Library Collections: Document: Full Text

The anniversaries at the Bowery Mission were always notable occasions and every convert made a special effort to be present, many of them coming from quite a distance. I was present and made a short address at sixteen of these gatherings; and on each occasion also wrote a hymn. Victor H. Benke, for so many years their organist, was one of my test friends; and he com-posed the music to a number of my hymns. Mrs. Bird, "my singing bird," as I cell her, and the Rev. Mr. Hallimond, at present in charge of the Bowery Mission, with many other faithful souls, have carried forward the work so nobly commenced more than thirty years ago.

Jerry McAuley, for many years, was one of the most widely known men in New York. It was in his own mission in Water Street that I first met him; but the story of his life, how he had been a thief, a drunkard and a thoroughly desperate man, was familiar to me, and I was deeply interested in him because of the work of grace wrought at his conversion. As a speaker he used simple language, but his manner was so impressive that all men were drawn toward him. He and his faithful wife toiled and planned and sacrificed to give the old Water Street Mission a start. Not long after my first visit with them they were instrumental in founding the Cremorne Mission on West Thirty-second Street; and there I believe I was introduced to Mrs. E. M. Whittemore, the founder of the Door of Hope for un-protected girls.

I was at once wonderfully impressed by the earnest-ness of this remarkable lady; and I lost no occasion to inquire concerning her work. One of the incidents that she related was regarding a visit to Boston. She was asked to speak at a parlor meeting, and was obliged to decline; but a few days before the time of the gathering she felt prompted to make an extra effort to attend. She had recently received a letter directed to "Mrs. Whittemore, United States of America"; and this was found to have been written by a poor heart-broken father in Ireland in behalf of his wandering daughter whom he supposed to be somewhere in America.

With the subject of the letter still on her mind, Mrs. Whittemore spoke at the meeting in Boston. The house proved to be too small for the audience that collected; and so they adjourned to a neighboring church. While she was speaking she noticed two girls standing near the door; and when the meeting was concluded they were introduced to her, and she asked a few questions as to their circumstances. Little by little, it dawned upon her that one of them was the girl referred to in the letter she had received from Ireland; and she gave her the letter her father had written. The poor unfortunate girl nearly fainted when she recognized the handwriting; and as a result of her providential meeting with Mrs. Whittemore, she was also reconciled to the young man who had deserted her. For, in the meanwhile, he too, had been converted and had been brought to the notice of Mrs. Whittemore; who was thus enabled to be the means of helping them to a happy ending of their romance and they returned to their home in Ireland.

It has been my good fortune to know both of the Hadley brothers, who have been such mighty forces for good in the missions of New York. Col. Henry Hadley I met many years before his conversion, which occurred at the Jerry McAuley Mission. When I first knew him he was a skeptic and was in many ways hostile to the Christian cause, although he was always very kind to everyone. At that time he was a successful lawyer and the editor of a prominent New York paper. I became acquainted with him through a request to write some verses relative to an incident that had recently attracted considerable attention from the public press. As Colonel Hadley gave it to me it was something as follows; A woman had been convicted by one of our city judges and sent to jail. The next morning her little boy came to the judge's room and stood in silence before the magistrate.

"Well, what can I do for you?" curiously asked the judge.

"Please, sir, let my, mother go," answered the little fellow.

"Who is your mother?" inquired the judge.

"She came here yesterday," said the boy; and gave her name.

"Oh," replied the magistrate, "I cannot let that woman go." But the boy pleaded.

"She is so good to me. She buys my clothes and shoes, and sends me to school; and gees without things herself for me; and -- please sir -- what am I going to do without her?"

Such argument had more weight than the law. It was irresistible, and the stern judge for once quickly yielded. Brushing the tears from his eyes he called for the prisoner to be brought. Then he gave her a sharp reprimand and let her go home with her boy. The woman threw her arms around her little defender saying, "My boy, your mother will never disgrace you again."

This was the story that Colonel Henry H. Hadley wished me to put into verse. The story remains, but my poem has been forgotten.

Then Colonel Hadley asked me to write once in every two weeks for his paper.