to tell. I ask
those interested in social questions to take a very early Sunday
expedition to the East End of London, and catch a glimpse of those whom,
after what I have to relate, it would be libel to call the "Great
Unwashed." We will look at East London engaged in the interesting
process of performing its ablutions.

Very enjoyable is a Saturday afternoon stroll in Victoria Park. Those
gentlemen of London who sit at home at ease are apt to think of the East
End as a collection of slums, with about as much breathing space for its
congregated thousands as that supplied to the mites in a superannuated
Cheshire cheese. Let us pass through Bethnal Green Road, and, leaving
behind the new Museum, go under a magic portal into the stately acres
which bear the name of our Sovereign. On our right is the Hospital for
Diseases of the Chest, of which the foundation-stone was laid by the
Prince Consort, and the new wing of which our Orientals hope one day to
see opened by her Majesty in person. Most convincing test of all is the
situation of this Consumptive Hospital--showing the salubrity of the
Eastern breezes. Inside the imposing gate the visitor will find
extensive cricket-grounds interspersed with broad pastures, whose flocks
are the reverse of Arcadian in hue. Cricket-balls whiz about us like
shells at Inkermann; and the suggestive "Thank you" of the scouts forces
the passer-by into unwonted activity as he shies the ball to the bowler.
Then there are roundabouts uncountable, and gymnasia abundant. There are
bosquets for the love-makers, and glassy pools, studded with islands
innumerable, over which many a Lady of the Lake steers her shallop,
while Oriental sailor-boys canoe wildly along. There are flower-beds
which need not blush to be compared with Kew or the Crystal Palace. But
it is not with such that we are now concerned. On one of those same
lakes over which, on Saturday evening, sailors in embryo float their
mimic craft--and one young gentleman, slightly in advance of the rest,
directs a very miniature steamship--we see boards suggesting that daily,
from four to eight A.M., the Orientals may immerse themselves in the
limpid and most tempting waters. The depth, they are paternally
informed, increases towards the centre, buoys marking where it is six
feet; so that our Eastern friends have no excuse for suicide by
drowning.

East London birds are early birds, and to catch them at their bath you
must be literally up with