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SANITARY SERIES . . .No. IV. 
|)ho J-ound Jamie? 
Bv HELEN W. LUDLOW. 
NEW YORK! 
Published for the Hampton Tract Committee, 
By G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS. 
1879. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by Helen 
W. Ludlow, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
HELEN W. LUDLOW. 
The door bell rang. 
That was not an uncommon occurence, as you may 
imagine, at No. 1, Rivington Square, an uptown, city 
boarding-house with a doctor’s office in the basement. 
So I don’t know why a sudden impulse of feminine curi- 
osity should have stopped me on my way upstairs, and 
made me look back over my shoulder, through the open- 
ing door. 
Feminine curiosity, however, was for once justified. 
A picture for a painter was framed in the doorway. It 
held me suspended between the first and second floors. 
Just a pretty little Irish woman, with a pretty bit of a 
baby in her arms. 
It was the baby that did it, I know:—gave the moth- 
er’s shoulder that tender droop, with the faded shawl 
dropping from it in a few artistic folds, pushed the rusty 
bonnet back out of sight, and laid its own red-riding- 
hood and flower-like face against the black locks straying 
over her eyes; while winter roses blossomed on the brown 
cheeks below, and the dainty ones above; and the slow- 
falling November snow, and gray pavements dimly show- 
ing through it, made a soft-tinted background for all. 
“ An’ is the Docther at home ? ” 4 
WHO FOUND JAMIS? 
A voice like music I turned, ran down stairs, and 
held out my hand. 
“Ah! it is you, Mrs. McGuire. Come in. The doc- 
tor will be at home presently. Bring that baby in, out 
of the cold—the dear little dot! ” and with another fem- 
inine impulse, I took it from its mother's arms and kissed 
it. I never was proof against a clean, sweet baby, and 
this was dainty enough for any one to kiss. 
.Besides, little Mrs. McGuire was an old pensioner of 
ours. Some sympathetic, out-giving souls have a way, 
you know, of attracting to themselves all the odds and 
ends of humanity. I always told my “beloved physi- 
cian ” that his sign ought to read, 
“Come ye disconsolate.” 
At any rate, they came all the same as if it did, and 
this was one of the best of them; that is to say, the 
most needy—not so much of silver and gold, as of gen- 
eral advice and comfort, and human cheer, which the 
richest are not always rich in. For this she had come 
to us often in the five years since the stormy night when 
Hugh found her nearly frozen in the streets, flying from 
her old husband’s abuse and drunken rage, turned out 
of doors with her baby to die. 
Perhaps philosophers will be able to tell us some day 
what it is that can keep alive the tenderness in a woman’s 
heart for a Brute like this; old enough to be her father, 
with grown up children who hated her and stirred him up 
to hate her too, confirmed by age in every vice and hard- 
ness and roughness of nature. She would never leave 
him, but toiled on, harder than she ever would have had 
to alone, for the little children that blossomed in their un- 
lovely home like wild roses out of the crevices of a rock. 
The romances of the poor are not gilt-edged, but they 
are rich in all the elements of human love and tragedy. WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
5 
Since our first introduction to her, we had moved 
from the suburbs to the city, and had not seen her as 
frequently as before, though never quite losing sight of 
her. I thought to myself, What new trouble now ? as 
I asked her in; but, before any questioning, I took her 
into the study and established her by the fire, hung her 
dripping shawl and limp bonnet to dry, and gave her a 
good hot cup of Hugh’s own tea, as tenderly as I 
know he would himself, the pretty blue-eyed baby, 
which I had not seen before, supplying, meanwhile, a safe 
and pleasant topic of discussion. Then, after it had 
received its own appropriate consolation, and cooed it- 
self to sleep in its poor little mother’s arms, and been 
laid away on a rug on the lounge, I said: 
“And what is it that has brought you so far this 
stormy day, Mrs. McGuire? You are as wet as if you 
had walked all the way.” 
“An’ that’s what I did, ma’am, ivery shtep, barrin’ 
the ferry.” 
“What! Two whole miles—three miles with the oth- 
er side? You don’t mean to say that ” 
“No, ma’am; he gave me the fare himself,” she said, 
divining and turning aside my suspicion of some new 
outrageous demonstration on the part of her tyrant. 
“But what then? That baby ought not to have been out 
so long in this weather—thoHgh it does look like a 
daisy. And you must be perfectly dragged out, carry- 
ing it! What is it?” 
The winter roses had faded out of the brown cheeks, 
but a flush of excitement rose in their place as she look- 
ed at me. I noticed how thin the cheeks were, and 
how hollow and haggard the pleasant, deep blue, Irish 
eyes, heavy with unshed tears, and weary to exhaustion. 
She only said: 6 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
“It’s Jamie, ma’am.” 
“Jamie? Is he sick? Oh, you don’t mean he has 
run away again ? ” 
“He has, ma’am. He’s been away goin’ on four 
months.” 
“Four months! You poor, poor woman! Why didn’t 
you come and tell us sooner ? ” 
She glanced at the sleeping baby. 
“I couldn’t, ma’am. I was very bad with the worry, 
and I couldn’t iver get so far, till now.” 
It seemed cruel to search her grief further, but, with 
some hesitation, I said: 
“It wasn’t his father, this time, I hope.” 
Oh, think of it, you happy mothers who gather your 
babies about you every evening in the home nest, count- 
ing every silken head with joy, or, if your tearful eyes 
miss one beloved there, they can see it safe in the 
Father’s fold above. Though your home be humble, 
and the common crust hard to get, if you have ever shed 
a tear of compassion for Charley Ross’s mother, and, 
holding your little ones closer, thanked God that he has 
spared you her sorrow, thank him again tenfold that 
you have not had the tenfold anguish of knowing that 
your children’s enemy -was in their own home, the kid- 
napper to be dreaded and watched against, their own 
father. 
When Jamie was scarcely five years old, his unnatural 
father, in a fit of anger against his wife, carried him off 
to spite her, and after keeping him all night in no one 
knows what dens of low drunkenness, came home with- 
out him. If it was true that time, as he declared when 
he woke from his heavy sleep, that he had not done it 
on purpose, having once discovered this original and 
effective means of torturing the poor little creature in WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
7 
his power, he redeemed himself from any suspicion of a 
lack of purpose, by repeating it again and again. Three 
times in as many years, the child was thus carried off 
and dropped, like a forlorn little kitten, in the dark 
streets at night, not so far from home, fortunately, but 
that every time a friendly neighbor or the street'watch- 
man brought him back, pityingly, the next morning to 
the distracted mother. 
But, whether from these infantile experiences of night 
revelries and sleeping under the stars on ash-heaps or 
area steps, the boy had acquired a love for street life, or 
was instigated to it by his father, or, more likely still, 
had inherited from him some perverse distortion of na- 
ture, as he grew older, he developed a fondness for 
wandering on his own account, and was fast becoming 
a little wild streetj Arab, restrained by small love for 
his long-suffering mother. He had been gone for a 
fortnight the last time, and when he came creeping 
back, dirty and ragged and half-starved, his mother, 
roused to unaccustomed "energy, placed him in the safe 
keeping of the “Sisters” in a Roman Catholic reform- 
school. 
So it was with some uncertainty that, surprised at his 
escape, I asked whether his father had helped him off. 
