Your famishing beggar is a fish of as sorry aspect as may readily be
scared up. Generally speaking, he is repulsive as to hat, abhorrent as
to vesture, squalid of boot, and in _tout ensemble_ unseemly and
atrocious. His appeal for alms falls not more vexingly upon the ear
than his offensive personality smites hard upon the eye. The touching
effectiveness of his tale is ever neutralized by the uncomeliness of
his raiment and the inartistic besmirchedness of his countenance. His
pleading is like the pathos of some moving ballad from the lips of a
negro minstrel; shut your eyes and it shall make you fumble in your
pocket for your handkerchief; open them, and you would fain draw out a
pistol instead.
It is to be wished that Poverty would garb his body in a clean skin,
that Adversity would cultivate a taste for spotless linen, and that
Beggary would address himself unto your pocket from beneath a downy
hat. However, we cannot hope to immediately impress these worthy
mendicants with the advantage of devoting a portion of their gains to
the purchase of purple and fine linen, instead of expending their all
upon the pleasures of the table and riotous living; but our duty unto
them remains.
The very least that one can do for the offensive needy is to direct
them to the nearest clothier. That, therefore, is the proper course.
Insects.
Every one has observed, a solitary ant breasting a current of his
fellows as he retraces his steps to pack off something he has
forgotten. At each meeting with a neighbour there is a mutual pause,
and the two confront each other for a moment, reaching out their
delicate antennae, and making a critical examination of one another’s
person. This the little creature repeats with tireless persistence to
the end of his journey.
As with the ant, so with the other insect—the sprightly “female of our
species.” It is really delightful to watch the fine frenzy of her
lovely eye as she notes the approach of a woman more gorgeously arrayed
than herself, or the triumphant contempt that settles about her lips at
the advance of a poorly clad sister. How contemplatively she lingers
upon each detail of attire—with what keen penetration she takes in the
general effect at a sweep!
And this suggests the fearful thought—what _would_ the darlings do if
they wore no clothes? One-half their pleasure in walking on the street
would vanish like a dream, and an equal proportion of the philosopher’s
happiness in watching them would perish in the barren prospect of an
inartistic nudity.