Big Ben strikes two, the moon, flashing across the Thames and lighting
up the stone work of the Embankment, brings into relief a pitiable
spectacle. Here on the stone abutments, which afford a slight
protection from the biting wind, are scores of men lying side by side,
huddled together for warmth, and, of course, without any other covering
than their ordinary clothing, which is scanty enough at the best. Some
have laid down a few pieces of waste paper, by way of taking the chill
off the stones, but the majority are too tired, even for that, and the
nightly toilet of most consists of first removing the hat, swathing the
head in whatever old rag may be doing duty as a handkerchief, and then
replacing the hat.

The intelligent-looking elderly man, who was just fixing himself up on
a seat, informed me that he frequently made that his night's abode.
"You see," quoth he, "there's nowhere else so comfortable. I was here
last night, and Monday and Tuesday as well, that's four nights this
week. I had no money for lodgings, couldn't earn any, try as I might.
I've had one bit of bread to-day nothing else whatever, and I've earned
nothing to-day or yesterday; I had threepence the day before. Gets my
living by carrying parcels, or minding horses, or odd jobs of that
sort. You see I haven't got my health, that's where it is. I used to
work on the London General Omnibus Company and after that on the Road
Car Company, but I had to go to the infirmary with bronchitis and
couldn't get work after that. What's the good of a man what's got
bronchitis and just left the infirmary? Who'll engage him, I'd like to
know? Besides, it makes me short of breath at times, and I can't do
much. I'm a widower; wife died long ago. I have one boy, abroad, a
sailor, but he's only lately started and can't help me. Yes! its very
fair out here of nights, seats rather hard, but a bit of waste paper
makes it a lot softer. We have women sleep here often, and children,