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 give big cheques? or who draw their income from dilapidated house property or shady financial undertakings, bringing ruin to hundreds, and figure prominently in the philanthropic world. Possibly there are, at the present moment, workpeople in factories, weekly tenants in poor districts, small shareholders in joint-stock companies, who would say with Miss Jellyby, "I wish philanthropy was dead; I hate it and detest it: it's a beast."

It has been necessary to dwell at some length upon this dubious sort of "charity," because we must clear our minds upon the subject. It is, however, after all, only the froth and effervescence which is on the surface, and which, though much greater in volume than it need be, or ought to be, yet is quite insignificant in comparison with another sort of charity which lies deeper down, a charity much more in accordance with the ideals of St Paul.

That charity is not much recognised, certainly not advertised at all, but it is the charity which is felt. It is the sort of charity which takes trouble—which helps lame dogs over stiles, which goes out of its own way to lead blind men over crossings—a thing we may see done almost any day in the streets of London. It may have no money to give, but it does not spare either personal sympathy or personal effort. It begins at home because it believes that its first duty is to itself, the duty, namely, of self-respect. What it considers essential for itself it tries to promote in others. Its next concern is with those immediately around it, those of its own house, its neighbours, its employees, its friends. When it has dealings with those previously unknown to it, it makes neighbours and friends of them, and is satisfied with nothing less. If it has money to give, it does not give simply because it is asked, but because it has satisfied