The slum people had simply drifted on to crowd other slums or to form new slums.
"An' now," said the sweated one, the 'earty man who worked so fast as to dazzle one's eyes, "I'll show you one of London's lungs.

This is Spitalfields Garden." And he mouthed the word "garden" with scorn.
The shadow of Christ's Church falls across Spitalfields Garden, and in the shadow of Christ's Church, at three o'clock in the afternoon, I saw a sight I never wish to see again.

There are no flowers in this garden, which is smaller than my own rose garden at home.

Grass only grows here, and it is surrounded by a sharp-spiked iron fencing, as are all the parks of London Town, so that homeless men and women may not come in at night and sleep upon it.
As we entered the garden, an old woman, between fifty and sixty, passed us, striding with sturdy intention if somewhat rickety action, with two bulky bundles, covered with sacking, slung fore and aft upon her.

She was a woman tramp, a houseless soul, too independent to drag her failing carcass through the workhouse door.