results being everything, the aim nothing. They contend that there is no goodness to be ascribed to the doer of a good deed, unless his motives were pure, whereas the Sage seems to say the motive is unimportant so long as the desired result be reached. To some extent there is a mere playing with words, although, at the same time, there is a distinction of no unimportant nature. But it is to be borne in mind that it was as a statesman he was speaking, not as a moralist. His theory finds in that fact a justification, for the statesman is bound, while not overlooking wrong actions, to judge greatly from the aggregate results, no matter how arrived at.

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The following passages from the same discourse are worthy of close study. "Whether nature is sufficient for the knowledge of these universal duties whether study is necessary to apprehend them, whether the knowledge is arrived at with great difficulty or not-when one has got the knowledge, the result is the same. Whether we practise these duties naturally and without effort, whether we practise them for the sake of get"ting profit and personal advantage from them-when we have succeeded in accomplishing useful works, the result is the same.

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"He who loves study, or the application of his intelligence to the search "of the law of duty, is very near to acquire moral science. He who devotes all his efforts to practise his moral duties is near that devotion to the happiness of man which is called humanity. He who knoms how to blush for "his weakness in the practice of his duties is very near to acquire the force of "mind necessary to their accomplishment.

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"So soon as the prince shall have well regulated and improved himself, straightway the universal duties will be accomplished towards him. So soon as he shall have learnt to revere wise men, straightway he will have no "longer any doubt about the principles of truth and falsehood, of good and "evil; so soon as his parents shall be the objects of the affection which is "due to them, straightway there will be no more discussions between his uncles, his elder brothers and his younger brothers; so soon as he shall "treat, as it becomes him, secondary functionaries and magistrates, the "doctors and literary men will zealously acquit themselves of their duties in "the seminaries; so soon as he shall love and treat the people as his son, the "people will be drawn to imitate its superior; so soon as he shall have drawn "about him all the savans and the artists, his wealth will be advantageously spent; so soon as he shall entertain agreeably the men who come from a distance, straightway will men from the four ends of the empire flock in "crowds into his state, to receive part in his benefits; so soon as he shall treat "with kindness his great vassals, straightway he will be respected throughout "the whole empire.'

Let it be granted that there is a certain crabbedness about this style of composition, still, with all its oddities, which cannot even be got rid of in a translation (and should not be), there is something in it of the genuine stamp. It is the utterance of a man who has the moral courage to tell what he knows; to teach that which he profoundly believes, and if statesmen of modern ages in China and in Europe would only dare to speak as plainly to the princes they serve as Confucius did, there would not be one tithe of the confusion and misery which are now so prevalent in the world. Upon one occasion he mourned over the fact that kings are deceived by their ministers, and this in language which shows the modern man amid the ancient people. He said, 'Such is the condition of kings in our day; they are deceived by 'those in whom they place most confidence. I console myself by thinking

'that no part of my conduct has provoked this disgrace, and that I can be useful in other places besides Choo.'

We close this paper with the few words of advice he gave to King Gae Kung. Be just, be disinterested. Justice respects no one; it gives to all 'their due. Disinterestedness leads to equity; when we are biassed, we cease to be just. If we take anything from our inferiors, under whatever title, we commit a theft upon them. Four times a year, in each season, convene the people, and explain to them in person their duties. A few words from you will be a spur to their attention. Let them never want instruction, for how can they be chargeable with the neglect of what they do not ' understand?'

P. W. P.

CHARITY AND THE CLAIMS OF THE POOR.

A LECTURE BY THE EDITOR.

THERE are not many features more remarkable in the old soldier than the way in which, when fortune favours him with an attentive listener, he fights his battles over again. There was a period in his life when he cared not to dwell minutely upon the things he had done, and what he had witnessed in the fearful scenes through which, in comparative security, he had passed. That was when the colour of the blood remained fresh to his eye, when the smell of the death-sending powder was yet in his nostrils, and the sound of artillery still rang in his ears. The events were all too horrible and recent to be spoken of with composure; and at that time the brave warrior sought rather to wipe them from his memory, than, by means of frequent repetition, to render their vividness more vivid.

I remember listening for a long time to the story of an old seaman-sitting beneath one of the trees in Greenwich Park, while he told of the battles through which he had passed. In refinement of mind and general intellectual power he was superior to his class. He became so much excited by the narrative, that, although having a wooden leg, he rose from his seat and went through a variety of motions, all of them aiding him in his narrative, which was remarkably clear. On my inquiring if he had always felt as much pleasure in telling his story, if, immediately after his return home, he was so ready to relate the painful part of his adventures, he answered, that he was not; and added, "Why, you know, it made me so sick-like to talk about it "then, that I talked more about the places and men I had seen, than about "the battles! Time had toned down his perception of the horrors through which he had passed, had blotted many of the most revolting features from his memory; but had not impaired his powers of description in relation to the more stirring and less painful events. It was evident that, aided by the toning down, the farther he was removed, in time, from the scenes through which he had passed, the more pleasure he found in speaking of them.

