has to endure, and what God thinks of her life-journey. The heart
knoweth its own bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with
its joy. But do not be a stranger to her. Be a sister to her. I
do not ask you to take her up in your carriage. You cannot;
perhaps it is good for her that you cannot. It is good sometimes
for Lazarus that he is not fit to sit at Dives's feast--good for
him that he should receive his evil things in this life, and be
comforted in the life to come. All I ask is, do to the poor soul
as you would have her do to you in her place. Do not interrupt
and vex her (for she is busy enough already) with remedies which
she does not understand, for troubles which you do not understand.
But speak comfortably to her, and say: "I cannot feel WITH you,
but I do feel FOR you: I should enjoy helping you, but I do not
know how--tell me. Tell me where the yoke galls; tell me why that
forehead is grown old before its time: I may be able to ease the
burden, to put fresh light into the eyes; and if not, still tell
me, simply because I am a woman, and know the relief of pouring
out my own soul into loving ears, even though in the depths of
despair." Yes, paradoxical as it may seem, I am convinced that
the only way to help these poor women humanly and really, is to
begin by confessing to them that you do not know how to help them;
to humble yourself to them, and to ask their counsel for the good
of themselves and of their neighbours, instead of coming proudly
to them, with nostrums ready compounded, as if a doctor should be
so confident in his own knowledge of books and medicine as to give
physic before asking the patient's symptoms.

Therefore, I entreat you to bear in mind (for without this all
visiting of the poor will be utterly void and useless), that you
must regulate your conduct to them, and in their houses, even to