I remember lady tidying up her house, clearing it "of rubbish. She called' it Giving to the Fresh Air|' Fund." Into. the heap of lumber one of her daughters flung a pair of crutches that for'years had been knocking about the house. The lady picket them out again. ' We won't give those away," she said, we mizht want them. One never knows." Another Indy I remember, came downstairs dressed for a fancy ball. I forget the particular charity for which it was being given, but I remember that every ly who sold more than ten tickets received an autograph letter of thanks provi the duchess who was president. The tickets were 12s. 61. each, and included light refreshments, and very substantial supper. One presumes the odd sixpence reached the poor—or rather the noisier portion of them. little décolletée, ian't it, my dew?" suggested a lady friend, as the charitable dancer entered the drawing room. "Perhaps it is little," she admitted, "but we all of us ought to do all we can for the cause, don't you think so, door?"
Really, seeing the amount we give in charity, the wonder is there are any poor loft. "It is a comfort that there are, What should we do without them? Our fur-clad little girls! or jolly, red-faced squires! we should never know how good. they were, but for the poor. Without the poor, how ridiculous it would be! We should have to go about giving each other presents. And friends expect such expensive presents, while a shilling here and there among the poor brings to us all the sensations of a good Samar Providence has been very thoughtful in providing us with poor. Door 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 going to repay you a thousandfold, One "loos hope that you will not be disappointed. Av East-End curate once told me, with a twinkle in his eye, of a smart Indy, who called upon him in her carriage, and insisted on his going round with her to show 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 Indy," said the coachman, "but the carriage won't go down.". The lady sighed. "Tam afraid we shall have to leave it,"
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 tly. 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 doi" 'I would substitute Justice", he answered; there would be no need for Charity." "But itis so delightful to give," Tanswered. ' Yes," he agreed; better to give than to receive." ' I was thinking of the receiver. And my ides! is off, We shall have to work towards it slowly.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.