“’Deed no, ma’am. The ould man has been pretty 
dacent to to me lately. An’ I thought Jamie would get 
along all right at the Sisthers. I felt real safe about 
him. They were teaching him a trade, don’t you see— 
hoop-skirt making—all the b’ys worked at it. He didn’t 
like it very much; but it wasn’t hard work, and he had 
enough to eat, an’ they taught him his book, an’ I wint 
to see him myself ivery week, visiting day, so he 
shouldn’t get lonesome. _ Och! whin I wint up to see 
him—it was some time last May—an’ they tould me he 8 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
had run away, you could have knocked me down wid 
a shtraw just, I was that weak.” 
“What did he run away for ? How did he get away?” 
“He got tired o’ stayin’ an’ workin’, an’ he shpoke up 
right saucy to one of the Sisthers, an’ threatened to ruu 
off, an’ she gave him a wliippin’ for it. I don’t suppose 
he got more than lie deserved, but he never would take 
whippin’ well. The ould man has beat him often, but 
I’d niver raised a ban’ to him, an’ he wouldn’t shtand it 
from a woman. So thin he wouldn’t stay anyway, an’ 
he got off that same night—got over the big high gar- 
den wall; however he did it I don’t know, but he could 
do anythin’ in climbin’.” 
“ And you’ve never seen him since ? ” 
“Oh yes, ma’am. He came shtealin’ home that very 
night to me—watched his chance whin he saw his father 
go out. ‘Ocb, Jamie!’ says I, after I’d kissed him an’ 
cried over him,—‘however could you?’ ‘ Don’t say a 
word, mother, ’ says he; ‘ if you wont send me back, an’ 
father’ll promise not to beat me, I’ll niver run away 
again; but I’ll niver go back there alive,’ says he—an’ 
he just a little feller of ten years old, but he shpoke up 
as fierce as a man. 
“Well, I gave him his supper, an’ told him to go into 
the neighbors’, till I’d shpeak to his father; an’ so I did, 
an’ the ould man was good natured, an’ promised fair 
he’d niver lay a finger on him, an’ no more he didn’t. 
An’ Jamie was just as good wid me, an’ kind as iver 
you’d ashk or expict, an’ slitayed around home, an’ 
helped me wid the childer, an’ ran on errands, an’ 
always came back just as good. I thought all my 
troubles was over, ivery wan! ” 
“Now, Mrs. McGuire, you must stop just there, and 
take another cup of tea, and this hot beef broth Bridget has brought you, and this toast, and I’ll go out to lunch 
myself while she keeps you company, but you mustn’t 
say a word more about your trouble till I come back. 
Perhaps the Doctor will be home himself by that time, 
and he will want to hear it too.” 
But he wasn’t, and my feeling for him, toiling through 
the increasing storm on some distant errand of mercy, 
made me listen still more sympathetically to the rest of 
the poor little mother’s sad story. 
“Wasn’t I tellin’ you how good he was till me, 
ma’am ? An’ so he was—just like a little lamb. I took 
all the comfort in life wTid him, and the ould man, him 
so clever, an’ the childer well—ah! thim was the happy 
days! An’ so it wint on till one mornin’—I think it was 
just about six weeks since I’d had him home, a Monday 
mornin’—I got the breakfast out of the way, an’ the 
ould man off to his work, an’ I got my tubs out an’ 
thought I’d have my wasliin’ done up in a hurry. An’ 
I hadn’t a bit of soap in the house, an’ Jamie was takin’ 
care of Mary Ellen and Johnny, makin’ pictures for 
them, just as nice; an’ I said, ‘Jamie, I’ll look aftlier 
the childer, till you run to the grocery an’ fetch me a 
bar of soap,’ says I. ' Yes, mother,’ says he—just as 
cheerful—an’ he got his cap, an’ I gave him the six pin- 
nies, niver mishtrushtin’ nothin’. Jamie niver did lift a 
cint off me; he was no thief; there wasn’t a thievin’ 
hair on him. ‘Now run quick, Jamie dear,’ says I. 
‘Yes, mother; I’ll be back right off;’ so he shouted to 
me from the shtreet, an’ turned about an’ smiled at me, 
so he did, an’ swung his little cap, an’ darted off like a 
flash; an’ Johnnie a callin’ afther him, an’ me a shtand- 
in’ there in the doorway, smilin’ an’ tliinkin’ what a 
comfort he was, afther all. 
“An’ that—was—the last-minute—I’ve iver—set 
WHO FOUND JAMIK? 
9 10 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
eyes onto him—from that blessed day to this.” 
She was not crying, poor, heart-broken mother, but I 
was, and I hope you are. 
“Mrs. McGuire,” I said, at last, “Try to remember 
that the good Lord’s eye is on Jamie this very minute, 
and He can take even as loving care of him as his own 
mother could.” 
“An’ why wouldn’t He be sendin’ him back till me 
thin ? Doesn’t He see me too ?” 
Ah—why—who can answer such whys but Himself? 
“What have you been doing about it yourself all 
these months ? ” I asked. 
“It was two months an’ over before I was able to 
raise a hand about it meself. Whin he didn’t come, an’ 
I got frightened, I took Johnnie an’ Mary Ellen into 
the neighbors’, an’ wint round to the grocery—it wasn’t 
five minutes’ walk—an’ they told me they’d given him 
the soap, but hadn’t noticed whin he wint out—no more 
they wrouldn’t, you know', ma’am, av course. An’ I 
looked about a bit for him, an’ thin I thought maybe 
he’d be home before me, an’ I wint back, but he wasn’t 
there. An’ I wint out again, but I couldn’t get no word 
of him. An’ whin the ould man came home for his din- 
ner, there wasn’t any for him, an’ I didn’t care. I 
charged him with takin’ Jamie off, but he shwore he 
didn’t. An’ thin I wint out of me head like, an’ didn’t 
know much how things wint till afther baby came, poor 
little thing, an’ afther that I wasn’t able just to raise me 
head, not for twTo mouths, as I told you. The ould man 
seemed sorry, an’ kept pretty sober, an’ got his daughter 
to come an’ get the meals. He did what he could about 
it, I believe. He wint up for me to the Sisthers, but they 
hadn’t seen him there. An’ so it wint on, me hopin’ he’d 
come back, day afther day. He’d niver been gone so 11 
long before. When I got able to walk, the neighbors 
were good an’ had an eye to the childer, now an’ thin, 
an’ I wint out a little ivery day, lookin’, till I gotshtrong 
enough to go further an’ carry the baby. Thin I just 
took her in iny arms, an’ came across to the city, an’ 
walked an’ walked till I knew I mustn’t walk a shtep 
further if I iver wanted to get back. Many’s the mile 
poor baby an’ I has walked, lookin’ an’ lookin’, but 
we’ve niver got as far as this before.” 
Ah—looking and looking—many a mile. How my 
heart followed the image that fancy called up, of the 
poor little woman and the baby born to sorrow, walking 
wearily, how wearily, through the long noisy streets of 
the great city so overpowering in its vastness, so lonely 
in its fullness, to a mother who seeks among its great, 
hopeless throngs for one little lost child! 
