PRECIOUS LETTERS FROM PRECIOUS CHILDREN.

Many poets have likened life to a dream. Reader, doubtless you are aware, as I am, that life is but too realistic for the masses, the great masses of suffering, sorrow-stricken humanity, with so few, comparatively speaking, so few to uplift, comfort, cheer, and sustain; so few to speak the blessed words of a bright hereafter. Especially is this so with regard to those of the underworld. We find but few of the home missionaries undertaking this line of work; still fewer who have the God-given grace and courage, coupled with soul-love, to go to the fallen sister and help her out of sin; very few who do not shrink from putting a foot across the threshold of a jail or prison; but many, very many quite willing to fill the easy places; quite ready to perform tasks, provided these will not cost much inconvenience, comfort, personal pride, sacrifice, or money. But some (are you among them?) were delegated to go out into the highways and hedges, the streets, and the lanes, and compel (by the power of divine love) those found there, to come to the King's banquet, in order that his supper might be furnished with guests. Most plainly does our Master emphasize the fact that the publicans and the outcasts will largely be represented on that great day, that day which will positively come, and which in these perilous times is seemingly right at our very thresholds.

I shall never forget going into the San Jose jail on one occasion and trying to impress a girl who, as she lay on her cot, seemed utterly indifferent to all advances; even turning her face to the wall and stopping her ears with her fingers. Imagine my great surprise months afterwards on receiving the following letter from her:

San Francisco, Cal.,

March 16, 1906.

My dear Mrs. Roberts:

I am feeling so lonesome and blue here tonight all alone in my room.... Somehow my thoughts turned to you, and I could not keep the tears from my eyes as I realized that I had one friend, because you were, oh! so kind to me during my imprisonment in San Jose.

Dear Mrs. Roberts, can you bring before your mind's eye this picture? Picture, if you can, the desolate darkness of the night extending on and on. For months not a ray of light, not one kind word, not one friendly face, until at last, when almost in despair, a gleam of sunshine shot across your pathway, a kind, loving voice said. "I will be your friend; I will help you." Such was my condition, and you, Mrs. Roberts, was that gleam of sunshine. Your voice was the one that cheered me until I took fresh courage. Mrs. Roberts, God has taken me back.... May God bless you in your work.... I wish I could see you and talk with you. You are indeed my spiritual mother. I hope you will allow me to call you so. I wanted to tell you how much you had helped me. I know you are very busy, but if you have time, please drop me one line. I am so hungry for a message from you to cheer me up. May God bless you and yours.

A—— M——.

San Francisco, Cal.,

March 20, 1900.

Dear Mrs. Roberts—My Spiritual Mother:

I cried from pure joy when I received your letter and photo. Yes, God is most wonderfully showing me his way, and at last my spirit is broken, and I am content to obey the voice of my Savior.

Praise God for his wonderful salvation that saves and keeps one enjoying his great blessings! Praise his name! I have nothing now to fear. Mrs. Roberts, I am glad I did that time in jail, because it taught me the lesson of patience and submission, and now it is much easier for me to live a Christian life. I now have a better experience than I could have had otherwise. Pray for me, Mother Roberts, and I will pray for you. May God give you success in your work.

May God bless you and yours is the prayer of your spiritual child,

A—— M——.

FROM A PRISON BOY.

San Quentin, Cal.,

Sept. 13, ——.

My dear Friend Mother Roberts:

I received your letter of the 4th inst. and was very glad to get it, and will try and drop you a line in answer now, although there is not much in the way of news. I am much better now and am working outside around the warden's house, where I can get plenty of fresh air; so I think the time will pass much more pleasanter than if I was on the inside of the prison walls. I had quite a siege of sickness (pleuro-pneumonia the doctor pronounced it), but I am getting better all the time and think soon to be entirely strong again.

I think often of the kindness you showed me while I was in —— [a county jail], and I will never forget it or the advice you gave me. You started me on the right path to heaven, and I do pray to God that he will lead the rest of the way so that when I stand before him on the judgment-day he will claim me as one of his own children. There is one thing that worries me: my mother is quite sick, and writes me that she does not expect to live to see me set at liberty, but I pray to God to spare her until I am free and able to prove to her and every one else that I am a true child of God and worthy to take my place amongst honest Christian men. Don't think I can ever forget you, and my thoughts are with you when my words are not.

I will close now, hoping that God will take care of you, which is the prayer of your friend,

A—— G——.

FROM A RECLAIMED WIFE.

San Francisco, Cal.,

Dec. 3,——.

