But Aikin wanted no such spur. He communicated concisely Paulina's condition and wants; and, knowing that Finley's conscience was of the sluggish order, he tried to rouse it by recalling vividly to his remembrance the past—the days of Paulina's innocence and beauty, and Finley's devotion to her. But Finley slurred it over like a long-forgotten dream, that would not afford the slightest basis for a claim upon his charity.
"She is in a shocking condition, to be sure, Aikin," he said; "but, then, I make it an invariable rule never to give but to those that I know to be worthy."
"There is much to be done for our fellow-creatures, Finley, besides giving gifts to the worthy."
"Oh, I know that; and I subscribe liberally to several of our institutions."
"But will you do nothing towards encouraging this poor, homeless, friendless creature to repentance and reformation?"
"Pshaw! Aikin, they never reform."
"If that is true, a part of the sin must lie at our doors, who afford them no helps. But there is no time to discuss this: Paulina, I fear, will not be able to prove her sincerity. She has, it seems to me, but little while to live; if I can save her from the police, I shall try hard to keep her where she is, that her little remnant of life may be spent with her old friends, who will care for her body and soul."
"Oh, wel, if you really think she is going to make a die of it, I am willing to give you something for her."
Finley took out his pocketbook, and after, as
