who knew her and her father's family, and who owed her a considerable sum of money, was absent on the Continent.
"And have you no home to go to, my good woman?"
"None in the wide world. My children are at a neighbor's. Will you come with me, please, and see them?"
"That we cannot do. We do not doubt you. How much do you owe your landlord?"
"Two pounds, ten. But, then, gentlemen, I do not want the money until you come and see me. I am no beggar. It is only temporary relief I need until Lady Bentine returns."
It appeared to be a case of real distress, and the gentlemen made up the money. In less than a week afterward, the same woman was met under precisely similar circumstances by the late Charles Goodyear, telling the same story, and was relieved in a still larger sum; and that, too, within one hour of the late Charles Morey's having given her, on the door-step of his boarding-house, two pounds sterling upon the same plea.
This case belonged to the class of respectable beggars, represented by broken tradesmen, distressed authors, poor ushers, tidy widows, usually with children in white pinafores, and superannuated clergymen. I once met one of the last in the Edgeware road. He was dressed in black, with bands; his shoes patched, but clean; his coat threadbare, but spotless of dust; his neckcloth and linen scrupulously white; his hat old, but carefully brushed; his face smooth-shaven; his white hair, which fell in long locks on his neck, and his trembling limbs, all making an irresistible appeal—through the senses—to the heart. He said not a word, stood removed from observation, made neither gesture nor movement, and held out in his tremulous hand a slip of paper, on which, in clerical chirography, were written these words,
I AM STARVING.
Let the reader bring the whole scene before him, and he will see that, so long as there is a chance, be it one in a million, that it may be a case of genuine suffering worthy of relief, so long the fraud will be more or less successful.
The vigilance of the police has failed to suppress street begging in London. The exposure of its frauds by the press, in the pulpit, and upon the stage, has been equally unsuccessful. An association, styled the " Missing Link," which, for a time, promised better results, has also failed. One of the street missionaries describes the difficulties to be encountered by the following example:
"I met," he writes, "five-and-thirty cadgers in a room of their own selection, and at their own appointment. They gave me a rough, but hearty welcome. The leading man introduced me.
"'The kind gemmun what comes to talk to we poor people about summut better, is here. I should like you to hear the old buffer. Buster,' addressing a man sitting in a chair, ''cause you know a thing or two. It's regular stunnin', it is; and, what's more, it's cuttin', too. Come, mister, oblige me by giving these gents a stave. Let's hear summut about that young rascal what bolted away from his poor old governor. That's a reg'lar good thing, damme—that is, Buster! Come, my infant, hand over the cushion!'
"The chair was passed to me, and, as I opened my Bible, the Buster remarked, "'Mum's the word, coveys. Smoke your pipes and listen to the gemmun!'
"I said that our friend had spoken of the Prodigal Son. He says he would