In many particulars, that old man fairly represents society at large, which, as a rule, is careful in avoiding the discussion of great tragedies in their detail; and will not dwell upon the minuter features of any recent catastrophe. Ancient horrors it readily studies. No student complains of the minuteness with which Thucydides describes the plague of Athens; and it is marvellous with what composure some tender-hearted men can sit down and read the

histories of the plagues and famines which desolated Europe in the Middle Ages. But if in the hearing of those very men the cholera, or the Irish famine and pestilence, be named, they are utterly prostrated, and seem to be incapable of avoiding the manifestation of painful emotions. It may be, that they had witnessed some of the agonising scenes connected with those calamities-it may be, that their relatives or friends were swept away by them; and hence, their recal to the memory becomes painful. But even if it be so, it is a thing which must be done. Those events may have a meaning in them, and be rich in instruction, as I believe all of them to be. And such being the case, the claims of the future press themselves earnestly upon our attention. We must keep our faces courageously towards the facts in all their painful detail, until we have learned their deeper meaning, and the law of duty which they prescribe.

We, in this Metropolis, have recently sustained a great disaster, and the want and suffering through which so many fellow-citizens have passed, demand our attention. The winter has been remarkable, not more so for its intense cold, than for the revelation it has furnished of the actual condition of our working population. Many of our gay youths who had so anxiously desired to have a protracted and severe frost; so that, the rivers being bound up, they might glide with lightning speed over their surface, were filled with terror when they saw the cost-price of their enjoyment. To their honour be it spoken, thousands among them would have gladly surrendered all their skating pleasures, for this and for all future seasons, if by doing so, they could have purchased for the poor a perfect immunity from the repetition of such sufferings as those they were then enduring. Many of those unto whom I speak, saw some of the painful scenes presented at the Metropolitan Police Courts, when the starving crowds were collected together under the impression of there being a chance of obtaining enough, as a dole, to purchase the bread which would keep body and soul together: and, whoever saw them, will never forget those scenes. Thousands of human beings were there assembled, in the hope of obtaining even a small share of the bounty which the generous had placed at the disposal of the magistrates; and, only they who witnessed the eagerness of the crowd, can form any idea of what their hunger-pains must have been. As my object this evening demands it, I shall briefly recall some of the scenes to your memory.

It was one afternoon in January,* at three o'clock in the afternoon, that the large gates of the Thames Police Court were thrown open to permit the entrance of a crowd, which, for many hours, had been assembled on the outside. Fearful was the rush that instantly followed. By every one in that crowd the greatest anxiety was manifested to obtain, at least a sixpence, wherewith to purchase food for the wives and little ones who sat cold and hunger-smitten at home. Never in their experience, even in presence of an angry crowd, had the officers of the court a more difficult task than while they were engaged in admitting, and preventing injuries being sustained by, those who were present. So great was the rush that many had their clothes torn to shreds, and others were injured; though, happily, none seriously. All the officers performed their duty with that good humour and consideration that marks the conduct of the Englishman when in presence of sorrow and suffering. They led the expectant ones in batches of ten or twelve at a time to the usher's room, where, after being hastily questioned, they received a measure of relief. Mr. Livingstone performed his task kindly

* Vide Times, January 16.

and speedily, giving sixpence each to one hundred men; one shilling each to nine hundred; two shillings each to two hundred, and some few of them received half-a-crown. Then the means were exhausted. Two hundred women applied, but there was nothing for them; they were ordered to attend again on the following day, bringing letters of recommendation from persons who knew them, when their cases would be attended to. Thus, although put off, they had some hope for the morrow; but the hundreds of poor men who went away empty-handed had none to rely upon.

