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The Rev. John Chambers was also present, and took part in the opening services. In rising to address the boys, he pointed to the well provided tables, and said, "Boys! I expect you would rather be eating those refreshments, than listening to any more speeches." Immediately a loud "Yes, sir," was heard in various directions, to the great amusement of all in the room, not one of whom enjoyed the joke more than the good man who caused it. His address was listened to with an attention which proved how completely he had drawn their thoughts from the direction to which he at first called them. All passed off pleasantly, and boys and visitors seemed equally pleased.

The lodging rooms were provided with twenty-five new iron bedsteads, with new bedding, arranged in a large and airy room. Each bedstead was labelled with the name of its occupant, the boys making their own selection. At nine o'clock that night, I read the twenty-third Psalm at family worship at the Home, and committed to the care of the Good Shepherd. The wandering ones he had graciously gathered into our fold, praying Him to lead them "in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake."

CHAPTER III.

JOHN ELLARD

MOST of the boys had nicknames, some of which were very odd. Among the most prominent of these were "Didley Dumps," "Oliver Twist," "Dick Turpin," "Splasher," "Butter bowls and hot cakes," "Butcher," "Soldier," "Poodle," "Canes," &c. On one occasion, while waiting for some of the boys, I asked where they were, and was answered, "Butcher ain't came -- Piggie ain't came -- Splasher's awful hard up, and goin' to enlist."

As new boys present themselves at the Home, they most generally are introduced to us by some nickname. The last is "Harper's Ferry," so called because he sold papers on the railroad train passing through Harper's Ferry, and was present at the capture of John Brown.

I soon found that this practice had a degrading tendency, and interfered not a little with the efforts made to elevate the boys. To lift them up, their low names must be abandoned, and I am happy to say that very few of them now remain. One was, however, too highly prized to be dropped, and the little fellow who bore it, was better known as "Didley Dumps" than as "John Ellard."

John Ellard was born in New York, on the 22d of February, 1843. When three years of age he fell from a woodshed, in Albany, where his parents then lived, and received an injury which resulted in a lump on his breast and back, and rendered him deformed for life.

It is said he had a decided aversion for school, and while there, that he was more fond of play than study. A favourite amusement was to get under the benches, unknown to the teacher, and "play tricks on the boys." He was whipped one day for being late at school, and finding it was not "better late than never," resolved not to venture there again. As a child, he had a fondness for peddling, and sold songs and matches when only eight years of age.

In 1856 he came to Philadelphia, and commenced business as a Newsboy at the time of the fearful Burdell tragedy, which created quite a demand for newspapers, and proved a harvest to the boys engaged in selling them.

His malformation affected his breathing so as to render it impossible for him to walk any great distance without resting. He paid the boys a cent a ride for carrying him to and from the Home upon their back. It was grand sport to them to have "Didley" on their back, to say nothing of the pay. A ride was stolen as chances occurred, and the passing of an omnibus afforded too good an opportunity to be lost. In jumping from one, opposite the Girard House, he was run over by a carriage, and taken into the hotel, where he was attended by a medical gentleman, who pronounced him not seriously injured. A quarter of a dollar was handed to him, and off he started to sell his papers.

Previous to the appearance of Master Ellard in Philadelphia, there had been a hump-backed newsboy, known as "Didley Dumps," and the boys thought that Ellard, being similarly shaped, should bear the same name as "Old Did," but he thought otherwise, and indignantly refused to answer to it. At last some ten or twelve of his companions accompanied him to the theatre one night, and there obtained his consent to the soubriquet by which he became so generally and favourably known.

Sometimes his bed for the night was a doorstep, at other times, a box on the pavement, or some vacated cellar or garret. Once he secreted himself under a bushel basket in the Post-office, and spent the night there. A newspaper bag would afford him shelter at other times. It was rare sport to him to get into one of these bags at a printing office, and roll himself about. On winter nights he would find his way between the iron bars of a window leading to the boiler room of a printing office, and there seek shelter from the cold and storm. One of these bars was bent, so that when the curve was downwards, he could manage to crawl through, but unhappily the bar once turned as he was half way in, and held him fast, till rescued by some of his comrades, who heard his cries for relief.