rden, overseer, and guardian of
various parishes in my time, and I have seen the poor in all
conditions and under all circumstances, and I thought I knew them well
enough; but I derived a new lesson now, and learned that it is
possible for humanity to undergo the direst misfortunes without losing
heart and hope--to drain the cup of misery to the dregs without
becoming utterly selfish--and to be long immersed in the lowest depths
of necessity, and yet be human still. I shall describe one or two of
these hapless claimants upon the benevolence of their wealthy
fellow-citizens, premising that a few of them only are the recipients
of parish pay. They see no disgrace, perhaps, in participating in a
voluntary alms, because it is voluntary, and, as such, cannot be
regarded as the peculiar property of that numerous class who assert
and maintain a life-interest in compulsory funds legally levied for
their support.

One of the first who seemed to attract general sympathy was an old,
old man, trembling on the very verge of the grave, who had outlived
almost every faculty of mind and body. He could walk only by instinct,
advancing his foot mechanically, to save himself from falling, when
he was pushed gently forwards. When standing, he could not seat
himself--and when sitting, he could not get up without help. In
whatever posture he was placed, there he remained. Altogether
insensible to question and remark, he looked wildly round upon us, and
smiled, and winked with both eyes. These were his sole remaining
capabilities--to wink, and to look agreeable. He had been recommended
as an object worthy of charity by a liberal donor, and he was brought
in person to justify the recommendation. He was clean, and neat, and
tidily dressed, but evidently in a state of perfect unconsciousness of
everything around him. He had lived once, but it was in times long
past and gone: you might guess him to be what age you chose, but you
could hardly think him older than he was; time, who had stolen his
faculties, had forgotten to wreck the casket that contained them: the
spirit of life had left its tenement, and by some strange mistake, the
animated machine had gone on without it. My neighbour, the watchmaker,
compared him to a clock with the striking-train run down, and the
works rusty beyond repair. He could not thank us for the alms we gave
him, but he did all he could--he winked, and smiled, and tried to make
a bow, but failed in the attempt, and re