I spoke to her of a Redeemer's love, &c. a Redeemer's blood, and uttered the Psalmist's prayer: "Have mercy on me, O God."

A review of the results of deception and seduction, such as have to-day come under my observation, is calculated to rouse the feelings of humanity and christian love in behalf of the afflicted, and injured, and dying subjects of seduction and sin. Thus closes the public labors of the first day of the year 1831, after two visits to the hospital -one to the penitentiary girls, and one to each of twelve wards in the Poor-House.

Feb. 20th.-Mrs. Jameson kept a house of assignation, was indicted and imprisoned for six months. She gave $14 50 for a pardon, which came 40 days before the term of her imprisonment ended. The money was made by a woman she hired to attend to her house while she was in prison. This house brought her about $3000 per annum.

CHAPTER XX.

Visit to Bellevue-Affecting incident--Testimony of A. P.-Penitentiary accommodations-Story of a young girl-The aged mo ther-Description of houses of ill-fame-City thieves-Remarks.

Visited the Bellevue Hospital; Dr. Wood accompanied me to each ward. We disposed of the hundred Testaments Mr. Tappan furnished for the several wards; several wards are supplied with but one or two of them. About one hundred more are needed for the Hospital, in order to give a Testament to each bed and sick person.

If some plan could be devised and executed to bring the females in the Bridewell, Penitentiary, and State

Prison under a daily religious influence, much good might be effected, and a vast amount of evil prevented.

Suppose some person should daily read aloud one hour in the forenoon and one in the afternoon, there might be some hope of success; under existing circumstances, evil communications continually corrupt their minds.

A smile, the smile of hope, played on many a face this afternoon, as I related the scenes I had viewed, and in which I had been a principal actor, at the Five Points, to rescue unfortunate women. Tears flowed from many eyes when I told them we would provide for every one who would comply with the regulations of our house.

The conversation, in one word, is impure beyond conception; I levelled my artillery at those horrid monsters in crime. Some were awed some shed a tear-some nodded some looked at others in fear, and some were pleased.

February 10th.-Last evening I found Jane Smith, who had been at the probation-house, in a cellar, sitting on a stone by the side of a little furnace, which contained a stick with a little fire attached to the end of it. She had no shoes, and the calico gown she wore belonged to Jane Anderson, who sat at her side. She had had nothing to eat for several days but what Mr. Pierson had sent to her. An old colored woman came in, her head covered with an old garment, and said her feet were frozen, and that she suffered greatly. I told her to make a good fire, and I would pay for it. One was made, and the heat and smoke began again to warm the room. In the corner of

the room lay a filthy pallet of straw, a blanket, black as night, spread over it. On this bed Jane Smith and the colored woman slept. I removed Jane to Mr. Sair's.

This morning, February 11th, passing the entrance of the cellar from which I had taken Jane the last evening,

I raised the outer door and called to those below. I asked if the white woman was there. She was, and was sleeping on the floor, without a cover. Poor thing! she came to the inner door and looked most dejected and debased. While talking to her, a female at the other side of the street, standing at the entrance of a deep alley, called, "Mr. M'Dowall, I want to speak with you."

I crossed, and spoke to her.

"O!" said the young woman, as dejection marked her face, "I have been standing here all night. I am cold. I hope you will forgive me. I made bold to speak to you, for I know you are a friend to poor, unfortunate women. I want to do better; but I have no home; I do not know where to go, nor what to do. I want to go to your asylum. What shall I do? I will do any thing you say. There is another girl in the house the back of this. She wishes to go there too. Mr. M'Dowall, will you pardon me for speaking to you? I know you pity poor girls."

Here I interrupted her, and bade her follow me.

"O sir, shall I call the other woman? She wishes to go there too; she has no home."

I consented, and she passed through the alley. I followed her to the house. Poor thing! she was not even decently clad. She was very filthy; her face and her hands were covered with dirt; her face was marked with perpendicular lines of dirt from her eyes to her chin. The dust had settled on the streams of tears and caused it.

"O Mr. M'Dowall, I know you are the friend of unfortunate girls," she repeated in the house, as she said, "I stood there where you saw me all night; I was very cold."

And no wonder, for the poor injured woman had only a thin gown of calico, and tattered, to shelter her youthful body. How differently she looks after a scrubbing in the laundry, and a change of apparel! The other poor thing, Jane Anderson, too, was trembling with cold.

86

I was one of four girls who went to the theatre every night-the Park and Bowery. I spent $100 a night regularly, fall and spring, the time to get presents from the southerners and strangers. My expenses were at least $18 00 per $2,320 is the least sum I spent

week.

in two years and a half. The expenses of the eight girls at Ann's, annually, is $18,720. At least twenty men of an evening in this house of hell."

Penitentiary Accommodations.

A straw bed, no pillow; and two blankets for every two women in winter. Each woman in summer has one blanket, and the floor for a bed. Bed-clothes washed once a year, and covered with vermin; no fire; no candles in summer or winter.

The period of commitment being but sixty days, they must then leave it to make room for others of the same class. On their discharge they are destitute of money, character, and friends; they have no home; their parents are dead, or reduced, or at a distance, or refuse to do any thing more for them; the doors of the virtuous are closed against them; no one will receive them as domestics. What can they do? They are obliged to perish with hunger, and cold, and nakedness in the streets, or resort to the same course of life. In the course of a few days they are again in prison, and again out of it. So rapid is the repetition of this course, that some in the prime of life have the eighteenth time entered the prison, not merely without being reformed, but educated in all the arts of wickedness. The unfortunate youth is lodged in the same room with the old and hardened offender. Add to this the licentious songs, ribaldry, and blasphemy of the inmates, and how is it pos sible to prevent the commission of crime, secure the design

of their imprisonment, the reformation of their character, and obviate the demoralizing influence of this:" college of vice," when one hundred and eighty county females (the present number of that prison) are nearly all crowded into four night rooms. If a woman should think of reforming and abandoning her evil ways, it would be almost impossible.

Julia Baker died, by having taken opium, yesterday, at four o'clock. A physician was sent for, but too late. A man in this city having left her, after an acquaintance of four or five years, she resolved on suicide, and effected it. The coffin was closed, to prevent her disfigured face from being seen. While in this house, a report came that another girl had poisoned herself. It was a strange scene. It was in the family of the woman who raised the window on Sabbath-day, and asked me to come in. I told her I would come in and pray with her.

Susan, who is now in the Asylum, and is rejoicing in hopes of the Gospel, was in that house, drunk and noisy. How difficult for us to select subjects for the grace of God. It is impossible. Susan who was drunk, is reformed, and Julia who was sober, is dead.*

Who can read the graphic sketch of the poor penitent, repeating, "Mr. M'Dowall, I know you are a friend to

* Should the reader become satiated with reading the details of Magdalens, Magdalen Asylums, and houses of infamy, let him recollect he is not reading the life of Taylor, of Payson, of Brainerd; no, not of Howard, but of M'Dowall, the man who dared to sell all that he had for Christ, not even retaining his "good name," that the long hidden abominations of the violated seventh commandment might be told in your wondering ears.

Recollect, too, his pulpit was the highway, the lanes and the alleys, the prisons and ships, the garrets and cellars; his audience, the drunkard and swearer, the infidel, the murderer, and the adulterer.

His salary was obloquy and contempt. Remember, too, he ate but little "pleasant bread," and drank the "bitter waters of Marah," while his eyes ran down with tears for the slain of the daughters of his people.