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again； you have put them down on the wrong side of the book。 I only
hope this sort of thing doesn't occur often。〃
What irritated me as much as anything was the grave； passionless face
the Angel turned upon me。
〃There is no mistake；〃 he answered。
〃No mistake！〃 I cried。 〃Why； you blundering〃
He closed the book with a weary sigh。
I felt so mad with him； I went to snatch it out of his hand。 He did
not do anything that I was aware of； but at once I began falling。
The faint luminosity beneath me grew； and then the lights of London
seemed shooting up to meet me。 I was coming down on the clock tower
at Westminster。 I gave myself a convulsive twist； hoping to escape
it； and fell into the river。
And then I awoke。
But it stays with me： the weary sadness of the Angel's face。 I
cannot shake remembrance from me。 Would I have done better； had I
taken the money I had spent upon these fooleries； gone down with it
among the poor myself； asking nothing in return。 Is this fraction of
our superfluity； flung without further thought or care into the
collection box； likely to satisfy the Impracticable Idealist； who
actually suggestedone shrugs one's shoulders when one thinks of it…
…that one should sell all one had and give to the poor？
＇The Author is troubled concerning his Investments。＇
Or is our charity but a salve to consciencean insurance； at
decidedly moderate premium； in case； after all； there should happen
to be another world？ Is Charity lending to the Lord something we can
so easily do without？
I remember a 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 picked them out again。
〃We won't give those away；〃 she said； 〃they might come in useful
again。 One never knows。〃
Another lady； I remember coming downstairs one evening dressed for a
fancy ball。 I forget the title of the charity； but I remember that
every lady who sold more than ten tickets received an autograph
letter of thanks from the Duchess who was the president。 The tickets
were twelve and sixpence each and included light refreshments and a
very substantial supper。 One presumes the odd sixpence reached the
pooror at least the noisier portion of them。
〃A little decolletee； isn't it； my dear？〃 suggested a lady friend； as
the charitable dancer entered the drawing…room。
〃Perhaps it isa little；〃 she admitted； 〃but we all of us ought to
do all we can for the Cause。 Don't you think so； dear？〃
Really； seeing the amount we give in charity； the wonder is there are
any poor left。 It is a comfort that there are。 What should we do
without them？ Our fur…clad little girls！ our jolly； red…faced
squires！ we should never know how good they were； but for the poor？
Without the poor how could we be virtuous？ We should have to go
about giving to each other。 And friends expect such expensive
presents； while a shilling here and there among the poor brings to us
all the sensations of a good Samaritan。 Providence has been very
thoughtful in providing us with poor。
Dear 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 heaven is going to repay you a thousandfold。 One
does hope you will not be disappointed。
An East…End curate once told me； with a twinkle in his eye； of a
smart lady who called upon him in her carriage； and insisted on his
going round with her to show her 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 lady；〃 said the coachman； 〃but the carriage won't go
down。〃
The lady sighed。
〃I am afraid we shall have to leave it；〃 she said。
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 narrowwide enough only
for little Sister Pity； stealing softly。
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 do？〃
＇And questions a Man of Thought＇
〃I would substitute Justice；〃 he answered； 〃there would be no need
for Charity。〃
〃But it is so delightful to give；〃 I answered。
〃Yes；〃 he agreed。 〃It is better to give than to receive。 I was
thinking of the receiver。 And my ideal is a long way off。 We shall
have to work towards it slowly。〃
CHAPTER II
＇Philosophy and the Daemon＇
Philosophy； it has been said； is the art of bearing other people's
troubles。 The truest philosopher I ever heard of was a woman。 She
was brought into the London Hospital suffering from a poisoned leg。
The house surgeon made a hurried examination。 He was a man of blunt
speech。
〃It will have to come off；〃 he told her。
〃What； not all of it？〃
〃The whole of it； I am sorry to say；〃 growled the house surgeon。
〃Nothing else for it？〃
〃No other chance for you whatever；〃 explained the house surgeon。
〃Ah； well； thank Gawd it's not my 'ead；〃 observed the lady。
The poor have a great advantage over us better…off folk。 Providence
provides them with many opportunities for the practice of philosophy。
I was present at a 〃high tea〃 given last winter by charitable folk to
a party of char…women。 After the tables were cleared we sought to
amuse them。 One young lady； who was proud of herself as a palmist；
set out to study their 〃lines。〃 At sight of the first toil…worn hand
she took hold of her sympathetic face grew sad。
〃There is a great trouble coming to you；〃 she informed the ancient
dame。
The placid…featured dame looked up and smiled：
〃What； only one； my dear？〃
〃Yes； only one；〃 asserted the kind fortune…teller； much pleased；
〃after that all goes smoothly。〃
〃Ah；〃 murmured the old dame； quite cheerfully； 〃we was all of us a
short…lived family。〃
Our skins harden to the blows of Fate。 I was lunching one Wednesday
with a friend in the country。 His son and heir； aged twelve； entered
and took his seat at the table。
〃Well；〃 said his father； 〃and how did we get on at school today？〃
〃Oh； all right；〃 answered the youngster； settling himself down to his
dinner with evident appetite。
〃Nobody caned？〃 demanded his father； withas I noticeda sly
twinkle in his eye。
〃No；〃 replied young hopeful； after reflection； 〃no； I don't think
so；〃 adding as an afterthought； as he tucked into beef and potatoes；
〃'cepting； o' course； me。〃
＇When the Daemon will not work＇
It is a simple science； philosophy。 The idea is that it never
matters what happens to you provided you don't mind it。 The weak
point in the argument is that nine times out of ten you can't help
minding it。
〃No misfortune can harm me；〃 says Marcus Aurelius； 〃without the
consent of the daemon within me。〃
The trouble is our daemon cannot always be relied upon。 So often he