Here too is the little grimed terrace over the station of the underground railway company, who, beside their locomotives, have to keep stationary engines, both here and at Victoria Station, pumping day and night, otherwise the line would be flooded. It is amusing to recall the flourishing of the papers when the line was opened; the beatific vision that was dwelt on of the terrace being crowded with votaries of the _dolce far_, gazing placidly on the waters, smoking and communing. Nothing of the sort took place, it is needless to say. No one was at the pains of ascending the steps to gain, or cared to be enclosed in a sort of yard; and the Company soon had gates attached and shut it up. Hard by Waterloo Bridge used to be moored a dilapidated old hulk in which the River Police used to dwell, uncomfortably, as it may be imagined. It, however, added a nautical flavour. With the march of events came a change. They are now moved to one of the unoccupied barge piers--a pleasant, sheltered, floating tenement where they have abundant flowers and almost a garden. From the steamers passing by they appear to be very comfortable and happy. The old sheer hulk has been taken away and a more sightly training ship substituted, through whose ports can be seen a handsome piece of cannon; and of a summer’s evening a crowd lines the balustrade of the Embankment watching the sailors at drill. At another of these unoccupied or disused piers the Humane Society has its house, not at all unneeded, for the ghastly dramatic elements associated with a great river are never lacking here. The _habitué_ who takes his daily walk by this route to the City is certain, periodically, to see the slow-moving boat close under the walls, with the man in the stern casting the drag, and if he wait a reasonable time may see the “body of a fine young man,” or some unhappy, draggled woman brought up. Sometimes the police boat, or “tub,” of the Humane Society is seen pulling with frantic haste to the piers of the arches, invariably too late to recover the poor wretch whom the man patrolling the little pier has seen--strange vision!--flying down to the waters from the parapets of Waterloo Bridge.