Mile after mile, through the scorching summer days, 
over the blistering pavements that flashed back confu- 
sion to her bewildered brain; threading the noisome 
alleys where infection lurks and fevers are bred; where 
pallid faces crowd tenement house windows for a breath 
of air less foul than that within; where, every summer, 
hundreds of little children languish out of existence and 
escape so easily, thank God, from a life more corrupt 
than the grave itself, into the sweet air of Heaven. 
Mile after mile, through rattling business streets, down 
among the docks where the great ocean-steamers unload 
their rich freights; hogsheads of sugar and molasses ooz- 
ing sweetness from every pore, and heaps of golden 
fruit from the Mediterranean, attracting the sly little 
human dock-rats, as well as the slyer brutes whose name 
they bear. Mile after mile, througli the now deserted 
avenues of fashion, round and round the dusty parks 
that give the only glimpse of blessed country life to the 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 12 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
children of the poor; mile after hopeless mile of aimless 
wandering; rousing now and then to follow some slight 
fancied trail; tramping after an organ-grinder to watch 
the ragged, merry little crowd he drew; searching ev- 
ery knot of boys playing or quarreling on street corners; 
her heart leaping into her throat at the glimpse of some 
brown, curly head, or the ring of some boyish laugh 
that might be Jamie’s—but, alas! was not. So many, 
many children in God’s world, and had it no room any- 
where for her one little lost lamb ? 
The little that seemed within the power of human aid 
I tried to do; giving her the fare home, and making her 
promise to use it, wrapping her and the baby warmer 
from the storm, though that was nearly over, and prom- 
ising the Doctor’s more efficient help and counsel when 
he should come home. 
As we sat cozy and comfortable that night by the bit 
of open grate fire that Hugh, I am glad to say, always 
will indulge in, I told him the sad story in few words; 
and, in fewer still, his practical, common-sense kindness 
responded promptly, as I knew it would. 
“The police stations must be notified at once It 
ought to have been done at first. And I’ll send a de- 
scription of the case to the Children’s Hospital, and 
House of Refuge, and to all the private asylums where 
such little waifs would naturally drift. If the poor soul 
wauts to go herself to look, I’ll give her letters and get 
passes for her. He’s most likely sale in one of them, 
poor little scamp.” 
O Hugh, do you really think so ? ” 
“Yes indeed, dear; there’s little that escapes those 
nets.” 
Hugh went himself, the first thing next morning, to 
the nearest police station to give a minute description of wtio found .tamie? 
13 
little Jamie and his disappearance, and instantly, from 
station to station round the great city, the message flash- 
ed, till the whole beneficent strength of the law’s keen 
vision was focused upon this one little vagrant. The 
police officers shook their heads, however, over the 
length of time that had elapsed, and said, 
“More chance at the Refuges.” 
Just as soon as the necessary passes could be obtained, 
we sent for Mrs. McGuire, and, with heart throbbing 
wild with feverish hope, she started upon the new trail 
among asylums and lodging-houses and hospitals. When 
it was possible, we went with her to make her reception 
surer, and her search easier. Ah, the thousands of home- 
less little ones in a great city; the hundreds of childish 
faces that passed before us, of all colors and national- 
ities! We walked till we were bewildered, through 
dining-rooms where they looked askance at us from their 
tin bowls of porridge; school-rooms where they looked 
down at us, like a cloud of doubtful cherubs, from tier 
after tier of seats rising against the wall; hospital wards 
where they looked up at us, patient and pitiful, from 
rows of little white beds, and sometimes even, mute and 
smiling, from rude little coffins that seemed, after all, 
brightest with promise for their future. 
Poor little waifs. One’s heart could but echo Mrs. 
McGuire’s motherly wish,— 
“Och now, to look at thim childers. If I could only 
be their own mother to all o’ thim! ” 
But, remembering what their own mothers were in 
most cases, we thanked God for the great heart of hu- 
manity that has gathered these little ones out of their 
slough of shame and misery, to save them for God 
and the nation. 
But among all the hundreds, no Jamie. 14 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
It did seem impossible, as Hugh had said, that any- 
thing could escape these nets drawn so tightly by law 
and charity across the dark streams of city vagrancy. 
But this poor little waste bit of humanity had slipped 
past them all, it seemed, and been swallowed up, without 
a trace, in the hurrying currents of life outside; unless, 
indeed, Death’s surer net had landed him safe in the 
sweet fields "beyond their swelling flood, and, alas, be- 
yond his mother’s straining gaze as well. 
“But not for much longer,” I thought, as we parted 
from her, on the steps of the very last Refuge on our list 
—the last refuge of our hope it seemed. Yet I tried to 
raise the dying spark that seemed likely to take life with 
it when it went out, and told the fainting heart to be 
strong, and talked cheerfully of what news might yet 
come from the police office, and the resources yet with- 
in the Doctor’s ingenuity. 
“She’ll be down sick, to-morrow,” I said to Hugh, 
however, as the cab rolled off in which he had sent her 
home. 
“Yes; poor soul,” he assented. “I’ve a call over 
there to-morrow afternoon,”—he still kept a few pa- 
tients in our old home—“and I’ll try to run in and see 
her.” 
We certainly did not expect to see her in the city, 
and were surprised enough when, as we -were sitting at 
lunch, next day, the familiar message was brought in: 
“The little Irish woman is waiting in the office for 
the Doctor.” 
I ran in first to see her while Hugh finished his lunch. 
I almost doubted her sanity, as I met her hungry, rest- 
less eyes, and noticed the burning spots under them. 
As gently as possible, I told her that no word had come 
to us yet from the police, but she hardly seemed to hear WttO FOUND JAMIE? 
15 
what I said. 
“Didn’t you tell me, ma’am, that there’d be some way 
found yet to get him ? An’ it’s this it is, maybe.” 
She held out with trembling hand, a dingy, ragged 
bit of newspaper. 
“Well, what is this?” I said, turning it over and 
over, gingerly, and reading only various advertise- 
ments—Houses to let—Board wanted—Use Dr. Killdear’s 
Baby Mixture—ah !— 
Seventh daughter of a seventh 
Daughter. Grandchild of an Arabian As- 
trologer Mad a i e Latour, the well-known 
Clairvoyant, from Paris, discovers what is lost, 
reads past and the future, reveals the 
destiny, tells name and shows likeness of future 
husband or wife. Fortunes told by card read- 
ing. palmistry, consultation with spirits, cr 
clairvoyance. 
Madame Latour is consulted by the first la- 
dies and gentlemen of the city, and never fails 
to give satisfaction. Gives equal attention to 
rich and poor. Ladies’ hours, 8 to 4; gentle- 
men’s. 5 to 8. Evening seances twice a week, 
witu materialization of spirit forms and faces. 
I felt those hungry eyes on my face as I read, and tried 
to make it impassive. 
“Yes, that’s it just, ma’am. It was Mrs. McGraw 
gave it till me when I got home last night. Wasn’t she 
waitin’ for me, with the childer all abed, and a hot cup 
o’ tay for me, and when she was afther makin’ me drink 
it, sure she says, ‘ There’s thim as knows where Jamie 
is,’ she says, ‘ an’ can bring him back till ye,’ says she, 
an’ she gives me this bit as she’d found in the paper 
that very day, that come round the tay she’d bought for 
me, bless her. An’ I was that worn out, I went to 
shlape like a baby, with it clutched right in me hand, 
an’ I had a drame about Jamie, how he’d come home till 16 
WHO FOUND .1 AMlE ? 
me—an’ O ma’am, if you an’ the Docther will lend me 
the money to go to the Madam, I’ll work me fingers off, 
but I’ll pay back ivery ceDt till ye.” 
