nows."

Another lady, I remember coming downstairs one evening dressed for a
fancy ball. I forget the title of the charity, but I remember that every
lady who sold more than ten tickets received an autograph letter of
thanks from the Duchess who was the president. The tickets were twelve
and sixpence each and included light refreshments and a very substantial
supper. One presumes the odd sixpence reached the poor--or at least the
noisier portion of them.

"A little _decolletee_, isn't it, my dear?" suggested a lady friend, as
the charitable dancer entered the drawing-room.

"Perhaps it is--a little," she admitted, "but we all of us ought to do
all we can for the Cause. Don't you think so, dear?"

Really, seeing the amount we give in charity, the wonder is there are any
poor left. It is a comfort that there are. What should we do without
them? Our fur-clad little girls! our jolly, red-faced squires! we should
never know how good they were, but for the poor? Without the poor how
could we be virtuous? We should have to go about giving to each other.
And friends expect such expensive presents, while a shilling here and
there among the poor brings to us all the sensations of a good Samaritan.
Providence has been very thoughtful in providing us with poor.

Dear Lady Bountiful! does it not ever occur to you to thank God for the
poor? The clean, grateful poor, who bob their heads and curtsey and
assure you that heaven is going to repay you a thousandfold. One does
hope you will not be disappointed.

An East-End curate once told me, with a twinkle in his eye, of a smart
lady who called upon him in her carriage, and insisted on his going round
with her to show her where the poor hid themselves. They went down many
streets, and the lady distributed her parcels. Then they came to one of
the worst, a very narrow street. The coachman gave it one glance.

"Sorry, my lady," said the coachman, "but the carriage won't go down."

The lady sighed.

"I am afraid we shall have to leave it," she said.

So the gallant greys dashed past.

Where the real poor creep I fear there is no room for Lady Bountiful's
fine coach. The ways are very narrow--wide enough only for little Sister
Pity, stealing softly.

I put it to my friend, the curate:

"But if all this charity is, as you say, so useless; if it touches but
the fringe; if it makes the evil worse, what would you do?"

And questions a Man of Thought.

"I wo