THE ELEVENTH-WARD LODGING-HOUSE.
The history of this useful charity would be only a repetition of that of the others. It is placed among the haunts which are a favorite of the little dock-thieves, and iron and copper-stealers, and of all the ragged crowd who live by peddling wood near the East River wharves. It has had a checkered career. One superintendent was "cleaned out" twice on successive nights, and had his till robbed almost under his nose. Another was almost hustled out of the dormitory by the youthful vagabonds; but order has at length been gained; considerable numbers of the gamins have been tamed into honest farmers, and others are pursuing regular occupations.
The Night-school is busily attended; the Day-school is a model of industry; the "Bank" is used, and the Sunday-evening Meeting is one of the most interesting and impressive which we have.
Its recent success and improvement are due to the personal interest and exertions of one of our trustees, who has thrown into this labor of charity a characteristic energy, as well as the earnestness of a profound religious nature.
We have in this building, also, a great variety of charitable work crowded; but we hope, through the liberality which has founded our other Lodging-houses, to secure a more suitable building, which shall be a permanent blessing to that quarter.
STATISTICS FROM ORIGIN TO 1872.
Number of lodgings…………………….. 67,198
Number of meals……………………….. 65,757
Sent West…………………………….. 278
Restored to friends……………………. 138
Number of different boys……………….. 3,036
Amount paid by boys…………………….$6,522.22
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE CHILD-VAGRANT.
There is without doubt in the blood of most children—as an inheritance, perhaps, from some remote barbarian ancestor—a passion for roving. There are few of us who cannot recall the delicious pleasure of wandering at free will in childhood, far from schools, houses, and the tasks laid upon us, and leading in the fields or woods a semi-savage existence. In fact, to some of us, now in manhood, there is scarcely a greater pleasure of the senses than to gratify "the savage in one's blood," and lead a wild life in the woods. The boys among the poor feel this passion often almost irresistibly. Nothing will keep them in school or at home. Having perhaps kind parents, and not a peculiarly disagreeable home, they will yet rove off night and day, enjoying the idle, lazzaroni life on the docks, living in the summer almost in the water, and curling down at night, as the animals do, in any corner they can find—hungry and ragged, but light-hearted, and enjoying immensely their vagabond life. Probably as a sensation, not one that the street lad will ever have in after-life will equal the delicious feeling of carelessness and independence with which he lies on his back in the spring sunlight on a pile of dock lumber, and watches the moving life on the river, and munches his crust of bread. It frequently happens that no restraint or punishment can check this Indian-like propensity.