The Angel and the Author, and Others

by Jerome K. Jerome

“Sorry, my lady,” said the coachman, “but the carriage won’t go down.”

The lady sighed.

“I am afraid we shall have to leave it,” she said.

So the gallant greys dashed past.

Where the real poor creep I fear there is no room for Lady Bountiful’s fine coach. The ways are very narrow—wide enough only for little Sister Pity, stealing softly.

I put it to my friend, the curate:

“But if all this charity is, as you say, so useless; if it touches but the fringe; if it makes the evil worse, what would you do?”

And questions a Man of Thought.

“I would substitute Justice,” he answered; “there would be no need for Charity.”

“But it is so delightful to give,” I answered.