ion, had stepped from the
train. However the trunk standing there with the child's initials on it
made her confident that her sister had arrived and, in some unexplained
fashion, had disappeared.

While the controversy with the station-master was going on, a man came
up to claim the trunk; and an innocent girl was thus saved from the
hands of the procuress, for the house to which she had been taken proved
to be a notorious house of ill-fame.

No steps were taken in this case, as in thousands of others, to punish
the wrong-doer; the sister dreading the notoriety, which would follow
such a case.

We present in this book photographs of "Daisy," who died the day these
words are penned. One picture shows her at seventeen in her beauty,
"young and so fair." Another shows her dying in the poorhouse before she
is twenty, after one year of sinful indulgence and one year of lingering
death. The third shows her coffin, if the photographer is successful in
snapping it tomorrow as the hearse leaves the undertaker's rooms, for
her friends are too ashamed to give her burial from their home. These
and all the others in this book are actual photographs, correctly named
and in no way made up or misrepresented. The story of Daisy is told over
their signatures, by Rev. W. E. Hopkins, formerly a missionary in India,
now pastor of the Baptist church at West Pullman, and a worker in The
Midnight Mission; and Miss Belle Buzzell who has been for many years a
worker in the slums and prisons of Chicago. Miss Buzzell's picture is
seen beside the bed of the dying girl. It was "Daisy's" own expressed
desire that her death might be life to other girls by its warning.

THE STORY OF "DAISY."

We found her one day in March in the venereal ward at Cook County
Hospital. She was unconscious, and it was five weeks before she could
tell us her story. One of those great blue eyes was sightless. One hand
was crippled. Her lower limbs were paralyzed. She was dying--dying of
the horrible, loathsome, putrefying disease of the life of shame.

Poor child! This was the work of but one year of this life and she was
not yet twenty years old. During that miserable year of sin, she was ill
but recovered sufficiently to resume the service of lust. Then came the
break and for long weary months she lay helpless in the resort amidst
the revellings of her stronger companions and their consorts--ghastly
haunt of the women whose way ends in death.

The madam was ki