It is the outside trap, with luring bait, set by the Vice Trust for the unsuspecting victims. The girls from out of the city are drawn to it for the pleasures of life because other avenues of enjoyment are not open to them. A conscious or unconscious emissary of the vice lords lures them to these cesspools, robs them of their senses by subtle intoxicants and destroys that same night their virginal purity. In a night they have fallen from the highest estate to the bottomless pit of a living hell; they have been stripped of their robes of innocence and clothed in the shameful, sinful, scarlet garb of the thousands of women who have fallen before them. No mother, no father, who kisses a daughter goodbye as she leaves the fireside to plunge into the foaming sea of Chicago life, can be certain that the child of his or her flesh and blood will return to the fireside undefiled, pure of body and clean of heart, as long as those cancers fester and flourish in the city of Chicago. We have treated of the girl problem and the cafe. What of our boys?--you ask. It is a sociological axiom that a nation's integrity depends on its womanhood. The depraved woman means the depraved man. Each night thousands of youths, full of physical strength, mental energy and ambition, seek recreation in the cafes. It is there they meet or take the lost women. It is there they wreck bright futures, sow the seed of crime, deaden their moral consciences, and contract fatal diseases and rush unthinking down the path that leads to ruin and to death. Back of a murder, in which some young man of good parentage and of promising hopes figures as the principal, you can read the word "cafe." It began there, it progressed, until its end meant the gallows in the court yard of the county jail. STATE STREET AND ITS PITFALLS. Let us leave the accursed place. We have other places to visit before the sun flares red above the waters of Lake Michigan. We stroll down Randolph street, through Chicago's well lighted avenues and its "Rialto" to one of the busiest thoroughfares in the world,--during the day--State street. The bustling, shoving, pushing, army of men and women, has gone home. Yet, the street is by no means deserted. As we walk along we are conscious of the number of unescorted women, walking the main loop thoroughfare. We mentally comment on it. They seem to saunter aimlessly about, jauntily swinging their purses, and looking up into your face in a questioning, puzzling manner. Would you know the hideous truth? These are the outposts of the great army of Vice. These are the women, stripped of the last element of self-respect, who like vultures attack their prey in the glare of the arc lights, in the face of the uniformed guardians of the law.