Lend her the money ! I knew well enough she meant 
what she said, and would do it; but to lend her only 
new disappointment and misery— 
I heard Hugh’s step, — “ Wait a minute, ” I said, and 
ran to stop him in the inner office, drawing the door 
shut after me. 
“ O Hugh, only look at that. The poor woman really 
wants to try it.” 
He read the Madam’s alluring announcement. What 
reply would you expect a “regular” physician to 
make? Of course—that’s just it. He said, 
“Nonsense 1” and that with some vigor, 
I put my hand on his arm. 
“Yes, Hugh, but somehow I can't quite go back and 
tell that poor heart-broken thing so.” 
“ Would you rather raise false hopes, dear, that would 
only prolong her agony ?” 
“The hopes are raised already, Hugh. Besides,”—I 
went on, arguing as much with myself as with him,—“ I 
do believe she would die, without some sort of hope ; 
and you know, you give stimulants sometimes, to 
keep a patient up on false strength till he has a 
chance to rally. Perhaps this would occupy her mind 
for a while, and tide her over the worst, and meantime 
something might turn up, or she might at least get over 
the dreadful fatigue of these expeditions, and gain a lit- 
tle bit of strength.” 
“ Well,” said Hugh, smiling at my medical theories, 
“ there’s something in that view of the case. And do 
you propose to take her to this shrine of the prophets ?” 
“ Why, yes, Hugh, if you don’t mind. That is, un- WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
17 
less you have some wiser plan to offer,” I said, a little 
artfully, fori was quite sure he hadn’t. 
“No, there’s nothing left that I can see but to wait 
for some clue from the police, and I've no idea now that 
it will ever come. These little nobodies are as hard to 
identify as a stray cat. You may try your treatment, if 
you like, but let me make sure it’s the the best place for 
you to go to. One may have a choice of oracles, I sup- 
pose.” 
“ Oh, Madame Latour; I am pretty sure it’s the best 
there is, Hugh. She’s all the fashion. Miss Roye 
and Mr. Saunders were discussing her last evening at 
dinner. Miss Roye has been to one of her seances, 
and says that though she doesn’t believe in such things 
herself, Madame Latour certainly does do most wonder- 
ful things that cannot be explained.” 
“ Sensible woman—I mean not to believe altogether in 
such things. You had better take her with you. I 
don’t like to have you go there alone with Mrs. Mc- 
Guire. She might go into hysterics, and you would need 
help. Well, good-bye dear.” 
“ Good-bye, Hugh. I shall have some sort of a story to 
tell you to-night.” 
I went back with the comfort of consent to her peti- 
tion, to poor Mrs. McGuire, feeling, in spite of my 
plausible arguments, very doubtful whether I was more 
kind than cruel, and yet that she could not have borne a re- 
fusal. 
Miss Roye was delighted with my invitation to ac- 
company us to the medium’s: poor Mrs. McGuire was 
beyond minding the presence of a stranger, and at two 
o’clock we started upon our novel errand. 
“ I am so glad you are going at last to test for your- 
self some of these phenomena,” said Miss Roye, 18 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
squeezing my arm she had linked in hers. 
“It won’t be much of a test,” I replied. “I don’t 
feel myself a competent judge. We may see some 
strange things, but that we can’t explain them is no sign 
that they are unexplainable. ” 
“I’m sure I don’t know why,” said Miss Roye. 
“We. can depend upon the evidence of our own senses, 
I should hope. When I hear these remarkable stories, 
I often say, Well, that’s too much to credit until I see it 
myself; but if I do see it, of course I cannot refuse to be- 
lieve my own eyes.” 
“ You don’t believe your own eyes when you go to 
see Heller’s tricks, do you ? I asked, ” laughingly. 
“Why, of course not. That’s quite different. We 
know very well that that is only jugglery. He doesn’t 
pretend it is anything else. ” 
“And how do you know that the mediums’ ‘phenom- 
ena’ as they call, them are anything but jugglery—simply 
because they do pretend so ?’’ I asked. 
“Well, some of the best and loveliest, and most in- 
tellectual people believe in spiritualism and clairvoyance, 
and a great many more than will openly acknowledge 
it—the faith in it is spreading, I assure you.” 
“Perhaps so, but my own experience has been this. 
All the confirmed avowers of such belief I have ever 
met, naturally divide into two classes; the first, those 
whose character I cannot have a particle of confidence 
in, and the second, good, true people, intellectual 
even, pure in purpose, and honest to the last degree in 
intention, but notably easily deceived and carried away 
by their own imagination or credulity. Just watch for 
yourself and see if it is not so. I mean those who are fully 
committed to it; of course, there are people of strong 
judgment and scientific training who are willing to look WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
19 
into the matter fairly and with interest. I think you 
said yourself that you feel interested in the phenomena 
though you do not altogether believe in them,” I added, 
fearing I might perhaps have wounded her a little. 
“No—it’s so hard to tell what to believe,” said 
Miss Roye, “but,” she added impetuously and hon- 
estly, “I do believe in it a great deal more than I would 
acknowledge to Mr. Saunders last night. He's so dread- 
fully matter of fact and sarcastic—he actually had the 
assurance to declare that not one person in a hundred 
knows how to tell the truth !” 
“ He’s a lawyer,” I said with a smile, “and knows 
how hard it is to get an exact report of anything from a 
witness.” 
“That’s what he meant, I suppose, by saying he would 
like to have the cross-examination of them, when I was 
telling him what some friends of mine had seen. I 
thought it was very impertinent. If you’re not to be- 
lieve your eyes or your ears either, I don’t know what 
you are to do !” 
“ Believe eyes and ears that are trained to expertness 
in their work, if you can find them,” I said, “ and use 
caution and common-sense in coming to your conclusions. 
Because”—I went on half to myself, for my thoughts 
were wandering far off—“so very, very much, to so many 
people, depends upon them.” 
“‘So very much’?” said Miss Roye inquiringly 
and with a laugh, “and ‘ to so many people’ ? I don’t 
flatter myself that my conclusions will make any particu- 
lar difference to any one else, or to myself either per- 
haps.” 
“I beg your pardon, ” I said, “the time may come when 
your own life, or the life of some one dearer to you than 
yourself, will depend upon your faith in science or super- 20 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
stition”— I would have said in a scientific physician or 
a quack, if I hadn’t been afraid she might think I was 
sounding my own physician’s trumpet.—“It must make 
a great difference, to all one’s life, I think, whether or 
no one’s habit of mind is to bring every belief to the test 
of reason and common-sense. If you want wonders, you 
will have enough left then to feed faith and curiosity 
for a life-time. 
‘ ‘ Do you know what superstition is doing in the world, 
and how hard it is to root out ? That is what makes me 
hate and dread it, more than anything else. Think of the 
Sandwich Islands, so given up to it after fifty years con- 
tact with civilization and faithful missionary labor, that 
if one man simply threatens another to have a witch doc- 
tor pray him to death, the poor creature crawls home and, 
ten chances to one, really dies from terror. Why the 
whole race i§ dying off the face of the earth, and this su- 
perstition is one of the chief recognized causes.” 
