o Abraham. In eighteenth-century England, supernatural
stupidity and dulness of a degree that must have been difficult to
attain, were held to be feminine virtues--indeed, they are so still--and
authors, who are always among the most servile followers of public
opinion, fashioned their puppets accordingly. Nowadays 'slumming' is the
most applauded virtue, and so all our best heroines go slumming, and are
'good to the poor.'"

"How useful 'the poor' are," remarked MacShaughnassy, somewhat abruptly,
placing his feet on the mantelpiece, and tilting his chair back till it
stood at an angle that caused us to rivet our attention upon it with
hopeful interest. "I don't think we scribbling fellows ever fully grasp
how much we owe to 'the poor.' Where would our angelic heroines and our
noble-hearted heroes be if it were not for 'the poor'? We want to show
that the dear girl is as good as she is beautiful. What do we do? We
put a basket full of chickens and bottles of wine on her arm, a fetching
little sun-bonnet on her head, and send her round among the poor. How do
we prove that our apparent scamp of a hero is really a noble young man at
heart? Why, by explaining that he is good to the poor.

"They are as useful in real life as they are in Bookland. What is it
consoles the tradesman when the actor, earning eighty pounds a week,
cannot pay his debts? Why, reading in the theatrical newspapers gushing
accounts of the dear fellow's invariable generosity to the poor. What is
it stills the small but irritating voice of conscience when we have
successfully accomplished some extra big feat of swindling? Why, the
noble resolve to give ten per cent of the net profits to the poor.

"What does a man do when he finds himself growing old, and feels that it
is time for him to think seriously about securing his position in the
next world? Why, he becomes suddenly good to the poor. If the poor were
not there for him to be good to, what could he do? He would be unable to
reform at all. It's a great comfort to think that the poor will always
be with us. They are the ladder by which we climb into heaven."

There was silence for a few moments, while MacShaughnassy puffed away
vigorously, and almost savagely, at his pipe, and then Brown said: "I can
tell you rather a quaint incident, bearing very aptly on the subject. A
cousin of mine was a land-agent in a small country town, and among the
houses on his list was a fine old mansi