At the same time, I am compelled by a deep conviction in the truth of my argument which passing years and the course of events only serve to strengthen, and if, by the brief suggestions contained in these pages, I can succeed in inducing anyone to examine more closely this branch of the Social Problem, which in my opinion is too often dismissed as negligible, I shall be amply repaid. My thanks are due to those who have kindly assisted me in collecting the facts and figures in Chapter VIII and in other parts of the book, and also to Mr. and Mrs. J. L. Hammond, who read through the MS. and made valuable criticisms and suggestions. A. P. The Camel and the Needle’s Eye Chapter I Extreme poverty a consequence of extreme wealth--Pity or contempt for the poor--Money ideal strong among the poor--The different phases in making a fortune--The general tendency of society--Relations between rich and poor--Dis-sympathy and class hatred--The social problem. Frederick the Great’s father, on the occasion of great court festivities used to lead his wife from the brilliant scene of gaiety to an adjoining chamber, where he made her lie down for a few moments in her own coffin, so as to give her a sharp reminder of the vanity and transitory nature of all human pleasure. An even more effective reminder for those who in London spend their money on a life of pure self-indulgence would be afforded by a walk at midnight along the Embankment from Westminster to Waterloo Bridge. No prearranged stage management is necessary for the sight they are to see. It is a long run, every night and all night, and has gone on ever since the Embankment was constructed. As they pass along they can see the seats packed closely with men and women leaning against one another in an exhausted or half-drunken slumber. They can see the ragged and filthy bundles of humanity lying round the parapet at the foot of Cleopatra’s Needle, or the rows of wretched caricatures of men and women lined along the wall under the shelter of the bridges. If they go late enough, there is a strange silence which at first gives the impression that the place is deserted. But it only means that these waifs and strays, these wretched outcasts, are enjoying the few hours’ reprieve given even to them by the blessed oblivion of sleep. The moon shines on them from over the river, but no melodrama can reproduce that scene; estimates are drawn up of their number, but no statistics can give an adequate analysis; books are written on their condition, but no language can describe it. A man who sees this squalid throng for the first time must be deeply impressed, but it strikes even more anyone who sees it constantly, and he must be less than human if he can pass without a poignant pang of shame. But nine out of ten of those who do pass along will tell you these wretches only have themselves to blame,