s and means of living I will draw a veil, for common
decency forbids me to speak, as common decency ought to have forbidden
their marriage.

But down in the underworld, and very low down, too, are numberless
couples whose plight is perhaps worse, for they have at any rate known
the refined comfort of good homes, but remembrance only adds poignancy
to suffering and despair.

Read the following story, and after condemnation upon condemnation has
been passed upon the thoughtless or wicked marriages of the poor, tell
me, if you will, what condemnation shall be passed upon the educated
when they, through marriage, drag down into this inferno innocent,
loving and pure women?

It was Boxing Day in a London police-court. Twenty-five years have
passed, but that day is as fresh in my memory as though it were
yesterday. The prisoners' rooms were filled, the precincts of the court
were full, and a great crowd of witnesses and friends, or of the curious
public, were congregated in the street.

Yesterday had been the great Christian festival, the celebration of the
birth of the Prince of Peace, when the bells had rang out the old story
"Peace on earth, good-will to men." To-day it looked as though Hell had
been holding carnival!

Nearly one hundred prisoners had to come before the magistrate. I can
see them now! as one by one they passed before him, for time has not
dimmed the vivid picture of that procession. I remember their stories,
and think still of their cuts and wounds. Outside the court the day was
dull, and inside the light was bad and the air heavy with the fumes of
stale debauch and chloride of lime. And yesterday had been Christmas Day
in the metropolis of Christendom.

Hours passed, and the kindly magistrate sat on apportioning punishment,
fitting the sentence as it were by instinct. At two o'clock he rose for
a short recess, a hasty luncheon, and then back to his task.

At the end of the long procession came a smitten woman. Darkness and
fog now enveloped the court as the woman stood in the dock. Her age
was given as twenty-eight; her occupation pickle-making. First let me
picture that woman and then tell her story, for she represents a number
of women into whose forlorn faces I have looked and of whose hopeless
hearts I have an intimate knowledge.

Some men have conquered evil habits, helped by the love of a pure
woman, without which they would have vainly struggled or have readily
succumbed. But while I know