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6 Worth Womans While Our Unfortunates. HE .action last week of those in author ity in this city anent the growing nui sance of the beggar element, sets us all thinking. We had thought before; but seeing never any solution to the prob lem, put away our disquietude and soothed our perplexity always with the reflection that this is a charitable peo ple, and the burden, if it could not T be relieved would just be borne. We refer to the unfortunate mendicants —the crippled, the blind, the physically or mentally disabled from whatever cause—who solicit alms upon our streets, and who, we fear, are in danger of being confused with the common vagrant. Holding that there is as distinct a line between the two as between the millionaire controller of public interests and the day laborer, we venture to raise a voice in behalf of those whom we cannot regard other than with sympathy and compassion, as victims of misfortune or circum stance, or—as we are constrained to believe—- creatures, most of them, of heredity, suffering from the accumulated weaknesses of generations, the de crepit and enfeebled exponent body and mind of other peoples’ shortcomings and wrong-doing. Even for the vagrant who, as such, has been leg islated against and maligned and pursued, and just ly, perhaps, we have a genuine and deep pity. Dis inclination is as much a mental and moral disguise as the unconquerable desire to thieve—kleptoma nia being an outbreaking offense is restrained through laws of the land and of respectability; dis inclination, in too many cases the birthmark of de generacy, is allowed to grow upon the individual born with its ineradicable seeds, a moral pervert in the eyes of society, in reality the unresisting victim of congenital weakness. How far culpable, how far responsible, may be a subject for the psy chologists—that he is not a normal being he is in himself sufficient and unassailable proof. If so much can be said for the individual who, peripathetic, uses only his le2s in the endeavor he makes to get a living out of the world, or, worse even, fastens himself a very sloth to that branch of the family tree nearest to him, strangling its life as a leech would suck its blood, what must we not feel for those who have lost eyes or limbs or the power of speech, or who never had the modicum of talent they were born with trained to even the meanest money value? Creatures who, having no choice must take what life offers and when their claims are forgotten or slighted, have nothing left but to sink themselves and their misfortunes down and deeper down into the very abyss of humilia tion—the level of beggar. A clergyman to whom many of us owe the debt of instruction is wont to say that none are beggars from choice, that they are such is hard lot enogh; and never does one appeal to him in vain, never is his eye turned coldly away or his pocket closed to the need of a fellow creature. In Arabia they have a saying: i 1 Begging is an easy trade only the standing at the door is tiresome.” Tiresome I Aye, what weariness of mind and soul as well as body it must be—can we even conjecture it? In the daily path of some of us in this city is a figure so famil iar, so quiet and unobtruding, we pass it by uncon scious half the time. It is that of a man sightless, patient, unasking, mutely holding his tin cup for the coin charity may drop into it—listening and waiting for one out of the hurryying throng to pause and turn his way. And as the hundreds and hundreds come by, some with step eager and buoyant, some thoughtful and burdened, some lag ging with age or infirmity, how his heart must bound with expectancy, and then sink down with disap pointment as all pass on, suceeded by others as un- The Golden Age for April 12, 1906 By FLORENCE TUCKER thinking, as unseeing. It appears to us not the cold and wet of winter nor the heat of summer, not dis comfort of the hard curbstone nor the dust and grime of the street, were to be compared with the hardness of this other, the carelessness and indiffer ence of the whole world of health and unimpaired faculty. To hear the feet coming, to know that re lief for hunger and necessities of life is within a hand’s reach, to hold out the mute, appealing cup and hear no friendly chink of metal, only the sound of footsteps that have passed on—this, and the consciousness borne in a hundred times a day that the world is too busy with its own concerns to mind the poor beggar. What marvel that his face wears that look of unutterable patience! And what uncon scious rebuke it is to us whose unkindness has wrought it there I But if the blind man is sad, how infinitely sadder must be the reflections of those who see, the poor crippled or deaf and dumb, who offer us their pen cils or shoestrings or soap—anything to turn an honest penny and raise them above the level of mendicant—and receive hardly so much as a mo tion of the head in refusal. The indifference which, with the blind, is only felt, with them is accentu ated—they see as well as feel. It is past comprehension how indifferent we be come, how callous, how unobservant; absorbed, per haps, even in plans for charities here and yonder, giving to this, working for that, talking, soliciting, appealing—and walking right past, brushing up against the neediest objects of all, closing our eyes to the opportunities that have been put in our way. We have away, some of us, of wanting to go out and find opportunities for doing good, not seeing those that have been made ready for us, placed at our very door. Not that any charity, any dollar, or generous thought, even, is ever misplaced; it is only that we go over the heads