THE ALUMNI JOURNAL. 



85 



it, the child gets a good bath, all of the 

 milk it wants to drink, food if it is old 

 enough, and is cared for and amused all 

 day and then at night the mother gets 

 her child, for she has earned her day's 

 wages of $1,25 or $1.50 to support her 

 family. These are the charities which 

 are done by the women of this city, who 

 feel the necessity of doing something to 

 help those who are not so fortunate in 

 life as they are. It is a great, wise and 

 good charity. 



This is a picture of a little kindergar- 

 ten, taken in a mission church of this 

 city. 



Of course, I haven't shown you the 

 pictures of all the hospitals. If I should, 

 it would take all night to get through. 

 There are the the New York and Presby- 

 terian, and all the other enormous hos- 

 pitals in the city which you know very 

 well. 



There is a picture of one of the Fresh 

 Air Homes, taken in the dining room. 



Working the growler. You see the 

 point, and it is quite intelligible here in 

 this growler gang that the oldest man in 

 the crowd has the can. He has been 

 there a good many years and he knows, 

 of course, what is best. 



In this picture you see a little boot- 

 black is having his own shined now. 



That picture is not a fancy's dream at 

 all. That is a photograph that was taken 

 on Howe & Hummell's steps one Sun- 

 day, down in Centre street. Of course, 

 it does look horrible to see a drunken 

 woman, but when you come to simmer it 

 down, it is not very much worse than a 

 drunken man. But the hope, I think, of 

 the American people, is in the soberness 

 of its women. You go to London and you 

 will see women walk right into grog 

 shops and go up to the bar and drink. 

 You don't see that in America, and I be- 

 lieve that is one of the strong points of 



this country. You don't see that kind 

 of thing here. 



Here is a picture of a ten cent lodging 

 house at 11 o'clock at night — one of 

 these lodging houses down in the Bowery. 

 See the lodgers. Here is one row of them 

 up here, and another down here, with 

 their feet hanging out and arms hanging 

 out in every direction. But there is not a 

 boy in that crowd. They are all men of 

 about fifty years of age or over, and I 

 suppose it would be just simply impossible 

 to come anywhere near hitting the num- 

 ber of bacteria present in one of these 

 places, and not only the lower forms of 

 animal life like bacteria, but some of 

 that are larger and are visible to the 

 naked eye. What could ever happen to 

 any man at fifty years of age to bring 

 him to a point where he would have to 

 live under the vile conditions that these 

 men are living in down there. It is not 

 necessary to say that when a man gets 

 to fifty years of age, if he has no friends, 

 there is nobody to blame but the man 

 himself. He is to blame. We all have 

 friends if we keep them, and there is 

 something wrong entirely, absolutely, 

 radically wrong in a man that has to live 

 in this condition. I am going to tell you 

 what puts them there in nine hundred 

 and ninety-nine cases out of a thousand, 

 and the cause of it can be spelled with a 

 word of three letters, R-U-M. 



Here is a little ice cream vender down 

 in City Hall Park. You see the boys 

 buying their penny's worth of ice cream. 

 I suppose they got it on a piece of brown 

 paper. 



I showed that picture one night down 

 in Oliver street, in the public school. I 

 did not know myself what the picture 

 was at that time. I knew it was a museum 

 somewhere and the boys began to say, 

 "There's Beefsteak John's." It was the 

 museum you see as you go down on the 



