that a tragedy is taking place。 There is a sound of crashing blows and then silence。
It is customary in the slums to leave the house door open perpetually； which is convenient for tramps； who creep into the hall…ways to sleep at night； thereby saving the few pence it costs to occupy a 〃spot〃 in the cheap lodging houses。 Em and Mat keep the corridor without their room beautifully clean； and so it has become an especial favourite stamping ground for these vagrants。 We were told this when Mattie locked and bolted the door and then tied the keys and the door…handle together。 So we understand why there are shuffling steps along the corridor； bumping against the panels of the door； and heavily breathing without during the long hours of the night。
All day Em and Mat have been toiling among their neighbours； and the night before last they sat up with a dying woman。 They are worn out and sleep heavily。 Liz and I lie awake and wait for the coming of the morning； we are too oppressed by what we have seen and heard to talk。
In the morning Liz and I peep over into the rear houses where we heard those dreadful shrieks in the night。 There is no sign of life； but we discover enough filth to breed diphtheria and typhoid throughout a large section。 In the area below our window there are several inches of stagnant water； in which is heaped a mass of old shoes； cabbage heads； garbage； rotten wood； bones； rags and refuse； and a few dead rats。 We understand now why Em keeps her room full of disinfectants。 She tells us that she dare not make any appeal to the sanitary authorities； either on behalf of their own or any other dwelling； for fear of antagonizing the people； who consider such officials as their natural enemies。
The first visit we pay is up a number of eccentric little flights of shaky steps interspersed with twists of passageway。 The floor is full of holes。 The stairs have been patched here and there； but look perilous and sway beneath the feet； A low door on the landing is opened by a bundle of rags and filth； out of which issues a woman's voice in husky tones； bidding us enter。 She has La grippe。 We have to stand very close together； for the room is small； and already contains three women； a man； a baby； a bedstead； a stove； and indescribable dirt。 The atmosphere is rank with impurity。 The man is evidently dying。 Seven weeks ago he was 〃gripped。〃 He is now in the last stages of pneumonia。 Em has tried to induce him to be removed to the hospital； and he gasps out his desire 〃to die in comfort in my own bed。〃 Comfort！ The 〃bed' is a rack heaped with rags。 Sheets； pillow…cases； and night…clothes are not in vogue in the slums。 A woman lies asleep on the dirty floor with her head under the table。 Another woman； who has been sharing the night watch with the invalid's wife； is finishing her morning meal； in which roast oysters on the half shell are conspicuous。 A child that appears never to have been washed toddles about the floor and tumbles over the sleeping woman's form。 Em gives it some gruel； and ascertains that its name is 〃Christine。〃
The dirt； crowding； and smells in the first place are characteristic of half a dozen others we visited。 We penetrate to garrets and descend into cellars。 The 〃rear houses〃 are particularly dreadful。 Everywhere there is decaying garbage lying about； and the dead cats and rats are evidence that there are mighty hunters among the gamins of the Fourth Ward。 We find a number ill from the grip and consequent maladies。 None of the sufferers will entertain the thought of seeking a hospital。 One probably voices the opinion of the majority when he declares that 〃they'll wash you to death there。〃 For these people a bath possesses more terror than the gallows or the grave。
In one room； with a wee window； lies a women dying of consumption； wasted wan； and wretched； lying on rags and swarming with vermin。 Her little son； a boy of eight years； nestles beside her。 His cheeks are scarlet； his eyes feverishly bright； and he has a hard cough。 〃It's the chills； mum；〃 says the little chap。 Six beds stand close together in another room； one is empty。 Three days ago a woman died there and the body has just been taken away。 It hasn't disturbed the rest of the inmates to have death present there。 A woman is lying on the wrecks of a bedstead； slats and posts sticking out in every direction from the rags on which she reposes。
〃It broke under me in the night；〃 she explains。 A woman is sick and wants Liz to say a prayer。 We kneel on the filthy floor。 Soon all my faculties are absorbed in speculating which will arrive first； the 〃Amen〃 or the 〃B flat〃 which is wending its way to wards me。 This time the bug does not get there； and I enjoy grinding him under the sole of my Slum shoe when the prayer is ended。
In another room we find what looks like a corpse。 It is a woman in an opium stupor。 Drunken men are brawling around her。
Returning to our tenement； Em and Liz meet us； and we return to our experience。 The minor details vary slightly； but the story is the same piteous tale of woe everywhere； and crime abounding； conditions which only change to a prison； a plunge in the river； or the Potter's field。
