gage to give nothing to individuals. But how is it
possible to resist the sight of woe? When I give to him who complains
to me of his distress, I at all events see his momentary joy, and may
hope to have comforted him."

"This is the very thing," said the old merchant, "which in all
countries maintains mendicity, that we cannot and will not rid
ourselves of this petty feeling of soft-hearted vanity and mawkish
philanthropy. This it is, at the same time, that renders the better
measures of states abortive and impracticable."

"You are of a different way of thinking from those Swiss whom I have
heard of," said Edward. "It was in a Catholic canton, where an old
beggar had long been in the habit of receiving his alms on stated days,
and, as the rustic solitude did not allow much trade and commerce, was
accounted in almost every house one of the family. It happened however,
that once when he called at a cottage, where the inmates were extremely
busied in attending a woman in labour, in the confusion and anxiety for
the patient, he met with a refusal. When after repeating his request he
really obtained nothing, he turned angrily away, and cried as he
departed, 'Well, I promise you, you shall find I do not come again, and
then you may see where you catch another beggar.'"

All laughed, except Sophia, who would have it the beggar's threat was
perfectly rational, and concluded with these words: "Surely if it were
put out of our power to perform acts of benevolence, our life itself
would become poor enough. If it were possible that the impulse of pity
could die in us, there would be a melancholy prospect for our joy and
our pleasure. The man who is fortunate enough to be able to bestow,
receives more than the poor taker. Alas! it is the only thing," she
added with great emotion, "that can at all excuse and mitigate the
harshness of property, the cruelty of possession, that a part of what
is disproportionately accumulated is dropped upon the wretched
creatures who are pining below us, that it may not be utterly forgotten
we are all brethren."

The father looked at her with a disapproving air, and was on the point
of saying something, when Edward, his beaming eyes fixed on the moist
eyes of the maid, interposed with vehemence: "If the majority of
mankind were of the same way of thinking, we should live in a different
and a better world. We are struck with horror when we read of the
distress that awaits the innocent traveller in