s or pastes
the labels for his mother. The work must be "got in," and the child has
been kept at home to take his share in the family toil.

In this Bastille the children of the underworld live and die, for death
reaps here his richest harvest. Never mind! the funeral of one child
is only a pageant for others. Here women work and starve, and here
childhood, glorious childhood, is withered and stricken; but here, too,
the wicked, the vile, the outcast and the thief find sanctuary.

The strange mixture of it all bewilders me, fascinates me, horrifies
me, and yet sometimes it encourages me and almost inspires me. For I see
that suffering humanity possesses in no mean degree those three great
qualities, patience, fortitude and endurance.

For perchance these three qualities will feel and grope for a brighter
life and bring about a better day.

Though in all conscience funerals are numerous enough in this bit of
the underworld, and though the conditions are bad enough to destroy
its inhabitants, yet the people live on and on, for even death itself
sometimes seems reluctant to befriend them.

Surely there is nothing in the underworld so extraordinary as the
defiance flung in the face of death by its poor, feeble, ill-nourished,
suffering humanity.

According to every well-known rule they ought to die, and not to
linger upon the order of their dying. But linger they do, and in their
lingering exhibit qualities which ought to regenerate the whole race. It
is wonderful upon what a small amount of nourishment humanity can exist,
and still more wonderful under what conditions it can survive.

Shall we look in at a house that I know only too well? Come again, then!

Here sits an aged widow of sixty-four at work on infants' shoes, a
daughter about twenty-six is at work on infants' socks. Another daughter
two years older is lying on her back in an invalid's chair, and her deft
fingers are busily working, for although paralysis has taken legs, the
upper part of her body has been spared. The three live together and pool
their earnings; they occupy two very small rooms, for which they pay
five shillings weekly.

After paying twopence each to avoid parish funerals, they have five
shillings left weekly for food, firing, clothing and charity. Question
them, and you will learn how they expend those five shillings. "How much
butter do you allow yourselves during the week?" The widow answers: "Two
ounces of shilling butter once a we