"Determined to see how the matter stood as regards one portion of
that great mass of misery, I gave myself up to the skilful guidance
of one whose whole life is spent in the service of God and His poor.

"Leaving the rail, we proceeded to visit the sick-bed of one of the
voluntary workers in the Refuge. We found him recovering from a
severe attack of enteric fever complicated with pneumonia of the
right lung. A fine, handsome young man, once the leader of the
singing in a philharmonic club, now the devoted servant of God, his
whole anxiety seemed to be as to when he could return to his work.
During our visit, it was most touching to see the tenderness and
anxious care of his companion, a young man called Fred, a labourer in
the large wine vaults at the docks, who, though smelling of wine, and
his clothes saturated with the fumes of spirits, was a staunch
teetotaller; and judging from the intelligent way in which he
answered our questions, would be a valuable witness before any
commission of inquiry into the practices which wine-sellers term
'mixing,' but which he vulgarly called 'adulteration.' Every night
during the many weeks of illness Fred had paid his friend a visit,
and watched over him with all the love of a Jonathan to a David.

"We now pressed him into our service to conduct us through some of
the many licensed lodging-houses and thieves' kitchens, which abound
in the neighbourhood of Spitalfields.

"On our way we met two little girls, matchbox-makers. The outline of
their lives was given in a few moments. The father, a drunkard, had
absconded six years ago, leaving his wife and six children to
struggle with awful poverty as best they might, having previously so
beaten and kicked his wife about the face, that she had become almost