edness which are to be seen day and night, summer and winter, amidst the opulence and refinement, the glitter and joyousness of London. There are throngs of little children who have been trained into professional wickedness. An "Australian" writes in the Times:—
"To the Editor of the Times.
"Sir,
"On this bitter cold and wet morning, as I was coming to the City, ray attention was attracted to a little girl, seven or eight years of age, crying bitterly. She was as fair and beautiful a child as could well be seen. Her garments were miserably thin, and her poor little feet had scarce any covering, as she dragged herself along on the cold pavement. Before I accosted her I watched her for a minute or two. She did not ask anyone for alms. The crowd passed on, no one took notice of her, and the policeman of the beat, with stem look and erect step, was unconscious of her existence. I then asked her what she was crying for, and whether she had no friends to look after her. The poor little tiling could only say, 'I'm so cold,' ' and that she had no parents alive. Of course I gave the child a trifle, and begged the policeman to see what could be done for her; but he could do nothing, and pointed in other directions where more children were crouching in passages to get out of the cold blast.
"I do not address these few lines to you acting under any feelings of sickly sentimentality. I have been away from England many years, and, probably, this first instance which has come under my notice of the suffering to which many children of the poorer classes are subjected has struck me with a greater degree of acute sympathy than those feel who, day by day and year by year, witness similar scenes. Suffering and poverty there always will be; but it is nevertheless very shocking that in this rich city there appears