a girl I would not have my wife seen
with for any amount of money."

My reply was: "I would rather my wife should go through the golden
gates, bearing in her arms the spirit of a poor girl, snatched from
the hell of a harlot's home, than to be the leader of the fashionable
four hundred of New York City."

There is a beautiful story told of one of the most influential and
wealthy men of England. He inherited fame as well as fortune, had an
Oxford education and early in life he was elected a member of
Parliament. One evening he sat in his fine library, watching the wood
fire build its temples of flame around the great andirons, and as he
heard the beating of the wild winter storm against the window pane,
his heart went out to the homeless hungry poor of the city. Ordering
his carriage he went to the city mission and asked for a helper, and
then drove to London Bridge, under the shelter of which the penniless
poor gather in time of storms. He took them two by two to shelter,
gave them food, and cots on which to sleep, and then returned to his
princely home. We are told that for years after, when Parliament would
adjourn at midnight, this young man would go through the slums on his
way home, that he might relieve some poor child of misfortune.

On Sunday afternoons, while aristocracy lined the boulevards, this son
of fortune would take his physician in his carriage and go through the
slums, seeking the sick and suffering. One afternoon, while he stood
outside a tenement door, awaiting the return of the doctor from a
visit to a poor sick soul inside the tenement, he became deeply moved
by the ragged children playing in the gutters and reaching into
garbage barrels for crusts of bread. He said: "Ah! here's the riddle
of civilization. I wish I could help to solve it; perhaps I can."

He began the establishment of "ragged schools" and into these ware
gathered thousands of poor children. Then followed night schools for
boys who had to work by day. To these schools he added homes for
working women, and for these women he persuaded Parliament to give
shorter hours of service. He tore down old rookeries, built neat
dwellings instead, beneath the windows planted little flower gardens,
and rented them to the poor at the same price they had paid for the
rookeries.

When he began to fade, as the leaf fades in its autumn beauty, and the
day of his departure was at hand, he said: "I am sorry to leave the
world with so much misery