the most minute particulars, by the very same rules which apply to
persons of your own class. Never let any woman say of you
(thought fatal to all confidence, all influence!): "Yes, it is
all very kind: but she does not behave to me as she would to one
of her own quality." Piety, earnestness, affectionateness,
eloquence--all may be nullified and stultified by simply keeping a
poor woman standing in her own cottage while you sit, or entering
her house, even at her own request, while she is at meals. She
may decline to sit; she may beg you to come in, all the more
reason for refusing utterly to obey her, because it shows that
that very inward gulf between you and her still exists in her
mind, which it is the object of your visit to bridge over. If you
know her to be in trouble, touch on that trouble as you would with
a lady. Woman's heart is alike in all ranks, and the deepest
sorrow is the one of which she speaks the last and least. We
should not like anyone--no, not an angel from heaven, to come into
our houses without knocking at the door, and say: "I hear you are
very ill off--I will lend you a hundred pounds. I think you are
very careless of money, I will take your accounts into my own
hands;" and still less again: "Your son is a very bad,
profligate, disgraceful fellow, who is not fit to be mentioned; I
intend to take him out of your hands and reform him myself."
Neither do the poor like such unceremonious mercy, such untender
tenderness, benevolence at horse-play, mistaking kicks for
caresses. They do not like it, they will not respond to it, save
in parishes which have been demoralised by officious and
indiscriminate benevolence, and where the last remaining virtues
of the poor, savage self-help and independence, have been
exchanged (as I have too often seen them exchanged) for organised
begging and hypocrisy.