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THE

LIFE AND WORK

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Is one of the most depraved quarters of London, not far northward from the foot of Holborn Hill, in a neighbourhood with a network of disreputable courts and alleys, the resort of notorious ill-doers, the dread of timid wayfarers, and the despair of the police, there sit, in an ill-furnished room, two or three men waiting anxiously. They are men belonging to humble but respectable walks of life, and have, it would seem, nothing in common with the people who pass along the uneven pavement of what is called by courtesy the "street ❞—— the crop-headed jail-birds, the cunning-faced cadgers, the sickly, ill-clad women-hurrying away to creep into holes and corners for the night. The wind is in the east, and, although the spring of the year is approaching, it is as cold as in the depth of winter.

The street grows quieter; St. Paul's has some time since boomed out the hour of midnight, and there is silence, broken only by snatches of tipsy song from

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some straggling reveller. Presently there is heard the firm steady tread of one who walks as with a purpose. The step is recognised; the door is thrown open, and the watchers stretch out their hands to grasp that of the stranger-a tall, thin, pale-faced man, with a sad and careworn expression of countenance. He returns the salutation cordially-although it is obvious that he belongs to a different rank from those with whom he is associated-and without delay proceeds to the business that has brought him to this strange place at this strange hour. A hurried conference is held, certain plans are discussed, there is a still and solemn silence for a few minutes, and then all the party rise, button up their stout overcoats, and sally forth, one of the number bearing in his hand a small parcel of candles! They walk in silence until they reach their destinationthe Victoria Arches under Holborn Hill, known as the Vagrants' Hiding Place, when they light their candles and enter the dark, dismal vaults. As they enter, a few poor, miserable, hunted wretches brush hastily past and make their escape into the street, or plunge into the recesses of the Hiding-Place, conscience making cowards of them all. It is some time before the visitors can distinguish objects distinctly-the darkness is intense, and some of the arches are vast. As their eyes become more accustomed to the gloom, they see sights which cannot now, thank God, be seen, and will never more be seen in the great city where vice and misery are rampant still in the midst of luxury and high civilisation. There, spread on the dank floor, on layers of rotten

THE VAGRANTS' HIDING PLACE.

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straw filled with vermin of all kinds, lie wretched human beings whose poverty, occasioned by the wrong-doing or misfortune of themselves or others, has deprived them of every other resting-place. As the light falls upon their faces some of them start up with the keen, cunning look of those who know that they have broken the laws and must depend upon their wits to escape the penalty; others turn over with a sigh of weariness, and draw around them the scanty garments that scarcely cover them; while others break out into foul imprecations upon the intruders. Everywhere, in holes and corners, some almost burrowing into the soil, others lying closely side by side for the sake of warmth, are to be seen these poor outcasts, sheltering in the only place on earth where they can rest-this hiding-place of sin and misery, of filth and rags. Terrible are the faces that meet the gaze of the visitors-faces that bear indelible marks made by vice, disease, or sorrow-that haunt the imagination long afterwards, and re-appear as spectres in the visions of the night.

Not to gaze and moralise, but to work, is the object of the visitors; not to pity only, but to help; and by two o'clock in the morning they have taken thirty of these wretched outcasts, and have brought them from the cold and darkness of the arches into the light and warmth of a comparatively cheerful room used as a Ragged School. Among the rescued are two boys--mere skin and bone in bundles of rags-whose sunken jaws and sparkling eyes tell the story of their sickness, and want, and premature decay. They are seated on either

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