are recently from the country. They have come to London to find work, but they have found only the hard and stony streets. And their speech confirms their story, for they speak as no Cockney could. This man has the Hampshire twang, for instance, and that man the Northumbrian "burr." It is when coming into close contact with cases such as these that we feel the full force of the fact that the country districts are becoming depleted, and that men and women are streaming to London-alas, in many cases only to swell the already high-tide of starvation and want!

Turning to the left we plunge into the Adelphi Archespausing for a few moments to examine a number of waggons collected at the entrance. And so by about two o'clock we find ourselves near Blackfriars Bridge.

Alas, what a sight! Huddled together under the shelter of the high buttresses to screen themselves from the wind are a sad number of dark figures. How many? We ask if they would like to have breakfast, and count them. Twenty-seven! We cross over the bridge, adding to our number as we go, until at last our light brigade has swelled to thirty-three. We proceed up Southwark Street, and presently meet Mr. Mearns.

"Wait," he said; "wait! I fear the Hall is too full already. We found 149 on London Bridge alone, before two in the morning, and several more in other places." A consultation then ensues as to what is best to be done, and at length, after explaining to the men that we may be able to give them only “half a breakfast," for there are so many of them, we resolve to let them in. Poor creatures! They would be ready to go if only for a crust, and so they move on at once. Thus it is that before three o'clock in the

morning we have the Hall filled. There are 255 poor wanderers here now, a larger number than ever before,

while round the door are others whom it would be cruel to admit, seeing that, even with shortened rations, we could not feed them. They are told to return in the afternoon for bread.

And now the gas is lowered, and the poor people are told to sleep, of which permission they are not slow to avail themselves. The breakfast is at six, and they have three good hours before them. We leave them alone; we do not speak to them now. Let them rest. But they are carefully watched.

It is astonishing, however, as the time draws near and the gas flares up again, how they begin to awake, and when the trays of paper bags filled with provisions and the steaming coffee urns make their appearance there is not a slumberer to be seen. The breakfast consists of bread and meat, with bread and butter, and large cups of hot coffee; but before a morsel is given out "grace" is sung, and during the latter portion of the time, when all have been served, a few ladies, assisted by a "bass," render some of Sankey's hymns. When the last cup has been emptied, and the last piece of food eaten, or hidden away to be eaten during the day, a hymn is given out, and all rise and join in it.

There is something marvellous in the power of music over even these poor people. Perhaps it awakens some tender chord of recollection, perhaps it softens the soul, and the Gospel is sung into the heart; under its magic influence you will see a hard, defiant face here and there melt into tears, and a smothered sob shake the shrunken frame. This poor woman, for instance, who had been found on the Embankment, sleeping with her head on the stone parapet she had, she said, left her five children, and run away from her husband, and only a short time since, because he was cruel to her!-her face was hard and for

bidding until the music came, but then she cried like a child.

A short but earnest prayer, followed by a vigorous address, came after the singing; then another hymn, and a closing prayer, and the poor nomads dispersed-not, however, until a cordial invitation had been given to return that afternoon, when they could be dealt with individually, their cases gone into, and, if possible, work would be found for them.

A great many of these poor creatures are not slow to avail themselves of the invitation, and at the appointed time no less than 127 are found waiting in the Hall. One by one they are invited into the little room and questioned, and the particulars of their cases taken down. The distress revealed is appalling. Take such instances as these. A man and his wife were turned out of their room for being behind in one week's rent-four shillings; all their tools— they make feather brushes-are in pawn. Eight shillings— four for a week's rent and four to redeem their tools-are lent them. Another man has tramped up from Manchester in ten days. He started with 20s. in his pocket. It is all gone now. He can find absolutely nothing to do. Another man is from Liverpool, and he also has walked up to London. In cases such as these the labour test is applied -i.e., the men are set to chop wood at is. per day, and if they apply themselves and work well, a situation is, if possible, found for them. Several have thus been helped, and in all cases they have done well. Many have been sent back again into the country, some to situations found for them there, and others to the homes they had left. One man to whom money had been advanced redeemed his tools from pawn, and earned 35s. in one week. He began to pay back the loan, and another part of his earnings was used to redeem the remainder of his tools, as only enough had been lent to obtain the most necessary. One poor

fellow found on London Bridge had suffered from bad eyes, and was in search of a certain hospital. He could not be admitted, not having a letter. The necessary formalities have been gone through in his case, and he is now an inmate.

Altogether, out of the 127 who described their cases last Sunday afternoon, no less than 100 had but very recently tramped up from the provinces. They belonged to every class of employment, and to various grades of society. It is heartrending to hear tale after tale of such utter misery and want. But it must be done, and is done, and then these cases are differentiated as far as possible, and each treated individually, as seems best and most suitable. In the evening the Hall was again packed with people attending the mission service. Surely if these efforts are not practical endeavours to reach the "lapsed masses," we do not know what are. But the work requires both money and helpers; any persons desirous of assisting—either by gifts of money or clothes, or by personal service-should communicate with the Rev. Andrew Mearns, Memorial Hall, Farringdon Street, E.C. Friends cannot do better than entrust their offerings of charity to this gentleman, for he presides over an organised and practical effort, undertaken by an efficient organisation the Congregational Union of London.

An article by "A Volunteer Missionary," in the columns of the Daily News, presented a striking picture of "London at Night," and showed the variety of persons brought under the influence of this special agency. The article, of which the following is an extract, bears evidence of being from the facile pen of Mr. F. M. Holmes, author of "Faith's Father," "The Children of the Court," &c., &c. :—

LONDON AT NIGHT.

The bridges and especially London favourite spots with the London wanderer.

seats on London Bridge offer an attraction, for here they can huddle themselves together and obtain some shelter from the wind. Perhaps the outlook on the river, with the rows of shining lamps and the tapering masts of vessels rising in the darkness, is more attractive as a picture than the long, unlovely rows of houses which only mock the outcast with their promises of shelter. Whatever the cause, there is the fact; and as many as 150 people have been recently discovered passing the night on London Bridge alone. A seat in one of these recesses is as much sought after as a stall in a theatre on a first night. The men thrust their hands in their pockets, and, with their heads on their breasts and their legs pushed far forward, they sink into sleep; the women pull their old shawls or capes tightly around them, and there is often a little wizened baby-face peeping out of the shawl.

On Blackfriars Bridge it is much the same; the sleepers here lean against the walls or parapets, or sink on the pavement, or hide themselves in the deep recesses. Over sixty were thus discovered on Sunday morning last. But for some reason London Bridge is the favourite spot, and Blackfriars ranks next. We turn westward along the Embankment; but the seats here are most exposed, and they are not so largely patronised. To one man we say: "Well, friend; are you sleeping out all night?" He looks up half-suspiciously as he answers: “I am

"Got no money, and can't get no work. I was a