uncertain, but she met them in one brief, instan- | lookers-on, (but what did that signify?) he comtaneous look of recognition; she had her reward—menced his story. the strong patient heart had not so suffered and so waited for nothing. It had waited for death, and death had come; but with it, nay in it, the presence, the assurance, the pledge of Life. Once "It is certainly the most remarkable instance of fortitude that ever came under my notice. or twice I could almost have fancied that she did not feel acutely; but women are such puzzles! It is sometimes impossible to surprise them into "And she is really well enough to undertake an exhibition of feeling by any means or at any such a journey?" "Yes, indeed, Ellen, I think so; otherwise I would have interposed to prevent her going. It is a week, you know, since she was able to come down stairs, and I am sure change of scene will be good for her." moment; and then you may be sure that there is something within so deep and so strong that it has been necessary to set a guard over it who can't sleep at his post. Closed windows and iron bars are symptoms that there is madness inside. Well, you know that she went to the funeral; that heavyfeatured cousin of hers was there with her, crying heartily the whole time. I suppose it was very sympathizing of her, and all that, but I own I could have beaten her for it. And then, after the funeral, she, I mean Ida, of course, was ill-and I was provoked with myself that I had let her go. I ought not to have done it." 66 "Nonsense, my love. A man can always man One of the regular medical common-places, and as shallow as it is common. Change of scene is useful enough to those who are suffering from what is technically called " worry of spirits," from overexertion, from habitual anxiety, from discouragement, from any one of the numerous degrees of that scale which begins with discomfort and mounts up to positive unhappiness. But where there is a Perhaps you could not have prevented it," deep, calm, strong regret not a pain in, but a part suggested Ellen, who did not like to hear him of the soul-an anguish open-eyed, brave and stead-blame himself even for a passing moment. fast; conscious of its own reality, resigned to its own necessity, patient, ceaseless, everlasting-age a woman, and has always a right to do so, as circumstances can only avail to vex and irritate, I hope you don't mean to dispute. That is, if he time only to conceal it. To such an one there is is a sensible man, and her friend. Much more, neither the power nor the possibility of change; of course, her husband; but that, you know, is the veil which a score of years may weave around for your private consideration." the secret thought, and which may fold so thickly, and lie so closely, as utterly to conceal the existence of what it covers, only acts as a shrine around a relic, preserving it from all pollution or defacement, and keeping it fresh in color and sharp in outline as when first deposited within its guardianship. What the heart only remembers it may also in time forget; what it possesses belongs to it forever. "Did any one go with her?" "There, sit down and take off your bonnet, Ellen, and I will tell you all about it. I have some pity upon a woman's curiosity when I know there is genuine sympathy at the bottom of it." The young wife did as she was desired, and looked up questioningly into her husband's face. It was not a very movable or interesting countenance; it had all the real stoicism and external sweetness which a long apprenticeship to that very trying profession of surgery seldom fails to teach a man; but it was always, to her, the noblest and most engrossing subject of contemplation, and just now there was moisture in the eyes, and an unusual pliancy about the lips, and she thought it the very incarnation of benignity. He passed his hand caressingly over her smoothly-ordered hair; it gave her a world of trouble to braid and band those tresses round her shapely head in such a manner as satisfied her vanity and suited his taste, yet she was never so well pleased with them as when his awkward touch had disarranged them. After a mute exchange of looks, a language perfectly intelligible to the lookers, and mere gibberish to the "But what could you have done, Henry?" persisted the wife, smiling as she put her hand into his with a kind of silent understood pledge that no management could be necessary where there would never be any resistance. "Turned the key upon her, to be sure," replied the unceremonious Henry, "and trusted to her good sense to thank me for it afterwards, or not, as the case might be. But she deceived me. I fancied her body equal to her mind, and it was the body which gave way at last. Youth and strength have enabled her to shake it off.” "And your care, and good treatment of the case," interposed Ellen resentfully. "That of course. Say that to anybody who asks you, my dear. Oh Ellen! It was a rich treat! If I had not been so sorry for her, I could have roared with laughter." "With laughter! What can you mean?" And her face expressed an amazement which almost bordered upon disapproval. "To see the intense discomfiture of that coxcomb cousin, whom I utterly abominate. While she was ill, he spoke of their engagement as a matter of certainty; I am bound in