“Well, you are going far off,” said Miss Roye. “It is 
very dreadful of course, but—” 
“There is enough of the same kind of thing nearer 
home,” I said. “The Kahuna of the Sandwich Islands, 
has his exact counterpart in the Negro conjure doctor of 
the South. Instead of being prayed to death, the victim 
is “tricked,” but he dies all the same, with about as 
much facility as the Kanaka. A physician in a Virginia 
town, not twenty-four hours from New York, told me 
that he was sent for by a sick man’s wife to visit him, 
but when he went, the man utterly refused to take any 
medicine at all, declaring that he knew what ailed him, 
he was tricked, and nothing would do him'any good— 
he was n’t “ gwine to fool with no drug doctor’s stuff.” 
So he died a victim to his superstition. 
And there was poor aid Unele Pete in the same town— WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
21 
be knew he hacl a snake in his back; it was put there 
when he was tricked; of that he was positive, and, before 
he would follow any physicians directions, his notions had 
to be yielded to so far as to pretend to take it out. When 
he felt the little garter snake, the doctor had provided, 
slip across his back, and saw it held out by the tail 
squirming, he was perfectly satisfied to do anything else 
that doctor might direct You have no idea how wide 
spread this belief in conjuration is in the South—even 
the whites in some places are infected with it, but among 
the negroes, it is found everywhere. Hundreds die mis- 
erably or impoverish themselves and their families, who 
might easily be saved if it wrere not for their superstition. 
It will make a vast difference to that race wThether it can 
be rescued from it or not. I have heard that a very sim- 
ilar belief in conjuring spells exists to some extent among 
the lowest classes of Irish emigrants. 
“But, dear me, you needn’t go to one race or class or 
another for the only example, or look outside our own cir- 
cle of acquaintance, for that matter. How many succes- 
sive quacks and patent medicines, each one the only cure 
in the world for every thing, do you imagine our friend 
Mrs. Clement has tided for her chronic dyspepsia?” 
“ She told me yesterday, that she was going to send a 
lock of her hair to a wonderful new clairovoyant physi- 
cian in Chicago,” said Miss Roye with a laugh, for Mrs. 
Clement’s peculiarities were well known to her acquain- 
tances. 
“She’d better send him a brick off her house chimney 
to tell what ails the steam pipes,” I replied—“or scratch 
a little gilding off the clock case to send him, instead of 
sending the clock to a clock-mender. That would be 
a fair experiment, wdth less risk to herself. But I’m cer- 
tain it is not the first lock she has sacrificed. One would 22 
WHO POUND JAMIE? 
think that after one lock has pronounced her illness liv- 
er complaint, and another heart disease, and another 
lung trouble, and another spinal affiction, she would not 
have faith left in a hair of her head. But, as I said, it is 
wonderful how hard superstition is to die, and, as you 
said, it is surprising to see in what otherwise intelligent 
people you will find it. It is more a question of men- 
tal balance than of mental growth in any special direction 
I think. The most curiously superstitious person I ever 
knew personally was a lovely young lady, not highly in- 
tellectual, but bright, from Boston. Think of it—the Hub 
itself, the American Athens, the home of pure reason 
and calm philosophy! The dear girl has gone to where 
all earth shadows flee away, though real wonders enough 
are left which the angels desire to look into. What must 
she think of her bondage here ? For it was a bondage. 
She wTould cry all day over a broken looking glass, be- 
cause it was ‘ sure to bring death.’ I-was thrown into 
company with her party in travelling. We spent a few 
days together in a cottage in the Tyrol. She shrieked 
herself nearly into hysterics one day, because a little bird 
flew into the window, and she sprang on to the top of 
her Saratoga trunk to avoid the brush of its wing. That 
too was to her a sign of death. I could only comfort her 
by telling her what is true, that the German peasants 
think it a good omen when a swallow flies into the cot- 
tage. She would never begin anything on a Friday, or 
take a certain garment into a neighbor’s house or room 
to make, lest it should never be finished. Her mind was 
as full of signs as a dream book. I don’t know her his- 
tory, probably some peculiarity of early surroundings or 
education might account for it. I used rather mischiev- 
ously, but partly to show her the folly of it, to test her 
credulity sometimes, by inventing new signs and asking WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
23 
her if she knew them. I never could make one too ri- 
diculous for her to accept it without question until I ex- 
plained. Then she would good naturedly scold me, but 
I don’t know that her faith was shaken in the old ones. 
Now “suppose”—as the baker’s daughter said—that 
that girl had come to be entrusted with the bringing up 
of a family of children—would it have made no difference? 
But—stop the car, conductor—Here we are at Madam 
Latour’s.” 
Poor little Mrs. McGuire started from the apathy in 
which she had taken little heed to what was said, and 
caught my arm, trembling from head to foot. I whis- 
pered a word of encouragement, as w7e crossed the street 
and mounted the steps of a brick house. My light 
touch of the bell was answered instantly, and the door 
was thrown open by a respectable looking colored wai- 
ter. Yes, the Madam was at home, to ladies, and we 
were ushered into a reception room to wait till she was 
at liberty. 
A French nurse with a daintily dressed little girl, was 
preparing to leave, with a pair of flushed cheeks that a 
walk in the park might cool, but I wondered how the 
“ little pitcher” could be prevented from pouring out a 
story of the visit to Mamma when they got home.* In 
twenty minutes more, which seemed twice as long, two 
women draped in the deepest mourning passed slowly 
by the door and went out, the elder supporting the 
younger who was weeping violently under her long crape 
veil. 
We were then at once summoned into an inner parlor, 
♦This incident is not fiction, and it may suggest to mothers who 
send their little ones out to walk with nurses they do not know fully, 
that it would be well sometimes to make sure where they take 
them. 24 
who found jamie? 
larger and darker, empty of any human presence, and 
not suggestive of spiritual occupancy. It had only the 
ordinary scanty furniture of any unfashionable, city rent- 
ed house. One tall, narrow mirror with marble slab 
under it on brackets, reflecting nothing but a some- 
what worn tapestry Brussels carpet, two small sofas 
upholstered in crimson brocatelle, half a dozen chairs 
ditto; a white marble mantel-piece with French china 
vases and showy French clock, whose enamored shep- 
herd and shepherdess had entirely forgotten to mark 
the lapse of time ; a cold hearth under it rather un- 
tidy with scattered wisps of paper; a scratched square 
piano without a cover, and an old fashioned centre- 
table with one of some crimson stuff like the curtains, 
like them too, somewhat dingy and faded. I glanced 
round the room at these details, and even took a quick 
peep under the table cover, but found no signs of any 
juggler’s apparatus; no hidden wires or electric bells re- 
vealed themselves to my superficial search. 
A. door opposite the mirror opened quietly, and the 
seventh grand-daughter of the Arabian astrologer stood 
before us. A tall, stout woman with masses of black 
hair puffed and piled high npon her head, in the 
style then prevailing on fashion plates, a face that would 
have been simply coarsely expressionless, but for a pair of 
quick, searching black eyes. If they looked as sharply into 
futurity as they did around them, they ought to have 
seen much. They rested a scarcely appreciable moment 
on each one of us, though, somehow, when it was my 
turn, I felt transfixed. 
“Do you come to consult me, ladies ?” 
