Charity, the meekest of the
Christian graces, has been long since dethroned, and her place is
taken by the blatant braggard Philanthropy, who does his good deeds
in a most ostentatious manner, and loudly invites the world to see
his generosity, and praise him for it. Charity, modestly hooded,
went into the houses of the poor, and tendered her gifts with
smiles. Philanthropy now builds almshouses and hospitals, and rails
at poverty if it has too much pride to occupy them. And what indeed,
has poverty to do with pride?--it's far too sumptuous and expensive
an article, and can only be possessed by the rich, who can afford to
wear it because it is paid for. Mr Meddlechip was rich, so he bought
a large stock of pride, and wore it everywhere. It was not personal
pride--he was not good-looking; it was not family pride--he never
had a grandfather; nor was it pecuniary pride--he had too much money
for that. But it was a mean, sneaking, insinuating pride that
wrapped him round like a cloak, and pretended to be very humble, and
only holding its money in trust for the poor. The poor ye have
always with you--did not Mr Meddlechip know it? Ask the old men and
women in the almshouses, and they would answer yes; but ask the
squalid inhabitants of the slums, and they would probably say,
'Meddlechip, 'o's 'e?' Not that the great Ebenezer Meddlechip was
unknown--oh, dear, no--he was a representative colonial; he sat in
Parliament, and frequently spoke at those enlarged vestry meetings
about the prosperity of the country.
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