Dear Mother Roberts:

You don't know how glad I was to receive your kind and loving letter. Yes, I can praise God this very day for his loving-kindness and tender mercy. Yesterday I gave a testimony to some poor souls at San Quentin, and you don't know how much good it did them. Three gave their hearts to God. All that I am praying for now is that Jesus may make me a shining light for souls that know him not. There was one prisoner that knew me in my life of sin, and he told the others that I looked ten years younger....

Oh, may God forbid that it may ever be so again; for when I think how he has snatched me out from the pit of hell, oh, how I love my Jesus more and more, dear Mama Roberts!...

What God has done for me, surely he can do for others. I only wish I could turn this wicked world upside down and make it new again. In one of the Psalms I read, "My soul hath kept thy testimonies, and I love them exceedingly." May it always be so.

Mama Roberts, I will soon get a letter from Lucy. You don't know how I love to get her letters. I assure you that when I get blue I take and read one or two lines that her gentle hand has written, and it does me good.

Now, tomorrow night, you know, is prayer-meeting night, and I know you won't forget me. Pray that I may, by the grace of God, do some poor soul good by telling them of the life that I led for twenty and one years [drink, etc.]...

I will close with love from one that dearly loves you and who will always pray for you. I remain as ever,

Yours in Christ, E—— K——.

P.S. My husband wishes to be remembered to you. I hope that you will come to see me soon. Write soon.

FROM A THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD SINNED-AGAINST CHILD.

Dear Mama Roberts:

I am learning about Jesus day by day. I hope you are well and strong.

The Lord will help you....

My little chick is growing, and its mother is showing her little chick to eat....

Pray for me. I am praying for you, too.

From your dear, F—— E——.



FROM ONE IN A HOUSE OF SIN.

M——, Cal.

Mrs. Florence Roberts:

Your very kind letter received yesterday and am glad that your meeting at the church was successful. I also hope ere this that you have arrived safely in —— and that your trip was pleasant.

Mrs. Roberts, briefly concerning myself; words can not express my appreciation of the interest you are taking in me, and I hope I may be spared to prove to you that your efforts have not been in vain. I hope the day may not be far distant when I may make myself worthy of your friendship and interest—and hoping that you may think of whatever goodness I may possess, and not of what my life has been, I beg to remain,

Sincerely yours,

J—— W——.

The foregoing letter was written in a beautiful hand.

FROM A VERY YOUNG MOTHER.

N——. Cal.

My dear Mama Roberts:

I will now sit down to answer your most dear and welcome letter of so long ago, which has not been answered; but do not think I have forgotten you. You have been so kind and good to me that I will ever love you and not forget you.... The baby was pretty sick before the 4th of July, but he is well and fat now. I feed him on Mellin's food.... My stepfather says that the day I speak to the baby's father I will lose the home I have. He (the baby's father) does not give me five cents. All that the baby has I work good and hard to get. What he and I need, I earn honestly. I work whenever I have the opportunity, as my stepfather is the only one we can depend upon [she was only sixteen years old], and we are four boys and three girls, grandma, mama, the baby, and himself; so it is hard for him, and I haven't the heart to ask them for anything, no matter how bad I need it. I take in washing from the boarders at the two hotels, also sewing and ironing, or go out to do housework whenever I can.

I must close, as I must help mama to get the supper. With love and regards to Mama Roberts from all.... I don't forget my Bible and verse. Your loving,

L—— K——.

FROM A GRATEFUL MOTHER.

S——, July 28.

Mrs. Florence Roberts.

My dear Madam:

My darling daughter E—— has been home for a short time and has told me the kind interest you have taken in her welfare.

I wish to say for your pleasure (and certainly mine) that E—— is very much in earnest over your advice. I sincerely believe it will take only a little more persuasion on your part to fully convince her to give up her worldly ways and do as you wish her. Oh, how happy I shall be! My heart is breaking for my dear, sweet girl. She is bright and accomplished. She could help you so much in your noble work, which we both know would greatly help her. God is surely working in her heart. She says, "Mama, I can't get Mrs. Roberts out of my mind. All the time I was away [This girl used to leave home on periodical carousals], I could but think of her, and if it hadn't been Mrs. R—— talked so good to me, I would have had a big old time." Now, my dear friend, do you not think that encouraging? I shall pray every moment for your success. God surely will help us to save my darling child.

My dear Mrs. Roberts, please call and see me when you return to S——. So much I would like to say.

With my earnest prayer for your success, I am yours most sincerely,

C—— B——.

FROM A GRATEFUL FATHER.

K——. Cal.

Mrs. Florence Roberts:

May God forever bless you and reward you, dear madam, for being good to my poor boy. The board of prison directors have granted his parole, and if he behaves himself for two years, then he can apply to the governor for his pardon. I hope it will soon come my way to show you how much I appreciate how hard you worked to get his parole. God knows I do.... Please forgive my poor effort to thank you. I can find no words, but God forever bless you, and I'm sure he will.