Her accent did not suggest the Arabian astrologer, 
nor the Parisian extraction, and my courage rose, while 
I briefly explained that it was only I who wished the con- WHO FOUND .TAMIE? 
25 
sultation. 
“ But it’s you that’s in trouble,” refolded the Madam, 
turning suddenly upon Mrs. McGuire, who, startled com- 
pletely off her guard, clasped her hands convulsively and 
sobbed out: 
“ An’ sure that’s tlirue for ye, ma’am. An’if ye’ll 
help me out, it’s the Lord himself will bliss ye.” 
“You have met with a loss,” said the Madam, calm- 
ly, seating herself at the table. “ You have come to 
the right place for help. Now”—addressing me—“will 
you consult by the cards, or the spirits, or clairvoy- 
ance ?” 
I hesitated. 
“An’ which wan o’ thim ways is the best thin ?” asked 
Mrs. McGuire, appealing to the oracle herself. 
“All are equally sure, and perfectly satisfactory as far 
as they go. Of course, you can’t do as much with 
cards.” 
“ Spirits,” motioned Miss Roye’s lips behind her hand. 
“The only trouble in consulting the spirits,” said the 
Madam, as if answering an audible suggestion, “ is that 
you can’t always be sure they are not lying spirits. In 
clairvoyance, I tell only what I see myself, so I know it 
is reliable.” 
This argument seemed satisfactory to Mrs. McGuire, 
and Miss Roye remarked aloud: 
“Madam Latour has great reputation as a clairvoy- 
ant.” 
So the question was settled. 
“ Please draw up to the table,” said Madam Latour, 
handing me a long strip of thin brown wrapping paper, 
“and write upon this, the name of the lost. You will 
observe that I shall not look at it, but you can make the 
test as perfect as you please by covering your writing, 26 
and when it is written, double the paper over and over 
till it is a mere strip.” 
I took the paper with a feeling that it was all a child’s 
game, and I bad to consider what the consequences were 
and what the world would say. The Madam turned her 
keen eyes religiously away, and, screening one hand 
with the other, in small faint characters, I wrote the 
name, Jamie McGuire, at the top of my paper, folding 
it over and over, as she had said, giving the strip thus 
formed an extra fold across. It was no sooner done 
than the Madam extended her hand, without a word, 
and without turning her eyes which seemed to be closed, 
her head resting upon her other hand, her elbow sup- 
ported by the back of her chair. I dropped the folded 
slip into her open palm, her fingers closed upon it, and 
—still without her head’s turning—went through a scries 
of manipulations with no effect that I could see, but to 
crush and twist the slip more and more hopelessly for 
any examination, at last giving it a careless toss over her 
head into the fireplace, where it lay with the other wisps 
and explained their presence. 
Her arm, returning, sank listlessly on the table; her 
head drooped lower; she seemed to have dropped asleep 
with the facility of the fat boy in Pickwick. In a few 
minutes, however, her breast began to heave and pant 
as if she were struggling under some mysterious influ- 
ence. “Is it not awe inspiring?” murmured Miss 
Roye, under her breath, nervously drawing her chair a 
little nearer mine. Mrs. McGuire took a more matter- 
of-fact view of the case. 
“Och, what shall we do at all, at all ? Sure the poor 
crature is goin’ into a fit.” 
The convulsive gasps ceased, and in dreamy, slow ut- 
terance, with eyes still closed, our oracle began to speak. 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 27 
“Where — am — I ? I see many people hurrying 
about. They have shawls and travelling bags. It is 
night—I see a bright, bright light. It is a locomo- 
tive. A cab is driving up fast. A man and a wo- 
man with a boy between them have got out and are 
running. The bell is ringing. They have got on 
board. ]$ow the cars &re going—Sh—sh—sh—sh—sh— 
sh—sh 
It is all dark now, I can’t see anything. 
“ Oh, now I see water—a wide, wide river—many 
boats—a steamboat landing. More people—so many 
people—Some going on board—some coming ashore. On 
the left hand carriages waiting—on the right hand an 
eating house with a flag-stall in front of it. It is night 
again, very dark. There is a tar bucket on fire for a 
torch. The burning tar is dripping. A boy is watch- 
ing it. He is the same boy I saw before on the train. 
And the same woman has hold of his hand. His other 
hand is in his pocket. He has a soft hat on his head. 
I can’t see his face, his back is toward me. Now the 
man that was with them on the train, comes up and 
speaks to the woman, and they all go aboard.” 
“ An’ what sort of a little b’y will it be that ye see, 
ma’am ?” burst in the poor little mother, unable to bear 
the suspense in quiet. 
Unheeding the interruption, the seer continued after 
a pause, as if she had heard nothing that was said: 
“It is growing light to me. Snow—snow—snow 
—stretching everywhere as far as I can see; and 
long black lines running straight through it. They 
are railroad tracks. No hills, all flat like fields 
or like the sea. Far off I see something mov- 
ing— like a lot of animals running. Now I see 
a few houses in a line along the track. A little fur- 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 28 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
ther off, I see a large log house. A man is working 
outside. The sides of the house are growing like glass 
to me. I can see right through into the room. It is 
a pleasant looking room—like a kitchen—warm and 
bright. An open fireplace, and a coal fire. A woman 
is clearing off the table. A baby is in a cradie. In 
front of the fire a little boy is sitting, mending a sled. 
He is a small boy with dark brown hair and red cheeks. 
Now the woman is speaking. What is she saying ? Be 
still now, and let me listen. She says: 
“ ‘ You’ll go to school to-day, Jamie Me Quire.' ” 
A faint scream from the over-taxed little mother start- 
ed Miss Roye and myself to our feet. What other sen- 
tences the clairvoyant may have spoken, if any, we did 
not heed or hear, as we caught the poor fainting woman 
and laid her on a sofa. She did not lie there long. How 
Madam Latour came out of her trance we did not notice; 
but she rose from her chair, exclaiming,— 
“ Where am I ? Oh—what have I been saying ? What 
is the matter ?” 
The fainting mother heard her, and, rousing, in a 
frenzy of excitement, was do wn at her feet on her knees. 
“O dear lady, tell me where is that where Jamie is, 
an’ how I can get to him! ” 
“I don’t know what you mean. What have I told 
you ? Tell me what I have said.” 
It was some time before Mrs. McGuire could take in 
the idea that the wonderful Madam could see less with 
eyes open than with eyes shut, and then it was a bitter 
disappointment which none of her suggestions could re- 
lieve, especially as she utterly refused to dream again for 
us that evening. 
“Now, why not be satisfied?” urged the Madam. 
“From what you say I told you, your boy seems to be WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
29 
well taken care of, better off than at home, may be. No; 
I can’t tell where the place is exactly, but may be I can 
see it again some time when I’m rested from this effort. 
“It’s somewhere out west, I should say. I’ll tell you 
what I’ll do. I’ll shuffle the cards for you without extra 
charge. I wouldn’t do it for every body, but you inter- 
est me.” 
A pack of cards which had seen service was produced 
from the Madam’s pocket, and Mrs. McGuire looked on 
with awe and nervous expectancy at the mysterious 
process of reading them. 
“ You have had great trouble in more ways than one.” 
“That’s thrue for you,” sighed Mrs. McGuire. 
“ Your last trouble comes from the western quarter. I 
thought so. There is some one mixed up in your life 
who is doing you mischief.” 
