matter of
the stomach;" and he brushed the crumbs overboard. "Perhaps the fishes
will get them," he added, "and they will not know whence they came.
Anonymous charity," he continued, coming back to his chair, "is the
best. It curbs the pride of the giver and preserves the pride of the
recipient. Open giving is becoming a trade. It is an American invention.
Very rich men in that country offer so much for an object--a college--a
hospital--a library--if some one else will give so much. The offer is
printed in the newspapers of the land and its originator reaps
much--what is the word I wish?--acclaim? no; kudos? no;--ah, yes,
advertisement; that is the word. Thank God that charity does not thus
masquerade in Italy. There are men here, in poor old Venice, who give
half their goods to feed the poor. Are their names published? No. The
newspapers reason thus--'Here is a gentleman; let us treat him as one,'
We have no professional philanthropists in Italy. After all," he added,
"mere giving is the lowest form of charity. If all the wealth of the
world were divided the world would be debauched. Binding up wounds,
pouring in oil and wine, bringing the wronged man to an inn, giving him
your companionship, your sympathy, so that he shows his heart to you and
lets you heal its bruises--that is your true charity."

"That's what I'm telling Nora," exclaimed Miss O'Kelly; "she's forever
drawing checks. There was my nephew, Nora's cousin, Phelim. He gave away
all he had. He gave it to the piquet players in the Kildare Club. 'Aunt
Molly,' he said to me, 'piquet has cost me fifteen thousand pounds, and
I am just beginning to learn the game. Now that I know it a bit, no one
will play with me. Your bread cast on the waters may come back, but it's
ten to one it comes back mouldy, from the voyage.' Phelim is the flower
of the family, your imminence. He is six foot three. He was out twice
before he was two-and-twenty. The first time was with Liftennant Doyle
of the Enniskillens. 'Twas about a slip of a girl that they both
fancied. The Liftennant fired at the word and missed. 'Try your second
barrel,' called Phelim, 'I'm still within bounds' (that's
pigeon-shootin' talk, your imminence). The Liftennant laughed and the
two went off to the club, arm in arm, and they stayed there two days.
There's waiters in the club yet, that remembers it. The next time Phelim
was out, 'twas with a little attorney-man from Cork, named Crawford.
There was no girl t