I have been asked often as to the food for which the homeless crave. When you have but a few pence⁠—and it is very rarely there is any more⁠—you go generally to the nearest fried-fish shop and spend your coppers on a piece of haddock and potatoes. If you can add a dash of sauce or a few pickles, you have an ideal meal. Meat is beyond the means of the destitute, save in the way of sausages, and if it were not so, the quality obtainable would put you off your meal. I have already touched on the nausea which ensues on an attempt to satisfy hunger on dry, stale bread. It is worse than useless to give loaves or slices to any beggar at your back door. But you may always be sure one thing will be welcomed, a cup of hot tea, hot coffee, or even cocoa. But it must be hot; the physical craving for a hot drink is almost overmastering.