In one room we saw a husband and his wife with three children, sound asleep on a bed of shavings, and the furniture thereof consisted of only a pine box, a wooden bowl (partly filled with meal), and a teacup, while on the hearth of the empty fireplace were scattered a few meatless bones. In another we saw a woman in a state of gross intoxication, whose child, wrapped in rags, was lying on a bed of _warm ashes_ in one corner of the fireplace. In one room a lot of half-clothed negroes were fighting like hyenas; and in another a forlorn old man was suffering with delirium tremens. In another, still, the fireplace was destitute of fire and the hearth of wood. On the floor were three litters of straw; on one lay the corpse of a woman and a dead infant, and another child about three years of age, which had no covering upon its shivering body except the fragments of an old cloak. On one pile of straw lay a middle-aged man apparently breathing his last; and in the opposite corner was seated a drunken woman, a stranger to the dead and dying, who was calling down curses upon the head of her husband, who had abandoned her to her misery. As we rambled about the old building, peering into the dark rooms of poverty and infamy, we were forcibly reminded of Dante’s description of hell. The majority of women that we saw were widows, and we were informed that the rent they paid varied from two to six shillings per week. Our guide, before leaving, directed our attention to the back yard, where, within the last two years, twenty people had been found dead. Their histories yet remain in mystery, and we were told of the singular fact that a funeral had not been known to occur at the Old Brewery for many years, as it has ever been a market-place for anatomists and their menials.