Mrs. McGuire looked awe struck. 
“A fair haired woman.” 
Her face fell jn doubt. 
“ She is near to you. It is one of your husband’s re- 
lations. Beware of her. It is her has carried off your 
boy.” 
“Has your husband any relations out West ? ” I asked. 
“Sure, niver a wan, that I knows on—He might, 
though—” she replied, evidently unwilling to give up 
the clue. 
“ Yes; that’s it. She did it to spite you. She’s your 
worst enemy—a snake in the grass. But she’s good to 
your boy now she’s got him. Very likely she will send 
him back some day, or he’ll come back himself when he 
grows up. You’d better be content with that. That’s 
all I can tell you.” 
What mother’s heart would be content with that ? 
“An’ couldn’t ye,” she pleaded, “find out the name 30 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
of that far place, an’ let mo go there for him—or maybe 
you could get thim cratures to send him back till me ? ” 
“Oh, yes; I could go to them—in the spirit, you 
know—and influence their minds to send him back, so 
they couldn’t help themselves—they’d have to do just as 
I willed. Nobody can resist me when I exert my full 
power. Why, I’ve sent my will across the Atlantic 
ocean, and controlled people thousands of miles away, 
so they couldn’t help themselves.” 
“ Oh then, please do it now, wont you, for the love of 
Heaven!” begged the mother. 
“Well, I’ve almost given up such efforts. It is a great 
exertion, a great strain upon my nervous system,” sighed 
the Madam, comfortably settling herself back in her 
chair, and looking as if she had not a strained nerve in 
her body. “Now I see that you are a poor woman,” 
she added, benevolently, “and you had better save your 
money for yourself, as long as Jamie is so well off. For 
it would take a great deal to bring him back.1” 
“ How much, then ? ” broke in the mother. 
“Put it as low as I could, for you—it’s really a dan- 
gerous exertion for me. Put it as low as I could, be- 
cause I know you’re poor, I couldn’t in conscience, ask 
less than twenty dollars.” 
“I could work an’ get it, yes, I could, if you’d only 
be so good as to wait for it, or let me pay up a bit at a 
time. I’d pay you ivery cint, that I would, an’ bless 
you too, ma’am.” 
My impatience rose over its bounds, the more because 
I was angry with myself for having brought myself and 
the poor little woman into such a position. “Come, 
Mrs. McGuire,” I said, “you had better go home and 
think this over. Madam Latour will trust you if you 
decide to come to her. I’m sure we can make that all WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
31 
right, or perhaps she can get you the name of the West- 
tern town. You shall have all the help you can, you may 
trust me for that. But you had better come home now.” 
“Yes, oh yes,” assented the Madam, her keen eyes 
resting on me with a questioning, and on the whole sat- 
isfied look. “You can trust the lady, and I will satisfy 
you. Come again, and we’ll see what we can do.” 
Confiding in me, the poor little woman consented to 
leave with the small drop of comfort she had had. It 
was stimulating enough, at all events—I was afraid only 
too much so. 
“Can you change this bill ?” I asked the Madam, in 
settling her account. 
“ Oh yes, I can change anything. See the dollars— 
see the silver and gold !—” said the Madam, in a strange- 
ly confidential mood, drawing from her pocket’s depths 
an overflowing pocket-book that proved her fully ready 
for resumption of specie payment. 
“ That has all come in to-day. I shall have as much 
again before I go to bed. That shows what the people 
think of me, doesn’t it ?” and the keen eyes twinkled 
with satisfation. 
“ What kind of people come to you most! ” I asked. 
“ Oh, every kind— rich and poor, high and low ; peo- 
ple that have lost treasures—money or jewels, or friends 
by death or other ways; girls w'hose lovers have left 
them, for me to bring them back. It’s a good busi- 
ness. I tell you what, Miss,” she exclaimed turning 
to Miss Roye, “ you look as if you could be a medium.” 
“People have told me so before,” said Miss Roye, 
looking impressed and pleased. 
“Yes, you do, and if ever you want to become one, 
I cau teach you—for a consideration of course—for a 
consideration. There’s great science in it. I paid 32 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
twelve hundred dollars myself to learn it.” 
“Oh I thought it was a natural gift,” I said, suspi- 
ciously. 
“ Of course it is. If I hadn’t been the seventh 
daughter of a seventh daughter with wonderful signs 
at my birth, born under a fortunate star, and the great 
grand-daughter of an Arabian astrologer, I never could 
have had the powers I have, but there’s science in it 
besides, the real white magic, and I could impart it to 
this lady I think, but not to you.” 
“I’m afraid not to me,” I assented. “Come Mrs. 
McGuire,” and we took our leave of the Madam. 
My story for Hugh that evening, after Mrs. McGuire 
had had her dinner and gone home, was not as bright 
and triumphant as I meant it to be. I was ready to give 
up all my theories of treatment, and very much afraid I 
had killed my patient with an overdose of stimulants. 
“Twenty dollars indeed—and possibly she can tell the 
name of the place by another effort—why Hugh, that’s 
only the beginning of a series of extortions. And yet, 
the poor woman will die, if she gives it up now. Is 
there any way out of it all?” 
If there was, I knew Hugh would find it. 
“ Well, cheer up, dear; we did the very best we knew,” 
he said, kindly taking a share of the responsibility. “ I’ll 
tell you how we can use up some time at least. The set- 
tlements along the Pacific Road are not innumerable. We 
can find out every one, and send a note to the postmaster 
or station-keeper, and inquire if any such family with such 
a child lives there.” 
“And if you find there does,” said Miss Roye impress- 
ively, “perhaps you’ll be willing to acknowledge that there 
is truth in clairvoyance, though we may not be able to ex- 
plain it.” 
.“ Well we’ll wait till then,” said Hugh, laughing, “and WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
33 
I advise you to wait before you pay your twelve hundred 
dollars.” 
For all Hugh’s generosity and ingenious devices, I lay 
awake most of the night, thinking over the difficulties of 
the case, pitying the weary mother, indignant with the 
woman who, I believed, was deceiving her, and feeling 
with shame a sense of having assisted the fraud. I went 
to breakfast next morning with a nervous headache which 
received a sudden impetus when the office bell rang, and 
the old message was brought in: 
“The little Irish woman to see you, ma’am, and the 
Doctor.” 
“ The woman really imposes upon you,” remarked some 
one at the table who had heard her story. The unsympa 
thetic speech give me strength to rise. “Oh, no!” I said. 
“ We’ll go together,” said Hugh, and so we did. 
Was she really insane this time ? I thought so when we 
opened the office door. She looked ready to spring at us. 
Her eyes were almost black with excitement. Her cheeks 
burned. She was quivering all over, laughing hysteric- 
ally between sobs, and then the tears streamed forth as I 
had never seen them in her darkest days, as she clapped 
her hands and exclaimed: 
“ O Doctor dear—O ma’am ! Blessed be God ! He’s 
found! Jamie’s found !” 
“ Thank God ! ” we both exclaimed. 
“But where—how—out West?” I stammered, hardly 
knowing what to think. The mere suggestion calmed her. 
