TENNESSEE.
Cabin, “Frame House,” and “Little Brick.”
MISS ALICE E. CARTER, NASHVILLE.
My method of work probably does not bear the merit of originality, yet the work itself holds for me all the charm and freshness of novelty. Day by day draws me closer to the hearts of the people; day by day draws us together closer to that universal Heart, nearer to the Christ whom we try to serve.
To make a beginning of visiting seemed at first a puzzling and almost perilous matter. To attempt the mazes of the city—alleys where one cabin differed from another cabin only in its greater or less dilapidation without, and squalor within; to hazard a walk across the common and bottoms through the almost impassable mud, were equally difficult beginnings, and yet it is in these city alleys and in the bottoms and commons outside the city limits that the work is waiting—a harvest too great for the few laborers.
There were many ways, I soon learned, to make entrance to the homes of the people. The halloo at the gate would immediately bring the loud “come in,” and a simple excuse, as a wish to warm or rest, or to inquire where such a cabin might be, would gain for me a ready welcome. Then, with a few minutes’ chatting and close observation, it would be an easy matter to detect the special need there.
At first I chose for my visits only the cabins, or, in the parlance of the people, the shanties, but, as my work has widened, I have often learned of need and suffering in many a “frame house,” or “little brick.” Indeed, it seems as if the difference between those in the cabin and those in the frame house and the little brick lies here: the former have never tried to get above their wretched poverty; the latter have tried, and, with a measure of success, still remain poor. Those in the cabins need everything—food and clothing primarily, no doubt; but of paramount importance are their other needs, viz., to be elevated from their sloth and indolence and licentiousness by the forces of education and religion. Those in the frame house and little brick need encouragement in the path already chosen.
I was asked to visit one day in a neat brick cottage which I should have passed many times with no suspicion of need within. On entering, the first thing that attracted my attention was that the walls and ceiling were entirely unfinished; the walls were the bare bricks, and overhead were the flooring beams, and, where the walls and ceiling met, were wide open spaces for the wind to sift up from under the eaves. The inmates were a colored woman, unfitted for work by age and rheumatism, and her daughter; the daughter was her widowed mother’s only dependence, yet the poor girl was lying sick with pneumonia, and had been two weeks without medical treatment. They had no money, but pride kept them reticent of their affairs. To provide medicines, and later, little delicacies; to visit the sick girl every day and sometimes twice a day was my care for three weeks. She is now well again, and they are independent.
I have made, up to December 31, one hundred and twenty-five calls, and have succeeded in relieving some suffering with gifts of fuel and food, although the little accomplished in that direction is as one drop in the sea.