Yours most gratefully, G—— F——.

The following is a reply to an anonymous letter introducing one who was undergoing a laborious effort to make good. I hope that this may teach its own lesson to all who would push the struggling ones still further down.

To —— ——. Dear Sir:

Kindly permit me space to answer an anonymous letter which came to me last Sunday concerning a young man in whom I am deeply interested, having been instrumental in procuring his parole recently, and who is in every way traduced to me by the writer, who styles himself or herself a Christian and signs the letter, "A friend to all."

Knowing this young man as I do, through officials, the sheriff of the county, and others in a position to make truthful statements concerning him; knowing of the terrible struggle he is enduring to live down an act of the past for which he was more to be pitied than blamed; knowing from the lips of those with whom he spent his youthful days that prior to his incarceration in San Quentin he had a character unsullied, I ask, How can any one claiming to be a Christian, thus hinder the cause of Christ by making unsubstantiated charges? 'Woe to you who offend one of these little, ones!' saith our Lord, who came, not to save the righteous, but to call sinners to repentance.

My varied experience proves that many are hindered from coming into the fold by just such reflections on the Master, as indicated in this letter.

Now I am perfectly willing to meet the writer of the aforesaid letter in the presence of two or more witnesses, in order that he (or she) may be given a chance to substantiate his statements; and until this is done, I shall continue to consider said letter the work of a coward instead of a "friend to all."

Most respectfully yours,

(Mrs.) Florence Roberts. From Warden W. H. Reilly,

State Prison at Folsom, Cal.,

Sept. 18, 1911.

Mrs. Florence Roberts, Gospel Trumpet Publishing Co.,

Anderson, Indiana. Dear Madam:

Upon my return from a little needed rest. I found your letter of the 7th inst., which surely afforded me pleasure.

We are very glad indeed that you are so pleasantly circumstanced, and wish you sincerely all manner of success in your good work.

Joe —- is here yet, and he was much pleased when I handed him your card. There are many fine points about the boy, and he surely appreciates your kindness.

Mrs. Reilly and the children are well and join me in kind remembrance.

Very respectfully,

W. H. Reilly.

Joe is the young man who was sentenced for ninety-nine years on circumstantial evidence, and whose story is in this book.



CHAPTER L.

CONCLUSION.

One morning a little lad was observed by his mother to be making great efforts to stretch his chubby limbs to such an extent as to place his feet in every one of his father's tracks.

"What are you trying to do, Sonny? Come into the house quick, or you'll catch cold," called the anxious mother.

"No, no, Mama; I don't want to; I want to follow papa. I'm trying to walk in his footsteps," replied the innocent child.

Does this cause the smoking, drinking, swearing, card-playing, Godless parents to halt and reflect? God knows; we hope so. Does this fill the mother of cherished, idolized little ones with remorse of conscience? Does it occasion her to take a retrospective view of the time when, during courtship days, she was warned and advised of the indiscreet marriage she was about to make, because of her sweetheart's well-known dissolute propensities? Yet all those warnings and pleadings were in vain.

The little innocent ones are trying to walk in their parents' footsteps. Myriads of mothers are weeping and wishing they had been firmer; that they had not so readily yielded to the ardent persuasions to marry, but had waited until such times as true reformation, repentance, and turning to the God they were then serving had taken place in their sweethearts' lives.

Of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these—It might have been.

Poor, poor remorseful, unhappy wife and mother, my heart aches for you as you realize the sowing and weep over the prospective reaping. Long since you have grown cold in your Christian experience. You realize it today as never before. You wonder what you are going to do about it? The older children have outgrown your jurisdiction. Mary is running with company you do not approve of, to balls, theaters, and other demoralizing places; wanting finery you are not able to afford, although you do your best. You can't get any help from her; for, when not otherwise engaged, she is absorbed in novel-reading. It does no good to complain to her father; in fact, that seems only to make a bad matter worse. You haven't an atom of her confidence. When she was younger, you never really encouraged her to give it, and now, though but fifteen, she laughs at you because she thinks that she knows so much and that you know so little. All her confidence is given to those you do not approve of, and you are dreading the outcome, the inevitable.

Then there's thirteen-year-old Tom. While you sat up mending his torn coat the other night after he had gone to bed, you found some tobacco and cigarette paper in his pocket. When you quietly asked him next morning what it meant, he only laughed and replied, "That's nothing. All us kids smoke nowadays. It won't hurt us any more than it will father. He smokes." You are wondering how you can find out whether he has contracted any more of his father's bad habits, and while searching his room, you come across a dirty pack of playing-cards hidden in the back part of one of the bureau drawers.

