The St. Johns herald., 1891-08-13
SLUM SISTERS. !,
Women of the Salvation Army in
 the City of London.
The Terrible Scenes of Distress and Degradation Witnessed by Them in Their Vi its Among
 the Poors

One of our representatives, says the Pail Mall Budget, has made a personal inspection of the distress in east Lon- don in company with couple of saliva tion lasses. The following is the re- port:
 My friends were not clad in their coal-scuttle bonnets and blue serge jackets, for these would be feathers far too fine for the slum brigade. Long ex- perience in the huts and novels of out cast London has taught them wisdom; the slum dweller, if he sees fine feath- ers-and even the salvation bonnet is a fine feather to him-scents coppers, and thinks of making up stunning story, and the lasses, the sisters want truth and nothing but the truth. Therefore they don hideous hats and other ugly garments, and if you go with them you do the same.
 ''They turn into back lane, down in grimy Shadwell, and knock at door which looks battered and ill used. The windows are mostly broken but neatly mended with brown paper, for the army money is wanted for other things than home comforts in weather such as this, and this house with the rickety stairs and the clean. poor-looking back kitch. en is the slum brigade fortress Thence the girls sally forth early and late, and make their way through the crowd of poor that stand around their door when they have said cheering word to each of the hungry women and children and taken the addresses of strangers, for each single case where help is given is | first investigated. The crowd then dis | perse, knowing that before nightfall they will at all events have some soup, some bread and cheese, and haply also some coal. On that hope they can en- dure starvation few hours longer, and cheerfully they go home.
 1.-The girls dive into the alleys brislzly and in business-like manner. Sister, the little ones in the gutter say, and smile, and sister the hob bling crones salute them as they pass.
 ''They think nothing of a three-mile walk to a hovel in some yard whence tidings of distress have reached them, and when they enter some filthy door, way the women from dozen ncighbor- ing houses rush out to beseech them not to pass them over. Wherever they en- ter it is the same; want and starvation in their crueleSt form stare no longer in at the doors and windows, but arc in possession and look as if they meant to stay.
 Three old women live in this cellar like hole. If I had three half-pence,' whimpers the least infrm, who crouches on deal box near the tiny fire, I could buy stock and sell some oranges. But we hain't farthing. It was so cold used the stock money, and now owe her three weeks rent And she points to ragged bed in the corner, whence come unearthly groans. Thick dark ness reigns around that bed, on which the 'landlady,' the woman to whom the ruins of furniture belong, has lain for weeks No, nobody comes to see the three; neither of them can work, and since yesterday they have had nothing to eat. The third has gone out to pick up what she can in the gutters; the others wait and starve on, ight-headed for want of food
 up the back stairs large family men, women and children-stand about the empty room. Everything is pawned and one is ill. They shiver with hunger and cold, and the sight of ticket for food of the value of four pence lights up their faces into brilliant hopeful ness.
 ''To the garret the parish doctor has refused to go. But the lasses go. A cloud of smoke meets them as they enter. Every pane of the small win dow is broken and mended with dirty rags; heap of rags-a very small heap lies in the corner, and by the fire there is small deal box. On it sits creature that may have been a woman once, but to look at whom now is to turn away with a shudder. She is naked, with only rag around her; her hair hangs over her face, the hands are like claws, and as you put your hand on the thin covering round her shoulders you can feel hard bones only, and the shivering creature grins and holds out her clawlike hands. Look at mel have nothing to wear, nothing to eat: | have you brought me something to eat?; Her sister, who shares this 'home,' is 1 out on the only errand which drives l these creatures out of their lair-the | search for crusts and crumbs and cab | bage leaves and orange pcels.
 "She, too, is light-headed and shrieks and grins and asks for clothes and bread, | and the one idea only has remained in her head--that she must try not die oi | hunger. The two have been respecta. ! ble women, taking in sewing, but the cold came and the furniture went piece | by piece, and now they have neither | strength nor clothes to go to work. They have become lower than beasts. The cold has done it.
 The Greatest Travellers.