charity to believe that he was self-deceived; but I think in my heart that even his enormous vanity scarcely.extended so far. He thought, so I conjecture, that she was a mere child in character, wholly in the power of any one who could speak a few soft words to her, and now more especially so, as having lost her natural guardian, and belonging as a matter of right to him and to his father. He thought he had the whole game in his own hands-that he had her in a net-that she had no escape. No other view can account for so clever a man's so entirely committing himself. She, poor child, never gave him a thought; but as she began to recover composure, and power of comprehension, it seemed to me that she ought not to be any longer ignorant of the manner in which her name was being used. You know I am a very plain-spoken person-it was no use to trust so delicate a matter in the hands of the gentle Agnes, who, between ourselves, has not much more mental grace or agility than a lame cow-so I spoke to her myself." "You did!" exclaimed Helen, with true womanly interest kindling in her face, "I wonder you could do it! And what did she say?" 66 Opened wide her childish blue eyes, and stared at me with an expression of such blank astonishment that I could scarcely keep my countenance, and then, shaking her pretty head to and fro with a weary, passive, troubled look, begged that I would be so very kind as to explain cousin Alexander's mistake to him. She evidently shrank from the office, and I undertook it in a moment. Of course you understand clearly that it was because I wished to oblige her-I had no spite against him, of course. But as I said before, I am a plain-spoken person, and I did not decorate my errand with any superfluous tenderness." "You are right!" said Henry emphatically. "But tell me about Miss Lee's going away. Had she no one with her except the cousin of whom you speak so disrespectfully?" 66 Yes, there came a friend, a Mrs. Tyrrel, a handsome woman, nay beautiful, but with something not altogether attractive about her. Very pale and grave, the latter I suppose from sympathy, the former the result of an illness, which indeed had prevented her from sooner coming to poor Ida's assistance. And this morning they went away together. The lovely Agnes remained to console her brother. Poor woman! I ought not to satirize her; I believe she is as good as a vile temper will suffer her to be, and as agreeable as any one can be, who is by nature unconquerably repulsive." "What a consistent speech," cried Ellen, to be commenced with the assertion that you ought not to satirize her!" 66 Very consistent indeed, if you had been aware of the mental parenthesis, which was to the effect that I chose to do what I ought not." "Is that a conscious or an unconscious fault?" asked Ellen demurely. He smiled, but it was an absent smile. true masculine perverseness in all matters of feeling, he had been jocose and ironical so long as she was tender, serious and sympathetic; and now that with true feminine docility she had, not without 66 Oh, Henry!" cried his wife, "what pleasure an effort, assumed his mood, and hidden her pity can you find in talking as if you were so hardheart-beneath badinage, he ceased to do violence (for ed? and to me, who know you! I am sure you were really very sorry for his disappointment. "Chaff, my love!" was Henry's elegant answer. "The disappointment was to his vanity-nothing higher. The man who takes it for granted that a woman who has never coquetted with him nor encouraged him, is ready to marry him, and who says so openly, is either so obtuse that he won't feel his rejection, or so imprudent that he deserves to feel it." "But without meaning to coquette or encourage," ," remonstrated Ellen, 66 one may give a false impression, you know, without any fault-that is, unconsciously." he had been doing violence) to his own inward emotions, and melted naturally into seriousness. She watched his face with a sense of rebuke, wholly uncalled for, but wholly natural; wished her gentle retort unspoken; and listened to him as though he had been a prophet. "Poor child!" said he pensively, "yet I don't know whether pity for so noble a nature is not misplaced. Were she a man, I should reverence her; but she is the child of her mother Eve, and if self-dependence and self-government be forced upon her, it must be through acute suffering. Nay more-there will ever be in them more of semblance than of reality. If she seem composed and contented, it will be because the inward nature is not annihilated but enslaved; and the slave feels what he dares not show, all the more intensely because he is compelled to hide it. Poor child! I hope she will have some one to lean upon, but so far as a stranger can judge, her position would seem very desolate. I wonder if I shall ever see her again? What shall I then think of the soft heart which has been forced into so stern a mould ?" "Remember this, Ellen!" interrupted her husband, speaking more gravely, "that a fault is not a whit the less a fault because it is committed unconsciously; rather the more, because such unconsciousness shows a want both of the habit of selfrestraint and of the periodical check of self-examina: tion. You should be more ashamed to own yourself unconscious of a fault half an hour after