Along the Embankment, you see, there are iron seats at regular intervals, seats you cannot lie upon because iron arm-rests prevent that, and each seat, one saw by the lamplight, was filled with crouching and drooping figures. Not a vacant place remained, not one vacant place. These were the homeless, and they had come to sleep here. Now one noted a poor old woman with a shameful battered straw hat awry over her drowsing face, now a young clerk staring before him at despair; now a filthy tramp, and now a bearded, frock-coated, collarless respectability; I remember particularly one ghastly long white neck and white face that lopped backward, choked in some nightmare, awakened, clutched with a bony hand at the bony throat, and sat up and stared angrily as we passed. The wind had a keen edge that night even for us who had dined and were well clad. One crumpled figure coughed and went on coughing--damnably. "It's fine," said I, trying to keep hold of the effects to which this line of poor wretches was but the selvage; "it's fine! But I can't stand _this_." "It changes all that we expected," admitted my friend, after a silence. "Must we go on--past them all?" "Yes. I think we ought to do that. It's a lesson, perhaps--for trying to get too much beauty out of life as it is--and forgetting. Don't shirk it!" "Great God!" cried I. "But must life always be like this? I could die--indeed, I would willingly jump into this cold and muddy river now, if by so doing I could stick a stiff dead hand through all these things--into the future; a dead commanding hand insisting with a silent irresistible gesture that this waste and failure of life should cease, and cease for ever." "But it does cease! Each year its proportion is a little less." I walked in silence, and my companion talked by my side. "We go on. Here is a good thing done, and there is a good thing done. The Good Will in man----" "Not fast enough. It goes so slowly--and in a little while we too must die----" "It can be done," said my companion. "It could be avoided," said I. "It shall be in the days to come. There is food enough for all, shelter for all, wealth enough for all. Men need only know it and will it. And yet we have this!" "And so much like this!" said I.... So we talked and were tormented. And I remember how later we found ourselves on Westminster Bridge, looking back upon the long sweep of wrinkled black water that reflected lights and palaces and the flitting glow of steamboats, and by that time we had talked ourselves past our despair. We perceived that what was splendid remained splendid, that what was mysterious remained insoluble for all our pain and impatience. But it was clear to us the thing for us two to go upon was not the good of the present nor the evil, but the effort and the dream of the finer order, the fuller life, the banishment of suffering, to come.