It would be interesting to discover what has become of the tens of thousands of enthusiastic men and women who have borne the uniform of these organisations for periods longer or shorter, and who have disappeared from the ranks.
How many of them are "submerged" I cannot say, but I know that some have been perilously near it.
I am persuaded that this is a dangerous procedure, very dangerous procedure, and the subscribing public has some right to ask what has become of all the "officers" who, drawn from useful work to these organisations, have disappeared.
But as a continual recruiting keeps up the strength, the subscribing public does not care to ask, for the public is quite willing to part with its vested interests in human wreckage.

All this leads me to say once more that the "submerged" are still with us.

Do you doubt it?
Then come with me; let us take a midnight walk on the Thames Embankment; any night will do, wet or dry, winter or summer! Big Ben is striking the hour as we commence our walk at Blackfriars; we have with us a sack of food and a number of second-hand overcoats.

The night is cold, gusty and wet, and we think of our warm and comfortable beds and almost relinquish our expedition.

The lights on Blackfriars Bridge reveal the murky waters beneath, and we see that the tide is running out.
We pass in succession huge buildings devoted to commerce, education, religion and law; we pass beautiful gardens, and quickly we arrive at the Temple.