ar when he was disposed to be serious. Fred became grave as he
spoke.

"Where have you seen such poor wretches, Tom?" he asked with a look of
interest.

"In the cities, the civilised cities of our own Christian land. If you
have ever walked about the streets of some of these cities, before the
rest of the world was astir, at grey dawn, you must have seen them
shivering along, and scratching among the refuse cast out by the tenants
of the neighbouring houses. Oh, Fred, Fred, in my professional career,
short though it has been, I have seen much of these poor old women, and
many others, whom the world never sees on the streets at all,
experiencing a slow, lingering death by starvation, and fatigue, and
cold. It is the foulest blot on our country, that there is no
sufficient provision for the _aged poor_."

"I have seen those old women too," replied Fred, "but I never thought
very seriously about them before."

"That's it--that's just it; people don't _think_, otherwise this
dreadful state of things would not continue. Just listen _now_, for a
moment, to what I have to say. But don't imagine that I'm standing up
for the poor in general. I don't feel--perhaps I'm wrong," continued
Tom thoughtfully,--"perhaps I'm wrong--I hope not--but it's a fact I
don't feel much for the young and the sturdy poor, and I make it a rule
_never_ to give a farthing to _young_ beggars, not even to little
children, for I know full well that they are sent out to beg by idle,
good-for-nothing parents. I stand up only for the _aged_ poor, because,
be they good or wicked, they _cannot_ help themselves. If a man fell
down in the street, struck with some dire disease that shrunk his
muscles, unstrung his nerves, made his heart tremble, and his skin
shrivel up, would you look upon him and then pass him by _without
thinking_?"

"No!" cried Fred in an emphatic tone; "I would not! I would stop and
help him."

"Then, let me ask you," resumed Tom earnestly, "is there any difference
between the weakness of muscle and the faintness of heart which is
produced by disease, and that which is produced by old age, except that
the latter is incurable? Have not these women feelings like other
women? Think you that there are not amongst them those who have `known
better times?' They think of sons and daughters dead and gone, perhaps,
just as other old women in better circumstances do; but they must not
indulge such depressing thoughts, they must re