Awful vision of the future of these two older children is yours as you ponder what you can do to subvert the growing evil in your home. You indulge much in vain regrets—vain, indeed, so far as you are concerned. But listen, mother—you who would lay down your life to spare Mary from disgrace and eventually an ignominious death; you who love Tom so dearly you would give all the world were it yours to make him understand that the habits he is contracting lead only to impaired health and disgrace, ofttimes to imprisonment, sometimes to the scaffold. It is not too late yet, distressed mother, particularly with the two younger children, who are just beginning to ask leading questions. These you must, you must answer, so that your little son and daughter will find no need of inquiring of other children concerning the beautiful plan of life, which should never be imparted to them by any other than you yourself. "What must I do? What can I do?" you ask. Listen. I'm going to tell you.

Lose no time. Do as I did. Go to God, in your secret closet. Lay all your troubles and problems at his feet. Throw yourself on his loving mercy. Confess your backsliding, your sins, your errors, your weaknesses, everything—everything that is causing you, your husband, and your children to be held by the enemy of souls, and that will soon bring more misery into your life and their lives, unless God undertakes for you and them. Then, cost what it will, take the humble place before God and them. Tell them of your love for them; of the mistakes you have made, through false modesty, in not gaining their companionship, their confidence. Ask them to help you in the future by trusting you more than they do any other friend or acquaintance. Tell them how much you once loved God, and that now, after wandering far away, you have returned to him. Go with them to Sunday-school and to other religious services; set up, even in the face of all opposition, the family altar; ask a blessing at table; have an open Bible always.

The outcome. Probably at first, and maybe for some time to come, rebellion, even desertion, even more sin to battle with; more heartaches, more tears, more struggles than ever heretofore. But "be thou faithful." Thy loyalty, thine efforts, shall be rewarded. Watch, wait, pray always.

There is only one reason to be given why the children go wrong—Godless homes. "Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it." Prov. 22:6.

One day a clergyman handed me two very startling verses, the characters of which were all too true. I remarked that some day, God willing, I would add to the verses and set them to music. I have done so, and in His name, I herewith give them, under the awful title:

WANTED, RECRUITS FOR HELL.

Johnson the drunkard is dying today, With traces of sin on his face; He will be missed at the bar, at the play. Wanted, a boy for his place.

Ruby, poor Ruby is passing away, A victim of vice and disgrace. Wanted, recruits for the houses of shame, Some mother's girl for her place.

Simons, a gambler, was killed in a fight; He died without pardon or grace. Wanted, to train for his burden and blight, Somebody's boy for his place.

Wanted for dance-halls, for brothels, for bars, Girls attractive of form and of face, Girls to decoy and boys to destroy; Have you a child for the place?

"Wanted," pleads Satan, "for service of mine, Some one to live without grace, Some one to die without pardon divine; Please train me your child for the place."

That eminent writer, Mrs. Ella Wheeler Wilcox, says:

"Every person on earth is making some sort of a cell in his or her brain every waking moment of the day or night.

"Thoughts are things. Thought is energy. Thought is a creative power. That is why it is so important to direct the minds of human beings to good, kind, helpful thoughts. [Let me add, to direct them, from the very commencement, to the great, loving God and his Son, our Savior.]

"Parentage is the oldest profession of men and women in the world, but there are the smallest number of prize-winners in that profession of any in the world. [Why? because of a neglected, insulted God.]

"Real, good motherhood must include the universal motherhood. It must make a woman love her child so unselfishly that she is willing it should suffer while learning its lessons of kindness, thoughtfulness, and protection, rather than to enjoy itself while taking away the joys, the privileges, or the rights of other creatures, human or animal."

The warden of a certain State prison, who is a student of human nature, said to some visitors one day, "If a child is properly educated to the age of ten, no matter what its inheritance, it never becomes a criminal." His sentence includes all the needed preventatives of crime.

Oliver Wendell Holmes when asked, "When should a child's education begin?" promptly replied, "Two hundred years before it is born."

There would be little or no need of the rescue missionaries had parents and guardians but heeded these words in Deut. 6:5-7: "Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord: and thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thy heart: and thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. And thou shalt bind them for a sign upon thine hand, and they shall be as frontlets between thine eyes, and thou shalt write them upon the posts of thine houses, and on thy gates." "O that there were such an heart in them, that they would fear me, and keep all my commandments always, that it might be well with them, and with their children forever!" Deut. 5:29.

It is very, very blessed to undertake the part of a good Samaritan. It is far more blessed so to know and serve the Lord, that our present and future progeny, instead of sharing a destiny similar to many of these depicted between these pages, may, under any and all circumstances, enjoy the everlasting smile of His countenance, that peace and joy in their souls which this world can never give, neither take away.

Lord, we pray thee, "so teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." Psa. 90:12.

THE END