about it, and not much
truth!

We suddenly put the question, "How long have you lived in
lodging-houses?" "About three years, sir." "What did you work at?"
"Selling papers in the streets." "Anything else?" "No, sir." "You had
not got any lodging money to-night.?" "No." "Ever been in prison?"
"Only twice." "What for?" "Gambling in the streets," and we leave him,
conscious that he is neither industrious, honest nor truthful.

We come at length to Waterloo Bridge, and here in the corners and
recesses of the steps we find still more of the submerged, and a pitiful
lot they are.

We look closely at them, and we see that some are getting back to
primeval life, and that some are little more than human vegetables. We
know that their chief requirements are food, sleep and open air; and
that given these their lives are ideal, to themselves! But we distribute
our food amongst them, we part with our last old coat, we give tickets
for free shelters, but we get no thanks, and we know well enough
that the shelter tickets will not be used, for it is much easier for
philosophic vagabondage to remain curled up where it is than to struggle
on to a shelter.

So we leave them, and with a feeling of hopelessness hurry home to our
beds.

But let us revisit the Embankment by day at 11 a.m. We take our stand
right close to Cleopatra's Needle; we see that numbers of wretched
people, male and female, are already there, and are forming themselves
into a queue three deep, the males taking the Westminster side of the
Needle, the females the City side.

While this regiment of a very dolorous army is gathering together,
and forming silently and passively into the long queue, we look at the
ancient obelisk, and our mind is carried backward to the days of old,
when the old stone stood in the pride of its early life, and with its
clear-cut hieroglyphics spoke to the wonderful people who comprised the
great nation of antiquity.

We almost appeal to it, and feel that we would like to question it,
as it stands pointing heavenwards beside our great river. Surely the
ancient stone has seen some strange sights, and heard strange sounds in
days gone by.

Involuntarily we ask whether it has seen stranger sights, and heard more
doleful sounds than the sights to be seen under its shadow to-day, and
the sounds to be heard around it by night. Could it speak, doubtless
it would tell of the misery, suffering, slavery endured by the poor
in Egypt thousands