its committal, than to confess that you have committed it." He looked down upon her upturned face, into which an expression of docile, reverent attention, almost The young wife's uplifted eyes glistened with that of a child receiving its lesson, had instantane-a dew which came from a deeper fount than that ously come, and resumed his former tone of banter. "But I see how it is, you want me to believe that you have refused some dozen admirers, without having given one of them due reason to accuse you of flirtation. Oh, what a thorough woman you are!" "You say that as if you neant it for blame, but I take it as the highest possible praise," rejoined Ellen in the same tone. of pity. She was thanking God and man for her own blessedness in that she had found a shadow from the heat and a shelter from the storm. And so-for the look was too eloquent to remain unanswered-the lonely Ida was for the moment forgotted by both. Her biographer echoes doubtfully the last sentence-"I wonder if we shall ever see her again!" From Fraser's Magazine. THOMAS CARLYLE AND JOHN HOWARD. a our ears rather depreciatory than otherwise. But whatever may be the physical or metaphysical explanation, certain it is, that the epithets "beautiWE were never more in need than now of men ful philanthropist," "beautiful individual," 99 66 of strong, stern thought. We suffer so much from dull and even dreary," man, applied to "solid exaggeration in the direction of morbid sympathy, John," or dull, solid Howard," are somewhat and philanthropy so called, that we are driven, in worse than "damning with faint praise." The auspite of ourselves, to the opposite extreme of rigor thor of the Latter Day Pamphlets cannot but reand severity. Perhaps we may settle down at last spect John Howard; but he measures out his praise in some via media; but in the mean time, we are not very sparingly and his disrespectful epithets very quite satisfied with either extreme: the one sickens, liberally, and, as we undertake to prove, labors the other frightens us. Nevertheless the reaction, under a somewhat serious misapprehension of like a change of air from a marsh to a mountain, | Howard's true character. And as it is very imis on the whole salutary and invigorating. Per-portant that men should know whether John Howhaps when we get back we may seriously set our-ard is to be taken as a model for imitation, or selves to some work of drainage. But metaphors classed at once with the "Benevolent-Platform apart, and in simple, grave earnestness, we do here Fever" sect, which Thomas Carlyle holds in such tender our hearty acknowledgments to the small scorn and abhorrence, we propose to render to the and select body of reactionaires, who, in this era of public the good service of a sound diagnosis. "philanthropic movements," hold up their hands Mr. Carlyle's history of Howard done into plain for justice to honesty and severe repression for English, with the part of the "Destinies" left out, crime. Alas for the poor honest working man would run very much as follows:-Having got fallen upon these evil days, when the abolition of weary of the dull life he was leading at Cardingthe punishment of death by the hand of the hang- ton, Howard sets out on a visit to the gaols, first of man is made to take precedence of the abolition of England, and then of the rest of Europe, enacting the certain doom of death by cholera, consumption, in his own person the part of an unpaid gaol comand fever! Give place to the murderer and thief: mission, doing his work in a very patient, practirogues, and vagabonds, and model-prisons first; cal, and efficient manner, but, after all, not deservlaborers, and artisans, and decent dwellings after- ing much credit for working without pay; (seeing wards. In the mean time, the reports of the special that Milton got only five pounds for his Paradise correspondent of the Morning Chronicle, and the Lost, and that Kepler did not get his pension of organized expatriation of the poor needlewomen. eighteen pounds a year paid to him, and was obliged How small a matter this, even if expedient, com- to write almanacs for his bread, while engaged in pared to the lavish expenditure of government on painfully working out the secret of the heavenly prisons and prisoners! motions;) and having, after all, a much less rugAs we said before, we want men of strong, stern ged task to perform than the cholera doctors in the thought; men who will not tear up the report on late epidemic, and displaying only the vulgar courThe Law of Settlement, or the letters in the Morning age common to ragged vagabonds drilled into solChronicle, to stuff pillows withal, on which to lay diers. By these unpaid labors John Howard suctheir heads and sleep in peace, in spite of laborers ceeded in abating the gaol fever, but became the trudging seven miles to and fro to their work in the innocent cause of that far more distressing fever of country, or buying donkeys out of starvation- our day, yclept the "Benevolent-Platform Fever," wages to carry them; or poor tailors and needle- the unlucky fountain of sentimental schemes for the women in town garrets and cellars, wearing their "abolition of punishment, prison-discipline," weary lives away in the service of the hardest of and other manifestations of a morbid sympathy with