52 



THE ALUMNI JOURNAL. 



tables for tuppence. This keeps them 

 from the grog shops." 



When I left the building, my admira- 

 tion for the Salvation Army received a 

 sudden inflation, which tne suggestion 

 of tambourines, cornets, noise and pan- 

 demomium could not shake. I felt like 

 joining it at once — in a hurry, and as it 

 is said they have so many nice sweet 

 girls who fight for salvation, I thought 

 it just the place for one born and destined 

 to be a bachelor like me. But then, there 

 is another side to the question, and I 

 considered the uncertainty of enjoying a 

 curtain lecture accompanied with a tam- 

 bourine solo or a hallelujah chorus, hence 

 I resisted the temptation. 



I have been informed that General 

 Booth intends a like innovation for New 

 York, and I sincerely trust it may be the 

 means of bringing the better element of 

 the social waifs to a happier condition of 

 life. The poor, as the Bible says, we 

 have with us always. The amelioration 

 of their condition is a problem which has 

 been often wrestled with but not thor- 

 oughly solved — and perhaps it never will 

 be. It seems we are confronted, ever 

 since Plato, by an impassable brink. 



We then reached Spitalsfield, which is 

 a dangerous district and I clung closely 

 to our sergeant, for the place was dimly 

 lighted, the streets similar to alleys, and 

 so crowded with the outcast of both sexes, 

 that we were compelled to walk in the 

 centre of the wagon way. 



The sergeant stopped before an old 

 toppling house. Just then a young girl 

 emerged from the rickety building and 

 my eyes followed her till she v/as lost in 

 the gloom. She was young, and yet, 

 alas, old! I regretted that this bud should 

 be choked and eventually withered by 

 the surrounding human weeds. To think 

 that a young girl whose natural grace 



should have been the pride of her par- 

 ents should live and grow up in the 

 darkness of wickedness. 



The sergeant peered in shouting 

 "Biddy, Biddy," and an old cracked 

 voice from within called back, "Is it you, 

 Mr. Sergeant?" Being assured it was the 

 proper personage, she appeared. The 

 sergeant quietly informed me that a few 

 coppers would be a wonderful "open 

 sesame" and so they were, and I noticed 

 that this quality is possessed by the coins 

 of all nationalties, and especially in New 

 York. 



"This is Biddy McCarthy," said our 

 guide, " and she will show you her 

 house." Perhaps Biddy was proud of 

 her house; perhaps she was not. At any 

 rate, it was too dark for me to study her 

 features. Presently she returned with a 

 candle, and in an old squeaky voice said, 

 "Follow me." I then saw our hostess 

 was an old hag similar to Lytton'sin his 

 Zanoni. Her form was shriveled and 

 bent, her nose hooked, eyes cruel and 

 distrustful, cheeks sunken, and a few 

 long teeth projected over the un- 

 der lip. The odor was not inviting. 

 She led the way up a narrow wooden 

 stairway, which creaked and groaned 

 with our weight and threatened to yield 

 to its unusual burden. If you can 

 imagine a dark, gloomy, silent building, 

 with an old hag crawling up its dingy 

 stairway with a little candle, followed by 

 three perhaps too venturesome Ameri- 

 cans, you may know what an uninviting 

 place it was, 



Presently the hag stopped. She 

 opened a coor and fumes were emitted 

 which almost staggered us. "This," 

 she said, " is our lodging, forty-eight 

 beds, 2d. per night." The business 

 tone in which she said this convinced me 

 that she had often thus induced the 