“Ah, ma’am, sure the Lord was better to me than that 
false desayvin’ crature—though it’s too happy I am, to be 
angry with ony one now. Wasn’t I goin’ home last night 
ready to pay her ivery cint I had in the world, and believe 
ivery word of her foolishness, an’ didn’t I find, right there 
in me own house, a bit of a letter waitin’ for me, just like 
an angel had brought the same, an’ it right from that 
blessed man Mr. Christian himself—him as kapes the 34 
Shepherd’s Fold, ye know, sir—sure it’s Christian he is by 
name, and Christian by nature. Mary Ellen an’ me made 
it out together, an’ it sayin’, how four weeks ago, only 
just a bit afther we’d wint there, you know, ma’am, a poor 
little b’y was brought in by a news-girl who had found him 
sick in the streets, an’ he come right down with the faver, 
an’ couldn’t say a word. An’ when he got better, he gave 
his name as Johnnie Mellin, don’t you see, an’ said he 
hadn’t any home, an’ they kep’ him in the school, an’ took 
care of him. But his tacher found him cryin’ ivery day, 
do you see, ma’am; cryin’ an’ cryin’; an’ wouldn’t play 
with the other b’ys; an’ he wouldn’t tell wan o’ them what 
the matter was, till, at last, they were so kind he lost fear 
of them, an’ owned up his name wasn’t Johnnie Mellin, 
but Jamie McGuire, an’ he had a mother just over the 
river, only he was afraid to go home because they thought 
he’d run away. An’ so Mr. Christian said I’d best come 
over an’ see him first, instead of his sendin’ him home.” 
“ Thought he’d run away ? But hadn’t he?” 
“That’s just what I don’t understand yet, ma’am; for, 
don’t you see, when you’d been so good helpin’ me an’ up- 
holdin’ me, sure I couldn’t do onything till I’d come an’ 
towld ye.” 
If, as has been said, “gratitude is the test of a truly 
noble nature,” did not this poor little Irish woman prove 
a claim to nobility by a delicacy of feeling which kept her 
back even from the culmination of her joy till the friends 
who had mourned with her could also rejoice with her? 
And so, within an hour, we had the pleasure which any 
one might think a rich one, of seeing that mother heart 
clasp to its closest embrace the little brown head so long 
missed, that poor little waif taken up into the warmth and 
tenderness of a mother’s love, that love satisfied for all the 
long days of cruel pain. 
And this, perhaps, would be a good place to stop; but I 
know you will want, as we did, to listen to Jamie’s poor 
WHO POUND JAMIE? WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
35 
little story, and learn liow it was that “they thought he’d 
run away,” and he thought he hadn’t. 
“And oh, I’m so sorry, mother,” he sobbed, “and sure 
I never meant to leave you. But after I’d got the soap, 
and went out of the store, there was Pat O’Brien, and Tim 
Rooney, and Johnnie Sullivan, and we got playin’ and cut- 
tin’ up, and I left down the soap somewhere, and it went 
just clean out of my head. And we went down to the 
docks to play, and jumped on a canal boat a lyin’ there, 
and before ever we knew, there she was out in the middle 
of the stream, and an old tug takin’ her down to the locks. 
Oh, wasn’t we scared, though ! And the captain he s .wm 
at us; but when we got to the locks, he the boys off. 
But it was an awful ways from home, and I was afraid to 
go back so late, and without the soap or the money. So 1 
begged the captain to let me stay on board and work, and 
I told him that my father and mother was dead, and there 
wasn’t nobody to say I shouldn’t—I didn’t know how awful 
mean that was till Mr. Christian told me—and so, at last, 
he said I might, and so I went all the way down into 
Pennsylvany with the boat, down among the coal mines. 
Sometimes the boys let me ride the horses. That was 
bully. Only, sometimes, they knocked me about too. 
When we got down there. I went ashore, and hired out to 
a farmer to do the chores; pick beans, and help make hay 
a little. I liked it pretty well, and he was good to me. 
But in the fall, the same boat started up on its last trip, 
so I thought I’d had about enough of farming, and the 
captain said he’d take me back. But when we got up 
here, I got the old scare back again, and dursn’t go home. 
So I tried to make a living off the streets, but I had bad 
luck and took sick, and thought I was going to peg out; 
but a girl they call Shouting Sallie found me and brought 
me here. And you know how they got it out of me who I 
was—I’m awful glad they did—and I’ll never run away 
again—which I didn’t that time neither—if you’ll make 36 
WHO FOUND JAMIE? 
father not beat me. And I’ll work, and pay you back that 
six cents for the soap I didn’t fetch you'. Mr. Christian 
says it’s the square thing to do, and I expect it is. And I 
told the fellers lierew I was an orphan—but I’m awful glad 
I aint. That’s all.” • 
It is a true story I have been telling you. So Jamie was 
found, and we might say, with him, that’s all. But -vfill 
you not think for a minute who found Jamie ? . 
It was not the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter, 
the grandchild of the Arabian astrologer, the most popular 
medium of the day, with all her gifts, natural and acquir- 
ed, and eyes that, saw what was not to he seen ; the oracle 
at whose shrine hundreds waited with awe and left their 
gold and silver behind, the ‘" false, deceiving creature,” 
chuckling over human credulity and her ill-gotten gains., 
Not she; but the ministers of true and npble and rational, 
charity which—not for gold or gain—seeks by systematic, 
cpmmon-sense effort, to make up for some of the world’s 
sin and folly ; half of whose battle would be won, if the 
superstitions spun by ignorance could be swept, like dusty 
cobwebs, from the houses of rich and poor. Handy-Books for every Household. 
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G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, NEW YORK. HAMPTON TRACTS. 
These publications are strong and condensed statements of 
the fundamental laws of health, with illustrations of the results 
of breaking these laws and advice as to the best and easiest 
way of living in obedience to them. The series will provide 
as simply and in as attractive a manner as possible, carefully 
prepared information upon all points directly connected with 
physical life, as cleanliness of the person and house, ventila- 
tion, drainage, care of children and invalids, preparation of 
food, etc.; and will be issued under the title of Hampton 
Tracts, from the Normal School, Hampton, Va., and by 
G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Publishers, New York. 
Mrs. M. F. Armstrong. N. Y. City. 
M iss Helen W. Ludlow, Hampton. 
Stephen Smith, M.D., N. Y. City. 
S. C. Armstrong, Hampton. 
Editing Committee. 
At a meeting of the Executive Committee of the American 
Social Science Association, held June 8th, 1878, Prof. Pierce 
in the chair, it was unanimously voted, as follows : 
Resolved, That the American Social Science Association learns with 
pleasure of the work undertaken at Hampton, in Virginia, to spread 
among the people of Virginia, and ol the Soudi in general, a knowledge 
of Sanitary Science popularly set forth ; and that from an examination 
af the three Sanitary Tracts of the proposed series, viz.: The Health 
Laws of Moses, The Duty of Teachers, and Preventable Diseases, the 
Executive Committee ot this Association is persuaded that the impor- 
tant work, thus undertaken, will be well performed. We would there- 
fore commend these Tracts to all readers, at the North as well as at the 
South, and would recommend their wide distribution in the way best 
suited to promote the circulation of them. 
Price, per Number, 8 cents ; per 100, per. icoo $40.00 
Now Ready :—No. 1, Health Laws of Moses : No. 2, Duty 
of Teachers; No. 3, Preventable Diseases; No. 4, Who 
Found Jamie?; No. 5, A Haunted House.