in Need," until I'm a bit more able to work. Mine was a cavalry regiment, and I can show my discharge. What would suit me best now would be a coachman's place.'

6

Not long after, this man came to one of the food depôts, looking so much brighter that the Sister said to him, ' I am sure you have had some good news.' 'Yes, ma'am,' he replied; 'I did not like telling you before that I had had the chance to save my colonel's life in action' (I think, in Egypt). He has been very ill, but now I have heard from him; he is coming home, and has written to engage me as his own servant, and I hope never to be like this again. The Refuge seemed meant to save me, for it took me in twice when a night out would have been just death to me.' It was a great joy to the Sister to know that one of their poor guests at least was out of trouble, and 'set upon his feet.'

A young fisher-lad, under the age at which Refuge guests are admitted, had pleaded so earnestly, with tears running down his cheeks, that it was impossible to refuse him.

'I don't know a soul in London, and I haven't a penny,' he said. He belongs to the Deep Sea Fisheries, fell ill of rheumatic fever while his vessel was in port, and was taken to Guy's Hospital, from which he was discharged, and had spent four nights in the street, before he came to the Refuge.

'In a few days my ship'll be in, and then I shall go on board, and it'll be all right,' he said cheerfully.

'Mine is fine work, you see, ma'am, army accoutrement work, and wants special tools,' another poor guest at the Refuge tells us. 'I make soldiers' belts, and carbine rests. Ours is not a bad trade by any means; the worst of it is that it has its seasons. Now's the time for me to get a place, and I could get one-I've the promise of it if I had the tools; in our business each workman provides his own tools. I want pinchers, and clams, and a stabbing-awl and flax and hemp. A few shillings would set me afloat again, but they're out of my reach.'

'I was a hotel porter,' one whose looks told plainly of consumption said to us; and often when I'd heavy boxes to carry upstairs it 'ud throw me into a perspiration, and then I'd have to go out, perhaps, and would catch a bad cold. At last I was laid up with lung disease. I'd some money in the bank then; but it soon melted away, and at last I found myself better, but without a situation, and too weak to work. The doctor said to me : 'You've a chance now, my man, but only if you take great care; the least exertion may make the hæmorrhage come on again, and then it'll be a bad job with you." Then he nodded to me and turned to the next patient, and I went away. That night I spent in the street, ma'am. I daren't sit down for fear of catching cold, so I walked till I was pretty near falling down with fatigue. All of a sudden everything seemed swimming round me, and I felt myself getting deadly faint. "It's my last hour come," I thought to myself; and I'd just strength to get as far as the next lamp-post and lean up against it. The next thing I was conscious of was that a policeman was bending over me; he'd got me on to a bench, and was looking hard at me. After a bit I was able to speak, and to answer his questions. I told him I was faint from weakness, being only just recovered from an illness. He put his hand in his pocket and brought out a shilling, which he gave me. "My poor chap," he said, "I only wish I'd more to give you." Then he told me of your Refuge, ma'am. It was too late to go there then, but I tried another night. There was a dense crowd round the door, and I turned sick at the thought of having to wait and push my way in. After a few more nights out, I began to feel so tired out that I came here again, and this time, you see, I've got in, and right glad I am to find it's a quiet, decent place like this, where a man can rest and have a bit of peace. Food? No, I've had none to-day, nor yesterday neither, though the doctor did say I was to have everything that's nourishing.'

After supper this poor fellow looked a little less ghastly, and he seemed to like to talk.

'A bit of sympathy seems to cheer one up,' he said, smiling. 'I had a good mother once, ma'am, and many's the time I've thought of her as I tramped the streets. It seemed hard to lose her, but I'm glad now that she didn't live to see me like this. It would have pretty nigh broken her heart, ma'am; she couldn't bear to see even strangers suffering. When I was quite a small child, I remember how she'd often stop and give me a penny to give to some poor beggar we'd seen in the road. My mother taught me to pray too, ma'am, and I can honestly say that I've never missed saying my prayers night and morning, though I've had to say them in odd places lately.

'It's hard to guess what is to become of me now; I daren't think of it too much. I can't take to hotel work now, for I haven't the strength for it. A waiter's place in a private family would suit me best, and I've done that kind of work before, and

have plenty of good testimonials, but my shabby clothes are against me.'

'I have known him for many years, and could trust him with untold gold,' was the answer from a referee as to one of our men. 'He has been apprenticed in Gray's Inn; he worked there till the lock-out, and has worked with me at C- for sixteen years.'

'I know W. F. well,' another referee writes; 'he formerly occupied a good position, and is a thoroughly honest man, but is in an enfeebled state of health.'

Others write: 'What R. M. told you is quite true. He is quite respectable and strictly honest.' 'J. C. is worthy of any assistance you can give him.' Hundreds of such letters could be given.

But there is another class of customers at the 'Donna' and guests at the Night Refuge who have fallen into the ranks of casual labourers through their own fault, but who find help to retrieve the past. Amongst these was F-, whose face wore an expression of such deep gloom that it was impossible not to make some attempt to get a talk with him. A few kind words brought a softer look into his eyes, and at last the Sister said, 'You look very unhappy; is it any trouble you could talk about?'