of those nearest to us to do for others instead of beginning at home— beginning in the center of the circle and working outward. We doubt if ever there was a beggar from choice —one who left free in the beginning to choose, de liberately ostracized himself, cut himself off from the privileges dear even to the meanest citizen, to become a reproach to his kind. Did we take the trou ble to go back we would find in, we believe it is safe to say, every instance, circumstances which, if not from our view-point, extenuating, would be found at least explanatory, going to show how from one cause or other these unfortunates were driven to the level the very lowest man can know. In most eases, of course, there is physical infirmity, de formity, loss by accident or other misfortune. And those suffering from what we have termed disincli nation are, while showing limbs and senses appar ently intact, as surely the victims of fate. They have not in individual cases the benefit of science as have the sufferers from the “lazy sickness” in the West Indies, or the “sleeping sickness” in Africa, to prove the genuineness of their affliction, but their ailment is none the less real. Purblind is a word we none of us like; but char ity is that. We have the desire to do good, but the short vision; we do not look far beyond what of fends us. For it does offend to be confronted on every thoroughfare by a man with only stumps for legs, or one who has been horribly burned, or has an incurable disease of the face. We turn sick and look away, hurrying on to put the sight behind us. Beggars, we say, are a nuisance; the authorities should not permit it. Well, what has made them beggars? And what keeps them such? And just how far can we give ourselves credit that no railway accident has maim ed us, no heredity entailed upon us disease? That we have soundness of body and mind we owe to the goodness of heaven; that the fortune of our en- vironment has resulted in faculties trained to inde pendence and domination is but in part our doing, if not all. On what grounds do we hold ourselves so far aloof from our fellow creature that we would call the officer of the law to bid him move on out of our sight and our way? How far have we look ed in this matter? What is the meaning of charity, anyway? To our thinking the law should be invoked, and afflicted mendicants of all people kept off the streets, but in another way than any we have known practiced. That they must live on charity ought to be enough; to be forced to publicly beg were hu miliation too utter and too cruel. If charity is plainly their only means of support, why not make it organized and compulsory—the state or municipality taxed for the keeping of these peo ple, and they required to occupy the home provided for them? Such a home could be largely self-sus taining, and its establishment would be the most humane way possible out of a trouble that seems to be growing. The first consideration is our own obligation, the provision of the home, which should afford means of employment suited to the capabili ties of the inmates—to be rescued from idleness were a salvation comparable only with that which delivers the soul. We do not believe the most help less would be found averse to doing something, the thing they could best do. And what a boon, what a panacea, what a making over of their days, their lives. No order of home that charity has yet founded, no almshouse, meets the need of this particular people, the peculiar charge of the whole world. Misfortune has its own claims; weakness appeals to strength, and the divine plan seems to have been that the strong must carry the weak. Though who would complain at that?—for who would not rather carry than be carried, and bless Heaven for his fate? The trouble with us is, we do not think. A little suffices for a poor man, a very little if he live in a company, a home—the expense per capita of any of the “homes” is amazingly small—and the rich are not often unwilling to divide in a reasonable amount. All they need is to have matter properly presented to them. All that any of us need along this line is just to think right and see far enough. One who is no more, who lives only in the ex ample and influence which are as live as when she was here, taught us in youth a lesson which can never be unlearned or forgotten. Never was a human creature asking alms turned away from her door - rather would she' give to an hundred unworthy than turn one away unfed and worthy. It was little she gave—took little from her own store food, drink and kindness; l—t there went with it from her to her unfortunate neighbor the feeling of brotherhood, of helpfulness and pity, and if he went not on his way relieved of his necessities, at least he went not hungry that day, and the world seemed to him kinder and pleasanter. The “littles” go a long way—the indulgence of a little charitable thought, the unrestrained im pulse to give just a little. If all could be directed together how different life would be to how many sad and unhappy and suffering souls! This city in which we live has the name of the most charitable of any we know, so much so that it is a common thing for the poor and needy to be sent here from other cities in the neighboring states, the authori ties furnishing them with transportation and in structing them that here they will find kindness and help. It is a beautiful reputation for a place to have and we could wish that instead of taking steps to clear the town of beggars, as they are harshly call ed, the movement were in another direction along the line we have suggestd. That they should be pushed off veie unworthy of us as a community and as a thinking people.