THE HELP THAT HARMS. 725 



of gin is a benevolent impulse, if certain tendencies in you make it 

 antecedently probable that a pint of gin will presently convert you 

 from the condition of a rational being into that of a beast. And 

 so of any impulse of mine in the direction of beneficence which, 

 in its gratification, threatens manhood — that is, self-reliance, self- 

 respect, independence, the right and faithful use of powers in me. 

 And here we come to the problem which lies at the basis of 

 the whole question of charitable relief, for whatever class and in 

 whatever form. The wholesome elements in that earlier situation, 

 to which I have just referred, were threefold, and in our modern 

 situation each one of them is sorely attenuated, if not wholly 

 absent: 



i 1. In the first place, there Avas a relative uniformity of condi- 

 tion. In other words, at the beginning of the present century in 

 almost all communities, whether industrial or agricultural, the dis- 

 parities of estate were inconsiderable. There was perhaps the rich 

 man of the village or town, or two or three or half a dozen of them; 

 but they were rich only relatively, and they were marked excep- 

 tions. The great majority of the people were of comparatively 

 similar employments and circumstances. Among these there were 

 indeed considerable varieties of task work, but work and wage were 

 not far apart; and, what was of most consequence, a certain large 

 identity of condition brought into it a certain breadth of sympathy 

 and mutual help, out of which came the outstretched hand and 

 the open door for the man who was out of work and was looking- 

 for it. 



ii. Yes, who was looking for it. For here again was a distin- 

 guishing note of those earlier days of which I am speaking. Idle- 

 ness was a distinct discredit, if not dishonor. In communities where 

 everybody had to work, an idler or a loafer was an intolerable im- 

 pertinence, and was usually made to feel it. 



3. And yet, again, there was the vast difference in those days 

 from ours that the industries of the w^orld had not taken on their 

 immensely organized and mechanized characteristics. A mechanic 

 — e. g., out of a job — then could turn his hand to anything that 

 ordinary tools and muscle and intelligence could do. But an ordi- 

 nary mechanic now must be a skilled mechanician in a highly spe- 

 cialized department, and when he is out of a job there, he is ordi- 

 narily out of it all along the line. 



I might, as my reader will have anticipated me in recognizing, 

 go on almost indefinitely in this direction ; but I have said enough, 

 I trust, to prepare him for the point which I want to make in con- 

 nection with our modern charities and their mischief. Our mod- 

 ern social order, in a word, has become more complex, more segre- 



