“It'll take two like you to do that,” returned the woman, in a spiteful voice, swearing foully at the same time. At this a cheer arose from the crowd. A negro with a push-cart came along at the moment. “Here! I want you,” called the policeman. The negro pretended not to hear, and the policeman had to threaten him before he would stop. Seeing the cart, the drunken woman threw herself back upon the pavement and set every muscle to a rigid strain. And now came one of those shocking scenes--too familiar, alas! in portions of our large Christian cities--at which everything pure and merciful and holy in our nature revolts: a gray-haired old woman, so debased by drink and an evil life that all sense of shame and degradation had been extinguished, fighting with a policeman, and for a time showing superior strength, swearing vilely, her face distorted with passion, and a crowd made up chiefly of women as vile and degraded as herself, and of all ages, and colors, laughing, shouting and enjoying the scene intensely. At last, by aid of the negro, the woman was lifted into the cart and thrown down upon the floor, her head striking one of the sides with a sickening _thud_. She still swore and struggled, and had to be held down by the policeman, who stood over her, while the cart was pushed off to the nearest station-house, the excited crowd following with shouts and merry huzzas. Mr. Dinneford was standing in a maze, shocked and distressed by this little episode, when a man at his side said in a grave, quiet voice, “I doubt if you could see a sight just like that anywhere else in all Christendom.” Then added, as he extended his hand, “I am glad to see you here, Mr. Dinneford.” “Oh, Mr. Paulding!” and Mr. Dinneford put out his hand and grasped that of the missionary with a nervous grip. “This is awful! I am sixty years old, but anything so shocking my eyes have not before looked upon.” “We see things worse than this every day,” said the missionary. “It is only one of the angry boils on the surface, and tells of the corrupt and vicious blood within. But I am right glad to find you here, Mr. Dinneford. Unless you see these things with your own eyes, it is impossible for you to comprehend the condition of affairs in this by-way to hell.” “Hell, itself, better say,” returned Mr. Dinneford. “It is hell pushing itself into visible manifestation--hell establishing itself on the earth, and organizing its forces for the destruction of human souls, while the churches are too busy enlarging their phylacteries and making broader and more attractive the hems of their garments to take note of this fatal vantage-ground acquired by the enemy.” Mr. Dinneford stood and looked around him in a dazed sort of way. “Is Grubb's court near this?” he asked, recollecting the errand upon which he had come. “Yes.” “A young lady called to see you yesterday afternoon to ask about a child in that court?” “Oh yes! You know the lady?”