of a struggle with the landlady to
allow him to come in, but at last I succeeded, and we had some coffee
together.

"His reply to one question I asked him impressed me more than anything
else.

"'Are there many more like you?' I asked.

"'_Heaps, sir._'

"He spoke the truth. He took me to one spot near Houndsditch. There I
obtained my first view of real Arab life. Eleven lads--some only nine
and ten years of age--lay on the roof of a building. It was a strange
sight--the moon seemingly singling out every sleeper for me. Another
night we went together over to the Queen's Shades, near Billingsgate. On
the top of a number of barrels, covered with tarpaulin, seventy-three
fellows were sleeping. I had the whole lot out for a halfpenny apiece.

"'By God's help,' I cried inwardly, 'I'll help these fellows.'

"Owing to a meeting at Islington my experiences got into the daily
Press. The late Lord Shaftesbury sent for me, and one night at his house
at dinner I was chaffed for 'romancing.' When Lord Shaftesbury went with
me to Billingsgate that same night and found thirty-seven boys there, he
knew the terrible truth. So we started with fifteen or twenty boys, in
lodgings, friends paying for them. Then I opened a dilapidated house,
once occupied by a stock dealer, but with the help of brother medicos it
was cleaned, scrubbed, and whitewashed. We begged, borrowed, and very
nearly stole the needful bedsteads. The place was ready, and it was soon
filled with twenty-five boys. And the work grew--and grew--and grew--you
know what it is to-day!"

We had now reached Whitechapel. The night had increased in coldness, the
snow completely covered the roads and pavements, save where the ruts,
made by the slowly moving traffic and pedestrians' tread, were visible.
To escape from the keen and cutting air would indeed have been a
blessing--a blessing that was about to be realized in strange places.
Turning sharply up a side street, we walked a short distance and stopped
at a certain house. A gentle tap, tap at the door. It was opened by a
woman, and we entered. It was a vivid picture--a picture of low life
altogether indescribable.

The great coke fire, which never goes out save when the chimney is
swept, and in front of which were cooking pork chops, steaks,
mutton-chops, rashers of bacon, and that odoriferous marine delicacy
popularly known as a bloater, threw a strange glare upon "all
sorts and conditions of men." Old men, with histo