the heavier he is handicapped. He works with a will, remembering the rest that follows labour; but the harder he works, the less chance has he of rest. He scrapes and saves for the days of weakness that are coming; but the more he earns, the more he is mulcted of his earnings.

If we would raise the working-man, we must house him; and we shall never succeed in housing him until we have given the authorities power to say to the landlord

"Your land is wanted by the community. You may do two things with it, but not a third. You may build on it; you may let us build on it; but you shall not leave it alone."

CHAPTER IX

SOUP-TICKET PHILANTHROPY

DISTRICT visiting is not what it used to be. The amiable and incapable young person, who fluttered from door to door with a basket of material food in one hand and a bundle of spiritual food in the other, is gone for Her place has been taken by the "worker." That name has its disadvantages. Young Darwin waylaid me one Monday, smiling all over his body. "I've told Jim about your Workers' Meeting," he said.

ever.

"Who is Jim?" I asked.

"My big brother. 'E's a worker, if you like." "Where does he work?”

"Millwall Dock. Earns twenty-four bob a week, Jim does."

"But, my dear boy," I murmured faintly, remembering my wife and the drawing-room carpet, "the meeting is for parish helpers-district visitors, Sunday School teachers, and so on."

Young Darwin regarded me with ill-concealed contempt: "Parish 'elpers? Wy, you said it was for workers."

But there are other objections to the modern "worker" much more serious than her name. She is extremely up-to-date; she is very conscientious; she is careful to the point of cunning; she is diplomatic to the point of duplicity; yet she is not a success. She lacks love.

Tact can do much; love can do all. To say the exact thing at the exact moment; to smile when irritated; to speak sweetly when angry; to whittle down strong condemnation into faint praise: so much tact can accomplish, and does. But it is a terribly dangerous weapon for the use of any but the wisest. In the East End it has wrought an inconceivable amount of mischief, destroying the possibility of free intercourse, clouding with suspicion the most hopeful enterprises, casting up walls of cold granite between souls which should have enjoyed happy communion, and teaching the poor to cover their raging wrath with a wretched assumption of meekness.

What the East End wants is love; what the East End is ready to give, in return, is love. People upon whom argument, moral suasion, even bribery, are absolutely lost, who are totally unimpressed by cautious cleverness or studied openness, are amenable to this mysterious force. Love is the reward of those who never forget the sufferings of the poor although they may forget their sins, and who never allow tact to blunt the edge of their sympathy, or cowardice their sense of justice. To inspire reverence in the irreverent, tenderness in the hardened, enthusiasm in the indifferent, trust in the faithless, love in the loveless, is the business of love, and of love alone.

The up-to-date worker has somehow fallen flat. Her

condescension is so condescending.

She can never

forget herself. She is everlastingly remembering what is due to her position. She is always very religious, yet she is not religious enough. She makes long prayers; yet she would as little think of using the word "God" or "Christ" in her visits among the poor as she would of using that of "Zeus" or "Aphrodite." These are for the church, not for the home; for the confessional, not for the front parlour. She will talk glibly of the value of thrift, of fresh air, of a sound education; but the watchwords of religion, "salvation," "redemption," "fatherhood," those battle-cries of the soul which have plucked many a brand from the burning, are ignored by her. This may be due in part to constitutional shyness, to the fear of obtruding sacred things into trivial conversation; but I cannot help thinking that it arises almost wholly from the professional view the up-to-date worker takes of her work. She can organise a demonstration, run a "treat" or a tea-meeting, sit for hours on boards, committees and sub-committees; but she shrinks from admitting the canaille to a share of her loftiest emotions, and is devoutly thankful that in her Father's house are many mansions.

Miss Granville's relations, as Mrs. Trotters once confidentially informed me, were "upper." One of her uncles, it seems, was a peer; another, an M.P. Her cousin had been a Lord Mayor. She herself was a holy woman, much given to good works; but her family was her weakness. Some one once addressed her as Miss Granvile, omitting an "1," and thus innocently suggesting a connection with the well-known sausagemakers. The lady's saintly face was distorted with fury; and she punished herself for her unseemly anger

by limiting herself to two crusts for her daily dinner duri ng the whole of Lent.

Yet, in her pitifully narrow way, Miss Granville's ambition was to be loved by the poor. Try as she might, however, she could not win their affection. The reason was not far to seek: she felt herself to be among them, but not of them; and they, for their part, were acutely conscious of the distinction. She could be

charming to them because she supposed herself to be separated from them by an impassable social gulf; but to those whom she suspected of being on an equality with herself, or of claiming to be, she could be as cutting as the east wind.

We gave a party, one evening, to the poorest of our folk-it was, of course, long before we came to Millwalland Miss Granville was invited "to meet a few friends." Instantly all her family pride rose up in arms. The thought of the peer, the M.P., and the Lord Mayor was too much for her. She sent a polite but decided refusal. We spent a charming evening in our drawingroom, our dear people thoroughly enjoying themselves; and when we broke up, we felt we had got nearer to each other than ever before.

"So sorry you couldn't come yesterday," observed my wife, on meeting the great lady next day.

"I was otherwise engaged," was the stiff reply. "A pity! I wanted to introduce you. The poor dears had such a happy time. They looked so nice in their best bibs and tuckers."

Miss Granville's pale face flushed crimson. There was a moment of utter bewilderment; then, suddenly, she turned ashy pale, and, forgetful of all discretion, stam

mered

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