“And what do you propose to give them,—symphony concerts, or Stoddard lectures?”
“Neither,” answered Mildred calmly, ignoring my attempt at sarcasm, “though you have touched my idea. I mean to give them something as nearly like it as possible.
“There shall be simple talks on every conceivable subject that could interest them which admits of illustration by the stereopticon. By the aid of great pictures thrown upon the screen they shall travel over land and sea. Then there shall be story nights, when a clear-voiced student from the school of oratory will read stories to them. Think what it would be to these men and women, half of whom cannot read or write, to whose minds the facts of history and geography have no meaning, whose knowledge of life is limited to a little village in the Old Country, a steerage passage, and the crowded slums of New York; think what it would be to them to step from the cold and dinginess without into a brilliant, beautiful hall, with warmth and light and comfort insured for one hour at least out of the twenty-four; and then to sit and listen to the charming story of Little Lord Fauntleroy, or Robinson Crusoe, or to thrilling stories of exploration and adventures.
“The story or lecture shall last no more than an hour, as their attention must be held, so that they will want to come again. Then those who have heard enough may go, if they wish, and make room for others to come in to listen to a half-hour concert. There will be no Brahm’s symphonies, but there will be cornet solos of such classics as the ‘Swanee River,’ and ‘Home! Sweet Home!’ and a select orchestra of half a dozen pieces will render Strauss waltzes, airs from ‘Pinafore,’ and the like.
“On Sunday, all day long, there shall be services of song led by the great organ and a trained chorus. Not oratorio music, though a Handel Largo or a ‘Lift Thine Eyes’ might sometimes be ventured on; but simple devout church music, in which all who can may join.
“Of course no preaching would be advisable, else the priests would rapidly diminish the audience; but all the power of music shall be brought to bear to uplift and beautify these poor, pinched lives and bring a glimpse of sweetness and light into the prosaic details of their daily struggle for existence.
“The Romish church has always been wise enough to see the power of music in swaying the emotions of the masses. It is time that we learned a lesson from it.”
“What shall you do with your other rooms on Sunday? Shall you let them be vacant or permit the carpentering by the boys to go on below, while their elders are hearing the music in the great hall above?”
“Neither,” answered Mildred. The rooms shall all be open, but not for work. The tables and tools will have disappeared, and settees will take their places. In one room will be perhaps a debating club of young men, discussing the last strike, and finding this a pleasanter place to meet for that purpose than the street corner or the saloon. In the next room will be a set of children clustered around a young lady who comes down from Fifth Avenue and gives her Sunday evenings regularly to telling stories to them. She is not a creature of my imagination, either, Ruby. Last week I met her at a friend’s house. She came in flushed and radiant from an hour’s romp with the children in the nursery. ‘I believe my one talent must be story-telling,’ she said, as the children appeared on the scene clamoring after her; and her mother fondly said, ‘Ah, there are no stories like sister Helen’s, all the children think.’
“‘So,’ I thought, ‘that is just the girl I want. Her talent shall find a larger field for development; she shall tell stories to forty children instead of four.’ I told her my plan, and she almost cried with delight. ‘Oh, Mrs. Everett, do you really think that I could do any good in that way? I never dreamed of it, and I should be so glad. I’ve always felt as if I wanted to do something, but mamma won’t let me visit in the Charities. She says I am too young. My eyes won’t admit of my reading to the blind or sewing for the poor, and I began to think there wasn’t anything that I could do.’