unemployed. I never see one
without experiencing strange and mixed emotions. Let me picture a
parade, for where I live they are numerous, and at least once a week one
will pass my window.

I hear the doleful strains of a tin whistle accompanied with a
rub-a-dub-dub of a kettledrum that has known its best days, and whose
sound is as doleful as that of the whistle. I know what is coming, and,
though I have seen it many times, it has still a fascination for me,
so I stand at my window and watch. I see two men carrying a dilapidated
banner, on which is inscribed two words, "The Unemployed." The man with
the tin whistle and the man with the drum follow the banner, and behind
them is a company of men marching four abreast. Two policemen on the
pavement keep pace with the head of the procession, and two others
perform a similar duty at the end of it.

On the pavement are a number of men with collecting boxes, ready to
receive any contribution that charitably inclined people may bestow.
They do not knock at any door, but they stand for a moment and rattle
their boxes in front of every window.

The sound of the whistle and the drum, and the rattle of boxes is,
in all conscience, depressing enough, but one glimpse at the men is
infinitely more so.

Most of them are below the average height and bulk. Their hands are in
their trousers pockets, their shoulders are up, but their heads are
bent downwards as if they were half ashamed of their job. A peculiar
slouching gait is characteristic of the whole company, and I look in
vain for a firm step, an upright carriage, and for some signs of alert
manhood. As they pass slowly by I see that some are old, but I also see
that the majority of them are comparatively young, and that many of them
cannot be more than thirty years of age. But whether young or old, I
am conscious of the fact that few of them are possessed of strength,
ability and grit. There are no artisans or craftsmen among them, and
stalwart labourers are not in evidence.

Pitiful as the procession is, I know that it does not represent the
genuine and struggling unemployed. They pass slowly by and go from
street to street. So they will parade throughout the livelong day. The
police will accompany them, and will see them disbanded when the evening
closes in. The boxes will be emptied, the contents tabulated, and a pro
rata division will be made, after which the processionists will go home
and remain unemployed till the ne