and the following incident can hardly be called an
exception. A broken-down prize fighter, slightly under the influence
of liquor, tried to prevent us from holding a meeting one afternoon. I
reasoned with him.

"You don't seem to know who I am," he said. I confessed my ignorance.

"Well," he said, "I'm Connelly, the prize fighter!"

"Then you're what your profession calls a 'bruiser'."

"Sure!" he replied.

"Probably you are not aware, Mr. Connelly, that the Bible has
something to say about bruisers."

He explained that, being a Roman Catholic, his Bible was different
from mine, and he did not think there were any bruisers in his Bible.

"Oh, you are mistaken, Mr. Connelly. This is your Bible I have with
me"--and I produced a small Douey Bible, and turning over the pages in
Genesis I read a passage which I thought might appeal to him:

"'The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent's head.' I suppose
you know who the woman was, Connelly."

"The Holy Virgin?" he inquired.

"Yes; and the serpent is the Devil, and he has been pouring firewater
into you and has been making you say things you would not otherwise
say. As for the seed of the woman, that is Jesus Christ; and this
Douey Bible of yours tells you that Jesus Christ is able to bruise the
head of the old serpent in you, which is the Devil." That sounded
rather reasonable to the retired prize fighter, and he quieted down
and we proceeded with the service.

The society for which I worked, occasionally sent down visitors to be
shown around the lodging houses, and often I took them in there
myself; but the thing grew very distasteful to me, for I never got
hardened or calloused to the misery and sorrow of the situation, and
it seemed to me eminently unfair to parade them.

About the last man I took around was Sir Walter Besant. I dined with
him at the Brevoort House one night, and took him around first to one
of the bunk-houses and then to various others, and also into the
tenement region around Cherry Street.

"Keep close to me," I told Besant as we entered the bunk house, "don't
linger;" so we went to the top floor. The strips of canvas arranged in
double tiers were full of lodgers. The floor was strewn with
bodies--naked, half naked and fully clothed. We had to step over them
to get to the other end. There was a stove in the middle of the room,
and beside it, a dirty old lamp shed its yellow rays around, but by no
means lighted the dormitory. The pl