se reported by Dr. A. E. Daniel, of the New York Infirmary
for Women and Children. The case was that of a babe, eighteen months
old, who earned by its labour fifty cents per week in a tenement
sweat-shop.

"On a pile of rags in a room bare of furniture and freezing cold,
Mrs. Mary Gallin, dead from starvation, with an emaciated baby four
months old crying at her breast, was found this morning at 513 Myrtle
Avenue, Brooklyn, by Policeman McConnon of the Flushing Avenue
Station. Huddled together for warmth in another part of the room
were the father, James Gallin, and three children ranging from two to
eight years of age. The children gazed at the policeman much as
ravenous animals might have done. They were famished, and there was
not a vestige of food in their comfortless home."--_New York
Journal_, January 2, 1902.

In the United States 80,000 children are toiling out their lives in the
textile mills alone. In the South they work twelve-hour shifts. They
never see the day. Those on the night shift are asleep when the sun
pours its life and warmth over the world, while those on the day shift
are at the machines before dawn and return to their miserable dens,
called "homes," after dark. Many receive no more than ten cents a day.
There are babies who work for five and six cents a day. Those who work
on the night shift are often kept awake by having cold water dashed in
their faces. There are children six years of age who have already to
their credit eleven months' work on the night shift. When they become
sick, and are unable to rise from their beds to go to work, there are men
employed to go on horseback from house to house, and cajole and bully
them into arising and going to work. Ten per cent of them contract
active consumption. All are puny wrecks, distorted, stunted, mind and
body. Elbert Hubbard says of the child-labourers of the Southern
cotton-mills:

"I thought to lift one of the little toilers to ascertain his weight.
Straightaway through his thirty-five pounds of skin and bones there
ran a tremor of fear, and he struggled forward to tie a broken
thread. I attracted his attention by a touch, and offered him a
silver dime. He looked at me dumbly from a face that might have
belonged to a man of sixty, so furrowed, tightly drawn, and full of
pain it was. He did not reach for the money--he did not know what it
was. There wer