taskmasters. No. We want men in whom a let-scoundrels. ter from our "Special Correspondent" shall bring Now we are ready to join issue with Mr. Carlyle on without fail a fit of mental indigestion, with dis-on every one of these propositions. We affirm that turbed sleep and troubled dreams, and the night- John Howard did not take to his great work of mare, and a feverish waking in the morning, and prison-inspection through weariness of the dull life wrathful indignation venting itself in strong utterances. We can more easily forgive such an one for talking of shooting idle vagabonds who starve their neighbors by refusing to work, than we can pardon the indifference of the great mass of mankind who care for none of these things. Go on, then, and prosper, Thomas Carlyle, with thy rude, stern remedies, couched in strange barbaric English. We can forgive thy exaggeration, and sympathize with thy honest purpose, and tolerate even thy strange speech, and promise to read all thy Latter Day Pamphlets; which we will also undertake to commend to the special attention of all "able editors," and followers of "the philanthropic movement of the age." Nay, though we have a bone to pick with thee on the subject of John Howard, we promise to differ from thee without anger or abuse. To do Mr. Carlyle justice, he does not wholly despise good John Howard. He is even for him"the modest, noble Howard;" so that, perhaps, after all, there is more of a certain perverse temper than of conviction in other epithets, which sound to VOL. XXV. 24 CCCXIV. LIVING AGE. 99 66 he was leading at Cardington; that the courage son cast. Let us first vindicate Howard's claims to the pos session of that animal courage which places him at once on a par with the soldier, to whom it is Mr. Carlyle's pleasure to compare him. We are told, that when engaged in his survey of foreign hospitals, and during his voyage from Smyrna to Venice, the ship in which he sailed was attacked by a Tunisian privateer, and that a cannon loaded with spikes, nails, and old iron, and pointed by our philanthropist himself, was discharged with such effect as to cause the corsair to sheer off. The "dull, solid Howard" knows therefore how to fight, and contrives, somehow or other, on the very spur of the moment, to ply his unwonted trade with somewhat of skill and ingenuity; so that the good man is found to possess the physical courage common to the drilled soldier and the majority of Englishmen, plus that moral courage which, together with other great attributes, was in a very peculiar manner his own. But if it is unfair to John Howard to represent his courage as of a piece with the animal intrepidity of the common soldier, it is, if possible, still more incorrect to compare him with the cholera doctor. For, in the first place, even if cholera were as contagious a malady as the gaol fever was-a disease of that malignity that the infection clung to the very clothes of prisoners, and was wafted with the air to judges, sheriffs, and juries assembled to try them-Howard would have exhibited more courage in facing its dangers than men trained from their very boyhood to a professional indifference to this kind of risk could have shown in their houseto-house inspections. Indeed, the utter fearlessness with 'which John Howard, unused to encounter the risks of infection, visited the loathsome dungeons into which the gaolers themselves refused to follow him, rises as much superior to the every-day courage of cholera inspectors as does the extempore bravery, which prompted him to take so active a part in the defence of his vessel, to the daring of the sailor trained to battle. not have persevered with tne immortal works they had taken in hand; but the selfish inducements of ambition and love of praise, from which Howard was singularly free, certainly inspired the poet and philosopher with motives which the philanthropist drew exclusively from a higher and purer source. Pecuniary considerations formed no part of the inducements to labor, either of Milton or Kepler; but, for our own parts, we look upon it as much more difficult for a rich man to take to a life of self-denying usefulness than for a poor one to court the muses, or scan the philosophy of the heavens without hope of remuneration. We cannot, therefore, avoid coming to the conclusion that John Howard's heroism was as much superior to that of Milton and Kepler as was his physical courage to that of the soldier, or his moral courage to that of the cholera inspector. But the character of John Howard must be vindicated from the charge which his own modesty, and the misapprehensions of Mr. Carlyle, have brought against it of want of originality. We must show that he was not, to use his own phrase, a mere " plodder," or, to use Mr. Carlyle's epithet, a "dull, solid" man. Burke was much nearer to the truth when he characterized "his plan" as "original," 66 " and one as full of genius as it was of humanity." We contend that it was no small thing to have invented, so to speak, the theory and practice of Inspection; to have been the first to set systematically to work, on the large scale, to collect and arrange leading facts illustrative of the actual status of an important class of men. So that it would be much more correct to designate him as the founder of the sect of