horoughfare for vehicles. The houses were of
three storeys. There were two or three dirty little shops, but the rest
were ordinary lodging-houses, the front-doors standing wide open as a
matter of course, exhibiting a dusky passage, filthy stairs, with
generally a glimpse right through into the yard in the rear. In Elm
Court the houses were smaller, and had their fronts whitewashed. Under
the archway which led into the Court were fastened up several written
notices of rooms to be let at this or that number. The paving was in
evil repair, forming here and there considerable pools of water, the
stench and the colour whereof led to the supposition that the
inhabitants facilitated domestic operations by emptying casual vessels
out of the windows. The dirty little casements on the ground floor
exhibited without exception a rag of red or white curtain on the one
side, prevailing fashion evidently requiring no corresponding drapery
on the other. The Court was a _cul de sac_, and at the far end stood a
receptacle for ashes, the odour from which was intolerable. Strangely
enough, almost all the window-sills displayed flower-pots, and, despite
the wretched weather, several little bird-cages hung out from the upper
storeys. In one of them a lark was singing briskly.

They began their progress through the tenements, commencing at the top
of Litany Lane. Many of the rooms were locked, the occupiers being away
at their work, but in such case the rent had generally been left with
some other person in the house, and was forthcoming. But now and then
neither rent nor tenant was to be got at, and dire were the threats
which Abraham bade the neighbours convey to the defaulters on their
return. His way with one and all was curt and vigorous; to Waymark it
seemed needlessly brutal. A woman pleading inability to make up her
total sum would be cut short with a thunderous oath, and the assurance
that, if she did not pay up in a day or two, every stick would be
carried off. Pitiful pleading for time had absolutely no effect upon
Abraham. Here and there e tenant would complain of high rent, and point
out a cracked ceiling, a rotten piece of stairs, or something else
imperatively calling for renovation. "If you don't like the room, clear
out," was the landlord's sole reply to all such speeches.

In one place they came across an old Irish woman engaged in washing.
The room was hung with reeking clothes from wall to wall. For a time it
was difficu