The principal dealings of the pawnbrokers are, as we have said, with the poor. Life is hard in Chicago, and those who dwell under the shadow are obliged to make great sacrifices of comfort to keep body and soul together. Everything that will bring money finds its way to the pawn shop and the miserable pittance received for it goes to provide food. Too often articles of household use or clothing are pawned to raise money for drink, and the possessions of the family are one by one sacrificed for this wretched purpose, until nothing is left. The pawnbrokers find a very profitable class of customers in the respectable working people of the city; many of these regularly pawn articles, sometimes of value, at the first of the week, and redeem them when they receive their wages on Saturday. It is to the broker’s interest to be obliging to these people, since they are regular customers, and he reaps a rich harvest from them in the exhorbitant interest they pay him. It is a common belief that the pawnbrokers are also receivers of stolen goods. Some of the more unscrupulous may make ventures of this kind, but as a rule the brokers have nothing to do with thieves; the risk of detection is too great, so they confine themselves to what they term their “legitimate business,” and leave dealings in stolen property to the “fences,” who constitute a distinct class. Pacific Garden Mission In one of the vilest sections of the city is a modest looking brick building, known as Pacific Garden Mission. Over the door hangs a lantern bearing the inscription, “Strangers Welcome.” When the shades of night come on, and the rays of the lantern shine out, revealing the legend inscribed upon it, they illuminate a region full of vice, crime and suffering. In earlier days the street was lined with long rows of rum-shops, ratpits, low-down dens, and thieves’ dens of the worst description. Here and there are dance houses, brilliantly lighted, and ornamented with gaudy transparencies. Strains of music floated out into the night air, and about the doors and along the sidewalks stand groups of hideous women, waiting to entice the stranger into these hells where they are made drunk with drugged liquors, robbed of their money and valuables and turned helpless into the streets. Groups of drunken and foul-mouthed men and boys lounge about the street, bandying vile jests with the women, and often insulting respectable passers by. High over all this sea of wretchedness and sin, the Pacific Garden lantern shines out like a beacon light, the only sign of cheer and hope to be seen. If you listen you will hear sounds of music in this building also, but the strains are of praise and thanksgiving—strange sounds to hear in such a neighborhood.