The rich and the prosperous, it would seem, do not depend upon God so
much, do not need miracles, as the poor do. They do not have to pray
for the extra crust when starvation hovers near; for the softening of
an obdurate landlord's heart; for strength in temptation, light in
darkness, salvation from vice; for a friend in friendlessness; for
that miracle of miracles, an opportunity to struggling ambition; for
the ending of a dark night, the breaking of day; and, oh! for God's
own miracle to the bedside-watchers--the change for the better, when
death is there and the apothecary's skill too far, far away. The poor,
the miserable, the unhappy, they can show their miracles by the score;
that is why God is called the poor man's friend. He does not mind, so
they say, going in the face of logic and reason to relieve them; for
often the kind and charitable are sadly hampered by the fetters of
logic and reason, which hold them, as it were, away from their own
benevolence.

But the rich have their miracles, no doubt, even in that beautiful
empyrean of moneyed ease in which the poor place them. Their money
cannot buy all they enjoy, and God knows how much of their sorrow it
assuages. As it is, one hears now and then of accidents among them,
conversions to better thoughts, warding off of danger, rescue of life;
and heirs are sometimes born, and husbands provided, and fortunes
saved, in such surprising ways, that even the rich, feeling their
limitations in spite of their money, must ascribe it privately if not
publicly to other potencies than their own. These cathedral _tours
de force_, however, do not, if the truth be told, convince like the
miracles of the obscure little chapel.

There is always a more and a most obscure little miracle chapel, and
as faith seems ever to lead unhesitatingly to the latter one, there is