Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child
John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall, Ed.

To the same.

I try not to be anxious about my future, and to feel a trust that “something will turn up.” With regard to out-door work, something did “turn up,” in a wonderful way, when dear David's hands became too lame to do his customary jobs. The husband of the woman who has washed and scoured for me has for many years acted “like Cain;” drinking up all his wages, and maltreating his wife; and at last he set fire to a barn, and burnt up a dozen cattle, because the man who had employed him hid his rum-bottle. He received the mild sentence of two years in the House of Correction. I hoped he would die there; I felt as if I could never endure the sight of him again. But when he came here of an errand, the day he had [227] served his time out, he was so timid, and his eyes had such a beseeching look, as if his soul was hungry for a friend, that I could n't stand it; I shook hands with him, and invited him in. I had a long private talk with him, and told him that though he was sixty years old it was not too late to make a man of himself, if he would only resolve never to taste another drop of liquor; and I assured him that if he would only try, I would be a faithful friend to him. He promised me that he would try. It is now more than a year and a half ago. He has kept his promise, and I have kept mine. Every Sunday I prepare a good dinner for him, and give him a strong cup of tea. He works diligently, supplies his wife with everything comfortable, and makes her a present of what remains of his wages. The poor woman says she was never so happy in her life. He is very attentive to our wants; runs of errands, is ready to shovel snow, split kindlings, etc. In fact he is our “man Friday.” If I could get such faithful, hearty service within doors, I should be set up for life. Of course he may fall back into his old habits, but so long a time has elapsed, and I seem to be such an object of worship to him, that I cannot but hope for the best. I have never in my life experienced any happiness to be compared to the consciousness of lifting a human soul out of the mire.¹