libraries over the whole of this great city. Boys and girls at
thirteen have no inclination to read newspapers; there remains,
therefore, nothing but the penny novelette for those who have any
desire to read at all. There is, it is true, the evening school, but
it is not often found to possess attractions for these children.
Again, after their day's work and confinement in the hot rooms, they
are tired; they want fresh air and exercise. To sum up: there are no
existing inducements for the children to read and study; most of them
are sluggish of intellect; outside the evening schools there are no
facilities for them at all; they have no books; when evening comes
they are tired; they do not understand their own interests; after a
day's work they like an evening's rest; of the two paths open to every
man at every juncture, one is for the most part hidden to children,
and the other is always the easier.

Therefore they spend their evenings in the streets. They would
sometimes, I dare say, prefer the gallery of the theatre or the
music-hall, but these are not often within reach of their means. The
street is always open to them. Here they find their companions of the
workroom; here they feel the strong, swift current of life; here
something is always happening; here there are always new pleasures;
here they can talk and play, unrestrained, left wholly to themselves,
taking for pattern those who are a little older than themselves. As
for their favourite amusements and their pleasures, they grow yearly
coarser; as for their conversation, it grows continually viler, until
Zola himself would be ashamed to reproduce the talk of these young
people. The love which these children have for the street is
wonderful; no boulevard in the world, I am sure, is more loved by its
frequenters than the Whitechapel Road, unless it be the High Street,
Islington. Especially is this the case with the girls. There is a