The Dark Continent can show no lower depth of degradation than that sounded by the dwellers of the dark alleys in Cherry Hill。 There isn't a vice missing in that quarter。 Every sin in the Decalogue flourishes in that feeder of penitentiaries and prisons。 And even as its moral foulness permeates and poisons the veins of our social life so the malarial filth with which the locality reeks must sooner or later spread disease and death。
An awful picture； truly； but one which is to me irradiated with the love…light which shone in the eyes of 〃Em's serious； sweet； saintlike face。〃
Here is my second。 It was written by a Journalist who had just witnessed the scene in Whitechapel。 He writes：
I had just passed Mr。 Barnett's church when I was stopped by a small crowd at a street corner。 There were about thirty or forty men； women； and children standing loosely together； some others were lounging on the opposite side of the street round the door of a public…house。 In the centre of the crowd was a plain…looking little woman in Salvation Army uniform； with her eyes closed； praying the 〃dear Lord that he would bless these dear people； and save them； save them now！〃 Moved by curiosity； I pressed through the outer fringe of the crowd； and in doing so； I noticed a woman of another kind； also invoking Heaven； but in an altogether different fashion。 Two dirty tramp…like men were listening to the prayer； standing the while smoking their short cutty pipes。 For some reason or other they had offended the woman； and she was giving them a piece of her mind。 They stood stolidly silent while she went at them like a fiend。 She had been good…looking once； but was now horribly bloated with drink； and excited by passion。 I heard both voices at the same time。 What a contrast！ The prayer was over now； and a pleading earnest address was being delivered。
〃You are wrong；〃 said the voice in the centre 〃you know you are； all this misery and poverty is a proof of it。 You are prodigals。 You have got away from your Father's house； and you are rebelling against Him every day Can you wonder that there is so much hunger； and oppression； and wretchedness allowed to come upon you？ In the midst of it all your Father loves you He wants you to return to Him； to turn your backs upon your sins； abandon your evil doings； give up the drink and the service of the devil。 He has given His Son Jesus Christ to die for you。 He wants to save you。 Come to His feet。 He is waiting。 His arms are open。 I know the devil has got fast hold of you； but Jesus will give you grace to conquer him。 He will help you to master your wicked habits and your love of drink。 But come to Him now。 God is love。 He loves me。 He loves you。 He loves us all。 He wants to save us all。〃
Clear and strong the voice； eloquent with the fervour of intense feeling； rang through the little crowd； past which streamed the ever…flowing tide of East End life。 And at the same time that I heard this pure and passionate invocation to love God and be true to man I heard a voice on the outskirts； and it said this： 〃You swine！ I'll knock the vitals out of yer。 None of your impudence to me。 your eyes； what do you mean by telling me that？ You know what you ha' done； and now you are going to the Salvation Army。 I'll let them know you； you dirty rascal。〃 The man shifted his pipe。 〃What's the matter？〃 〃Matter！〃 screamed the virago hoarsely。〃 yer life； don't you know what's the matter？ I'll matter ye； you hound。 By God！ I will； as sure as I'm alive。 Matter！ you know what's the matter。〃 And so she went on； the men standing silently smoking until at last she took herself off her mouth full of oaths and cursing； to the public…house。 It seemed as though the presence； and spirit； and words of the Officer； who still went on with the message of mercy； had some strange effect upon them； which made these poor wretches impervious to the taunting； bitter sarcasms of this brazen； blatant virago。
〃God is love。〃 Was it not； then； the accents of God's voice that sounded there above the din of the street and the swearing of the slums？ Yea； verily； and that voice ceases not and will not cease； so long as the Slum Sisters fight under the banner of the Salvation Army。
To form an idea of the immense amount of good； temporal and spiritual； which the Slum Sister is doing； you need to follow them into the kennels where they live； preaching the Gospel with the mop and the scrubbing brush； and driving out the devil with soap and water。 In one of our Slum posts； where the Officer's rooms were on the ground floor； about fourteen other families lived in the same house。 One little water…closet in the back yard had to do service for the whole place。 As for the dirt； one Officer writes； 〃It is impossible to scrub the Homes； some of them are in such a filthy condition。 When they have a fire the ashes are left to accumulate for days。 The table is very seldom； if ever； properly cleaned； dirty cups and saucers lie about it； together with bits of bread； and if they have bl