Then poor F- burst out: 'Trouble! I'm ruined, that's all! Ruined body and soul, and all through my own fault!' He made a gesture of despair, but presently went on: 'It's drink that's done it. I don't care to make any secret of it; it's done for me, and there's no use my tryin' for work any more.'

This was the first of many conversations with poor F. Before his time at the Refuge was over he received an offer of work from the captain of a vessel, and set out with fresh heart and many earnest resolutions of amendment. We must hope that they will be kept, and that he may yet do well.

Some of the most deserving men have been helped by the loan of clothes, in which to go and seek for work. 'It pulls a man back to be so unlucky as I have been; my clothes are all against me now,' said an engraver, who was a pupil at the Kensington School of Fine Art, and whose late master gave him an excellent character. He looked down with a sigh at his poor ragged boots, which showed a good deal of bare foot. 'I have walked about to every large town in the south of England, but I found no work, except for a short time at Brighton. I am obliged to you for taking me in here,' he added gratefully; 'it's the first time I have come to this; now I can go to look for work, and feel sure of a night's lodging and a supper and breakfast.'

'I've gone down-down-down! and now I don't know that I shall ever pick up again,' another respectable man exclaimed. 'I don't feel I've the spirit or strength left to work, and my clothes are against me-look at them!'

This is the frequent hindrance to getting work. 'My clothes are so shabby, and one must look tidy in my line of business,' said one man, whose last situation was at the Civil Service Stores, and who had been obliged to leave it from illness. A gift of a coat and trousers enabled another poor fellow to obtain a good post; and he left the Refuge in great spirits, after several months of enforced idleness. Two others were also helped to clothes-a diamond-setter and a jeweller. Both were hoping for jobs before Christmas, but could not appear behind the counter in ragged coats, literally green and yellow with age. One is not surprised when they say, 'You see, employers look at one's clothes, and say, "I couldn't take you in that state."' 'Our looks are against us,' they add ruefully, and it is only too true.

Amongst the guests at the Refuge one evening was a hairdresser, and a lady visitor could hardly help laughing (though she had been nearer crying for some time) when she saw him bring out a carefully treasured pair of scissors, and at the earnest entreaty of several men, proceed to trim their beards or cut their hair; indeed, he was in such request, and looked so pale and tired all the time, that the lady felt quite sorry for him.

'I should not have thought they would have so much regard for their personal appearance,' she said to the caretaker.

He smiled and said, 'A man has more chance of finding employment, you see, ma'am, if he looks a tidy sort of chap. It is not so easy to keep even clean when they've been out of doors night after night. They all values the wash they get here afore going out of a morning, and I've known them say they've spent their last farthing on a bit of soap rather than buy bread with it.'

'It is simply impossible to say how deeply grateful we are for parcels of cast-off clothing lately sent,' the Sister-in-charge writes. Several times comforters have been sent to be distributed among our unemployed, and I only wish the donors could have been present when they were given; certainly they would have been touched by the gratitude shown. On one occasion we noticed them holding the "woollies" up to their faces, as if it were a new and pleasant sensation to touch anything soft and A man then stood up and said: "Please, Sister, thank Another added: "May

warm.

the lady, from the bottom of our hearts."

God bless her for thinking of us." And a third, a poor white, hollow-cheeked man, said, "She's pretty nigh saved some of us from dying, bless her.""

Old clothing and boots for men are invaluable. Only last week two poor fellows came, literally in rags. Their references were so good, and they seemed so deserving of help, that we gave them each a complete suit of clothes, and both have now obtained employment as clerks. Gifts of this kind can be sent direct to 'The Sister-in-Charge, 42A Dock Street, London Dock, E.C.'

I must not omit a few words concerning the workroom in Cannon Street for the wives of the unemployed. Women are not allowed to come to the 'Donna,' but they often support their unemployed husbands by the opening for industry given in Cannon Street. The workroom, closed during the summer, was re-opened in October, but, owing to the lack of funds only twenty-five could be taken on again. It was a terrible blow to some of the less fortunate women: they could not understand why they were not to come. 'Sister, have I done anything wrong that I am not to come back? I always tried to do my work well and to give satisfaction, and I have looked forward so to it-it always came in so handy for my rent.' 'Oh, sister,' said another, 'I am a widow and have nothing to depend upon; do ask if I may come back.' These are only two instances out of two or three dozen. From fifty to seventy women could be employed if the money were forthcoming.

،

Very thankful and grateful are the few who have returned to their work. This workroom is a blessing to us, Sister,' said one; 'I am thankful to get back again; we have missed it dreadfully these weeks; I never knew how much it was to me till I was deprived of it.'

'It's quite true,' chimed in another; 'nobody takes no account of their mercies till they lose them.'

'That's true, Mrs. B.; I missed this, and counted the weeks to coming back. I felt so overjoyed at the thought of to-day I couldn't sleep all night.' No one could doubt their gratitude who looked in upon them half-an-hour after, when settled at their work, every woman as intent upon what she was doing as though very important issues were involved-which certainly is the case with most of them, as it simply means a winter either in their own room or the workhouse. They keep their silence rule well, and are equally glad to listen to a story which one of the visitors reads, or any remarks which may be made on their work when it