inspectors, voluntary and governmental, than of the sect of platform orators. But even this patient and methodical collection of facts does by no means constitute Howard's sole claim to originality. That claim rests, in a still greater degree, on the use he made of them. It may be known to some of our readers that Howard was not the first man who visited our prisons. So early as 1701 a committee by the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge took that good work in hand, made reports to their employers, distributed money and tracts, and ministered in sundry ways to the comfort and instruction of the prisoners. But their condition underwent no permanent im- . provement. They remained still the companions of filth and the victims of fever, and subject to certain forms of tyrannical injustice, to which we shall presently have occasion to allude. Howard, on the other hand, showed himself, if not a man of genius, at least a man of talent and originality, when, instead of contenting himself with such palliatives as his predecessors had administered, he went at once to the root of the evils in question-presented himself with his facts in his hand at the bar of the House of Commons, and at the close of the very first year of his labors succeeded in obtaining two acts of Parliament in favor of his clients. But Howard's courage, in facing the gaol fever in the prisons of England, and the plague itself in Smyrna and Constantinople, will appear in all its true superiority when we recollect that, even before the cholera reached England, the Board of Health had expressed in the strongest possible terms its conviction that cholera was not a contagious malady; and though this opinion may have undergone some modification as the result of experience, it is notorious that even those medical men who believed it to be contagious admitted, at the same time, that the danger of catching the disease was extremely small. We conclude, therefore, in opposition to Mr. Carlyle, that Howard displayed a courage, both physical and moral, of the very highest order, which cannot be justly compared with the animal courage of the drilled soldier, or the moral courage, such as it is, of the cholera doctor. But it was not by fighting bravely, with the alternative of death or slavery staring him in the face, or even by bearding the gaol fever in its loathsome dens, that Howard displayed the true metal of which he was made. His superiority to other men consists in the victory which he achieved over himself, in subduing the natural love of ease and sloth, which is the be- Howard, then, was by no means destitute of a setting sin of all men, and the peculiar temptation certain originality and acuteness of mind. We of those who, like Howard, are born to wealth and care not to vindicate his claim to be considered a independence. Before he could bring himself to man of genius, for that term is of too unsettled made deliberate choice of the lot in which is to be import to be worth disputing about; but we must found, to use the expressive language of Bentham, contend that he is very imperfectly described by "the least of that which selfish nature covets, and any of Mr. Carlyle's epithets. But there is another the most of what it shrinks from," he must have and more important point in which Howard has brought every selfish feeling into that complete been, if possible, still less understood. He has subjection, without which there can be no real hero- been looked upon merely as a prison inspector and ism. Something of this victory over self both reformer; whereas he was this, and much more Milton and Kepler must have gained, or they would than this. No one who regards Howard only in that light has the true key to his character. To circumstance which excited him to activity "was understand him aright, we must begin with his seeing some who, by the verdict of juries, were imprisonment in France. We see him there as a declared not guilty; some on whom the grand jury prisoner of war, liberated on his parole, and suffered did not find such an appearance of guilt as subjected to return to England, not to congratulate himself them to trial; and some whose prosecutors did not on his own escape, or to entertain his friends with appear against them, after having been confined for a history of his own adventures and sufferings, but months, dragged back to gaol and locked up again instant with the Commissioners of Sick and till they should pay sundry fees to the gaoler, the Wounded Seamen for the liberation of his com- clerk of assize," &c. It was on behalf of these panions in exile. We next find him, after an innocent men, and of the poor debtors who were interval of time, at Cardington, building cottages made to share their sufferings, that all Howard's for the poor, and taking effectual measures for rais- sympathies were excited. As to the thieves and muring his benighted tenantry in the scale of physical derers, there is no evidence that he felt any other comforts, and moral and religious improvement. interest in them than such as was naturally excited And then, when this good work had been brought by seeing them exposed to dangers which were no to a conclusion, and he was appointed sheriff of the part of their sentence. He did not deem it just, county of Bedford, his attention