smile illumined their countenances, a liquid brightness shot from their eyes, only to be replaced by the solemn, almost stolid, expression which has become habitual even on faces so young. This conclusion was still more impressively emphasized by the following touching remark of a child of twelve years in another apartment, who was with her mother busily sewing. "I am forty-three years old to-day," remarked the mother, and said Mr. English, "I shall be forty-two next week." "_Oh, dear_," broke in the child, "_I should think people would grow SO TIRED of living so MANY YEARS._" Was utterance ever more pathetic? She spoke in tones of mingled sadness and weariness, revealing in one breath all the pent-up bitterness of a young life condemned to a slavery intolerable to any refined or sensitive nature. Is it strange that people here take to drink? To me it is far more surprising that so many are sober. I am convinced that, in the slums, far more drunkenness is caused by abject poverty and inability to obtain work, than want is produced by drink. Here the physical system, half starved and often chilled, calls for stimulants. Here the horrors of nightmare, which we sometimes suffer during our sleep, are present during every waking hour. An oppressive fear weighs forever on the mind. Drink offers a temporary relief and satisfies the craving of the system, besides the environment invites dissipation and human nature at best is frail. I marvel that there is not more drunkenness exhibited in the poverty spots of our cities. [3] NOTE ON PICTURE OF CONSTANCE AND MAGGIE. When Mr. Swaffield first visited this little family he found them in the most abject want; a pot of boiling water, in which the mother was stirring a handful of meal, constituting their only food. Their clothing was thin and worn almost to shreds; their apartment but slightly heated; half of all they could earn, even when all were well and work good, had to go for their rent, leaving only one dollar and twenty-five cents a week to feed and clothe four persons. The day we first called they were poorly clothed, with sorry apologies for dresses and shoes laughing at the toes. In the picture we reproduce, they are neatly dressed and well shod from money contributed by liberal-hearted friends to The Arena Relief Fund. [Illustration: CELLARWAY LEADING TO UNDER-GROUND APARTMENTS (SEE NOTE).] [Illustration: SICK MAN IN UNDER-GROUND APARTMENT (SEE NOTE).] [Illustration: PORTUGUESE WIDOW AND THREE CHILDREN (SEE NOTE).] [Illustration: WIDOW AND TWO CHILDREN IN UNDER-GROUND TENEMENT (SEE NOTE).] [Illustration: EXTERIOR OF A NORTH END TENEMENT HOUSE (SEE NOTE).]