ing, whenever
philanthropy takes the _guise_ of philanthropy, look out. Confine your
philanthropy--you can't do it entirely, but as much as you can--confine
your philanthropy to the _motive_. It's the temptation of
philanthropists to set aside the natural constitution of society
wherever it seems out of order, and substitute some philanthropic
machinery in its place. It's all wrong, Richling. Do as a good doctor
would. Help nature."

Richling looked down askance, pushed his fingers through his hair
perplexedly, drew a deep breath, lifted his eyes to the Doctor's again,
smiled incredulously, and rubbed his brow.

"You don't see it?" asked the physician, in a tone of surprise.

"O Doctor,"--throwing up a despairing hand,--"we're miles apart. I don't
see how any work could be nobler. It looks to me"-- But Dr. Sevier
interrupted.

"--From an emotional stand-point, Richling. Richling,"--he changed his
attitude again,--"if you _want_ to be a philanthropist, be
cold-blooded."

Richling laughed outright, but not heartily.

"Well!" said his friend, with a shrug, as if he dismissed the whole
matter. But when Richling moved, as if to rise, he restrained him.
"Stop! I know you're in a hurry, but you may tell Reisen to blame me."

"It's not Reisen so much as it's the work," replied Richling, but
settled down again in his seat.

"Richling, human benevolence--public benevolence--in its beginning was
a mere nun on the battle-field, binding up wounds and wiping the damp
from dying brows. But since then it has had time and opportunity to
become strong, bold, masculine, potential. Once it had only the
knowledge and power to alleviate evil consequences; now it has both the
knowledge and the power to deal with evil causes. Now, I say to you,
leave this emotional A B C of human charity to nuns and mite societies.
It's a good work; let them do it. Give them money, if you can."

"I see what you mean--I think," said Richling, slowly, and with a
pondering eye.

"I'm glad if you do," rejoined the Doctor, visibly relieved.

"But that only throws a heavier responsibility upon strong men, if I
understand it," said Richling, half interrogatively.

"Certainly! Upon strong spirits, male or female. Upon spirits that can
drive the axe low down into the causes of things, again and again and
again, steadily, patiently, until at last some great evil towering above
them totters and falls crashing to the earth, to be cut to pieces and
burned i