is directed, in the even to the most depraved of mankind, to sentence performance of his bounden duty, and not from them to hard labor or the gallows, and to superadd ennui at Cardington, or merely to gratify a whimsi- an attack of gaol-fever. Beyond this John Howard cal taste, to the state of prisons, and the fate of does not appear to have shown more sympathy their inmates. The magnitude of the evils he there with scoundrels than Mr. Carlyle himself would discovered decided him to make the improvement approve. We contend, then, that John Howard of the condition of the prisoner the work of the rest was in no sense the first patient who suffered from of his life. The true key to John Howard's char- the "Benevolent-Platform Fever;" and we further acter, then, is lost when we regard him as a whim- contend that he was in all respects a much truer sical philanthropist, smitten with an almost insane hero than it pleases Thomas Carlyle to represent fancy for visiting prisons and lazarettos. We con- him. tend, on the contrary, that he was a man of most sane intellect, with a kind, warm heart, a clear head, and a tender conscience, who, when he witnessed any form of remedial suffering, sympathized with it till he made it his own, and, impelled by a stern sense of duty, could not rest till he had redressed it. Among the war-captives in France, on his estate at Cardington, in the prisons of England, in the hospitals and lazarettos of the Continent, he was still the same unselfish laborer for the good of others; the most enterprising, the most persevering, the most self-denying, the most intrepid, and withal the most modest of men. He possessed all the unconsciousness of true greatness; he had every mark of what Mr. Carlyle would call a true hero. We confess that we are greatly surprised and somewhat disappointed that our author has failed to recognize in John Howard one of his own prime favorites. But we are still more surprised and disappointed to find this heroic man set down as the innocent cause of the "Benevolent-Platform Fever." We ask Mr. Carlyle, in the name of common sense, where he contrives to discover in good John Howard a trace of that disposition to substitute talking for action, and sympathy for scoundrels for earnest efforts for the improvement of the condition of honest men, which too generally characterize the victims of the aforesaid "Benevolent-Platform Fever?" Between this true prison-hero and the ranters of Exeter Hall, what one point of resemblance can he possibly find? Was John Howard a talker, either in public or in private? Did he not, on the contrary, in all places and at all times, refuse to converse on the subject of his own labors, turning off every attempt at commendation with a few words of depreciation, and hastily directing the conversation to some other point? And as to that morbid sympathy with scoundrels, which Mr. Carlyle holds in such just abhorrence, where can we discover any trace of that weakness in John Howard? Has Mr. Carlyle forgotten the fact, which Howard puts so prominently forward, that his sympathy was mainly exerted on behalf, not of thieves and felons, but of innocent men? Howard tells us himself that the At the same time, however, that we defend John Howard, and attempt to place his truly great character in lights in which it has not generally been viewed even by his admirers, we must repeat that we do not mean wholly to dissent from Mr. Carlyle's doctrines. Harsh as they may seem to be, we recognize in them more real mercy than in the theories and practices of men who pique themselves on their benevolence. Nay, as we have said before, we think such men as Mr. Carlyle much wanted at present, and likely to effect much good in spite of their exaggerations. He may not succeed in inducing the state to enlist idlers and shoot them if they desert from labor; but he will, perhaps, prevail on all promoters of idleness to cease from the ill-judged squandering of money, by which idleness is created and perpetuated. So also with other men of like stern modes of thought. Those who utterly condemn all indiscriminate alms-giving, and would have the man who commits charity (?) in the street, highway, or doorway, fined for his folly, and the recipient flogged for his wickedness, may fail in this, but still succeed in pouring upon all careless distributors of money the contempt which their folly merits. Those, also, who protest against the mock-humanity of the blockade of the African coast, though they may make no impression upon an impracticable prime minister, may be the means of rendering any similar philanthropic crusade henceforth impossible. Once more, then, we tender our thanks to Mr. Carlyle and the reactionists for their hearty abuse of Model Prisons, Indiscriminate Alms-giving, Universal Suffrage and Ballet-box Panaceas; but we must still cling to our hero, John Howard, as a man worthy of all admiration, and a very proper model for all country gentlemen who have hitherto yielded to the temptations of the Law of Settlement, to the neglect and injury of the poor on their estates; to all victims of the Benevolent-Platform Fever;" and to all and sundry of whatever rank or position in life who find themselves tempted to prefer talking philanthropy at public meetings to act-s ing Christianity at home. |