emen formed to investigate this terrible subject of mendacity in
our city, and to find some way of methodizing our chari-[93] ties and
protecting them from abuse. I went down immediately to Robert Minturn,
who, I was told, took a leading part in this movement, and told him that
I had come post-haste to inquire what he and his friends were doing, for
that nothing in our city life pressed upon my mind like this. I used,
indeed, to feel at times and Bellows had the same feeling as if I would
fain fling up my regular professional duties, and plunge into this great
sea of city pauperism and misery.

Mr. Minturn told me that he, with four or five others, had taken up
this subject; that, for more than a year past, they had met together one
evening in the week to confer with one another upon it; that they had
opened a correspondence with all our great cities, and with some in
Europe; and sometimes had sent out agents to inquire into the methods
that had been adopted to stem these enormous city evils. Mr. Minturn
wished me to join them, and I expected to be formally invited to do so;
but I was not, nor to a great public meeting called soon after, under
their auspices. I suppose there was no personal feeling against me, only
an Orthodox one. Well, no matter. It was a noble enterprise, better
than any sectarianism ever suggested, and worthy of record, especially
considering its spontaneity, labor, and expense.

Their plan, when matured, was this: to district the city; to appoint
one person in each district to receive all applications for aid; to
sell tickets [94] of various values, which we could buy and give the
applicant at our doors, to be taken to the agent, who would render the
needed help, according to his judgment. Of course the beggars did not
like it. I found that, half the time, they would not take the tickets.
It would give them some trouble, but the special trouble, doubtless,
with the reckless and dishonest among them, was that it would prevent
them from availing themselves of the aid of twenty families, all acting
in ignorance of what each was doing.

Jonathan Goodhue was a man whom nobody that knew him can ever forget.
Tall and fine-looking in person, simple and earnest in manners, with
such a warmth in his accost that to shake hands with him was to feel
happier for it all the day after. I remember passing down Wall Street
one day when old Robert Lenox was standing by his side. After one of
those warm greetings, I