Hot corn: Life Scenes in New York IllustratedRobinson, Solon
General
Hot corn: Life Scenes in New York Illustrated
Robinson, Solon
New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Temperance -- Fiction
"There is a lost sheep returned to the fold."
If those who would reform the vicious, knew the power of love and kind
words towards the poor fallen creatures who abound in our city, and how
much stronger they are than prison bars, how much more powerful than
handcuffs, fetters and whip lashes, we should soon see the spirit of
reformation hovering over us like the guardian angel sent to save a city
that should be found to contain only five righteous persons.
My readers may remember the slight glimpse they had of the face of Julia
Antrim, on two occasions--once as a street walker, only thirteen years
old, dressed in borrowed clothes, or rather in garments furnished by one
of the beldams who keep the keys of our numerous city pandemoniums,
where innocence is entrapped, and virtue sold at a discount; and again a
year or two later, when the fiend who said "our trade," laughed to see
her dragged out of one of the underground dens where demons dwell, where
rum is sold and souls destroyed, on her way to prison, and the
termination of a career, to which one half, at least, arrive at, who
take the first step--false step--in the same road.
In the morning she was "sent up:" a short phrase which means
imprisonment for six months in the city penitentiary. Penitentiary!!
What is a penitentiary? A place of repentance and reformation.
Ours is a place to harden young offenders, or rum-made criminals--to
make them worse rather than better. It made Julia Antrim worse. It was
the work of the missionary, and the benevolent heart of Mr. Lovetree,
and the kind words of Mrs. May and Stella, that effected what dungeons,
fetters whips, and harsh language could not.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Morgan to me one evening, "such a story as my uncle has
been telling me; do tell him, uncle, about one of those 'Five Point
girls,' rescued from one of those miserable dens."
"You remember the girl," said he, "that you saw dragged out of the
cellar for picking her paramour's pocket? Come with me and you shall see
her and hear her own story. Athalia, come put on your hat and go with
us. You know how glad Mrs. May and Stella always are to see you."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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