Walk through the unlovely streets where the worker dwells in London. Note the changes that have taken place in them during the past fifty years. Once there were mansions in them, where their employers dwelt. Now these deserted places are let off in tenements, since their former occupants have long ago left them for brighter and wealthier parts of the town. Grim, dirty, and neglected parish churches stand in the midst of graveyards filled with the tumble-down monuments of rich residents whose descendants never visit them, scorning to go east of Temple Bar, even to pay their respects to the tombs of their ancestors. Within these temples of prayer the monuments round the walls tell sadly of better days and a prosperity that contrasts oddly with the decadence of the present. Hard work here for the clergy, with much begging from distant and richer parishes to maintain the services and ministrations of the Church, even in their crippled form. True, money is sent from the West, but where are the workers? The men and women who could help the clergy in a hundred ways to mitigate the evil surroundings? And Lady Millefleurs will have to know, sooner or later, that she has not charity, though she sell all her goods to feed the poor, and give her body to be burned, while she will not give herself a living sacrifice to humanity. How is she to do this? How is she to fulfil the command to sell all she has and give to the poor? Simple enough. Give up Belgrave Square and settle in Bethnal Green! Forsake Tyburnia and dwell in Whitechapel! Then, and not till then, will she follow her Master's commands. Very unpleasant, doubtless; but consider what she would learn. At a great cost she has acquired much human knowledge of a kind, not enough to keep her, perhaps, from falling into the error of the often-quoted lady, who wondered why the poor who could not get bread did not live on those nice twopenny cakes to be had in Bond Street. What good would be done by this retrogression from progress? Just think of a few ways of helping the poor. Look at the East End and suburban vestries, boards of guardians, and public bodies generally. Why are they so corrupt, so hard to move, so gluttonous and backward? That is not far to seek. Consider the mental calibre, the social status, the education and tastes of the men who compose them too generally. The gentry are far away, where they only see the poor as rare and interesting objects on which to bestow Bibles, blankets, soup, and occasional recitations and songs. They spend their days in places where the clergy are compelled to preserve with care a few exotic paupers as specimens, that it may be demonstrated now and then that "the poor ye have always with you." Granny, in her clean cap, white apron, and neat gown, sitting in a well-scrubbed room, reading the Bible with the help of a pair of horn spectacles, by the side of a not depressingly low fire, is all the idea of poverty with which many a high-born lady has any acquaintance. How about "slumming" which Mr. Punch declared recently was so fashionable? There never was very much of it; there is less now, and that doesn't count. It never did the least good, nor was it likely it should. The great wrong done to the poor by the complete alienation of the rich cannot be condoned by spasmodic visits to their wretched homes by ladies and gentlemen, who go to see them as they go to the Zoo; by their occasional presence at the opening of a bazaar for a poor church; nor by the exhibition of their well-appointed equipages to the admiring gaze of the denizens of Tourniquet's Rents. This wrong cannot be remedied by gifts of money, nor by loans of pictures and _objets d'art_.