On the following day, according as the magistrate had desired, the women came. As early as noon above one thousand had assembled, the majority of whom were thinly and scantily clad; all were suffering under the oppression of cold and hunger; and, in many cases, so horribly does want pinch and contract the features, it was difficult to believe they were women who stood there. Until three o'clock they continued to stand in Arbour Street, which was completely blocked up, there being about two thousand at that hour; but the doors of the station were opened, and they gathered in the yard. During the day above one thousand recommendatory letters were sent in, all of which had to be examined. It was not until five o'clock that the relieving process began. By that hour the number of shivering creatures exceeded three thousand, and as long as the money lasted they were received in batches of twenty, but only about five hundred obtained what they sought-relief from one to five shillings each. All the others had to go penniless away, and, as the reporter adds, "the grief and anguish of those who could not obtain anything was really painful." *

And who marvels at their anguish, while remembering what weather it was, and that some of those "daughters of heaven" had been waiting in the piercing cold through more than six hours, hoping to obtain something for their children? But "poorly clothed," for many of them, days before, had sold or pawned articles of clothing in order to obtain a small supply of bread for their families; and thus had added to the pangs of hunger, the bitterness of not being shielded from cold. Who can pretend adequately to conceive what their sufferings were in all their intensity, physical, maternal, and mental? And they were not rough, strong men; hard as it is to gaze upon a group of three thousand hungry men, it may be borne; but these were women who were thus suffering and waiting. All of them had been pretty little smiling babes who were folded and fondled in a mother's arms with as deep affection and tenderness as the mightiest and purest Queen had fondled her little ones. They had grown up in mute wonder amid the marvels of creation and life; until, at length, the majority, with hearts full of hope, had wedded and hoped, had worked and striven their best-not always in the wisest way, more commonly the unwisest, but still their best-to make the threads of life hold together. And, after all their hoping and striving, it had come to this— that they were to stand, or rather, for the sake of warmth, to be huddled together, only half-clad, outside a police-office door for hours waiting-too many of them only in the vain hope-to get enough to buy a little bread.

It was a sight to make the most stubborn doctrinaire yield a tear; it was a scene to melt the heart of the sternest. What the great spirits of England who now look down from their everlasting home upon the land for which they bled, could think of it, who shall say? With all the difficulties of the olden times, there never was anything like that. And apologise for it, or explain it, however men please, it will stand as a burning disgrace to England, that

*Times January 17.

three thousand half-clad women had to wait outside a police-office door,. through six hours, in one of the coldest winters ever known, to stand their chance of obtaining as much as would buy a quartern loaf of bread; and that above a thousand of them had to leave without getting the miserable supply.

We easily collect hundreds of thousands of pounds, from rich and poor, every year, in order to send missionaries and 'the Gospel to the heathen.' How much heathenism have we left untended at home! It would be impossible, in any savage land, to equal that scene, however ignorant and coarse the people might be. And did the heathen but know, in all its details, this story of the poor in London during the frost of 1860, when our missionaries reached the scene of their labour, they would be questioned in such a way, that their cheeks would burn with shame, and their tongues cleave to the roof of their mouths; especially when the savages bade them-as they certainly would do--return to humanise and improve the systems under which, in their native land, such a state of things had become possible. For the untutored child of nature would look only at the naked facts, and could not understand the methods by means of which civilised and religious men manage to account for such scenes so as to avoid self-reproach.

Some of the instances of individual suffering which were mentioned in the police-courts, were of the most appalling nature. Not desiring to harrow your feelings too acutely, I abstain from citing the worst cases, but must mention a few. Here is one. On a Monday in January, Edis, an officer of Worship-street, brought forward a journeyman shoemaker, whose case he had that morning inquired into. The man lived somewhere near Hackney, and on the previous day had written a letter to the worthy magistrate, in which he spoke of his wife and three children.' Now, however, he spoke only of the children, one of whom he expected to be dead before he reached home. Edis stated that when visiting the man he saw as distressing a scene as could 'well be witnessed. The family were all in one wretchedly-furnished room; 'the father was busy mending a shoe, being the first job he had had for some 'time past. There were two children, who were devouring some bread and coffee; and while on one side lay stretched the dead body of his wife, 'covered over with a sheet, on the other, on two chairs, by a mere handful of fire, lay a child, seemingly little more than a year old, gasping and struggling, and evidently in the agonies of death. He knew not the nature of its disease, but the parish doctor had given it up as hopeless. The wife had been ill eight months; she was consumptive. The parish, however, ' had agreed to bury her.'*

'

Thanks to the parish officials, they would at least bury their dead! But what of that child-what of that father? The "Song of the Shirt" touched all our hearts, but what if poor Hood had been living now to write the "Song " of the Shoe ?" Sitting down, mending a shoe! amid that wretchedness and misery. A dead wife, a dying child, and no outlook, in this God's universe, beyond the profit to be derived from mending that shoe! The stolid heroism of that man is not to be easily matched. I can personally pledge you that it was not indifference. And hence it has something about it of a fearful cast, which either indicates a dumbness of the speaking soul, or a power of self-possession not shared by many of his class. Let us hope that he will be able to banish its sadness and agony from his memory.

(To be continued.)

*The Times, Jan, 8,