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be hit upon by which the father of the
child might be made to contribute something
towards its bringing-up, but the
contribution would, at best, be only a very
small one, and in no way adequate or sufficient.
This rescuing of children is a work
which must, of necessity, cost money, and
which can only prove remunerative in the
long run. Present outlay there must be,
but it is an outlay that sooner or later is
sure to prove remunerative. Remunerative
in saving much future expenditure in the
maintenance of jails and penitentiaries;
remunerative in reducing the losses
sustained by the community through the
depredations of that criminal class which
such enterprises as are here advocated
would serve materially to keep under;
remunerative in diminishing the number of
those who apply for pauper relief, and for
whom, in all sorts of ways, contributions
are so incessantly levied on the benevolent
public. Many are the ways in which this
kind of outlay would repay us, but surely,
most of all, in furnishing us with the
assuranceconfirmed by the reports which
reach us constantly of the success of all
attempts to benefit destitute childrenthat
we are saving helpless infants, not alone
from present suffering, but from future
misery, and turning not a few human
creatures, who, but for such help, would
infallibly have become either useless
incumbrances or positive pests to the community,
into decent citizens, useful to their fellow-
men, and happy in themselves.

As to the practical working of the
different projects which benevolent men
and women have set on foot for the benefit
of neglected children, the reported results
seem in every case to be such as must
satisfy the most exacting critics. But one
tale is told by all who are engaged in
such undertakings. The work in every
case "goes bravely on". In the last
report of the committee which superintends
the Refuges for Homeless and Destitute
Children, it is put on record that "since
the commencement of the work in 1843
there has been nothing but progress and
success." In this same report it is stated
that as many as five hundred and twelve
boys and girls are entirely provided for,
some on board the training ship
Chichester, some at the country home or farm
school at Bisley, and some at the other
schools connected with the institution. At
the recent New Year's treat given to the
children who are being brought up under
the society's care, the young sailors and the
young farmers appeared in their uniforms,
clean, wholesome, and happy, enjoying
their present existence, and likely to enjoy
the future which was before them. When
one thinks what would have been the
condition of these very boys if they had been
left unaided in the squalor of their
"homes", the rescue which has been
effected in their case seems almost like
heavenly work, and we are tempted to
wonder that undertakings of this kind are
not started on a still larger scale than any
hitherto organised, and that the nation
generally does not recognise this work of
arresting children in the downward path,
and leading them in ways of pleasantness,
as really the one especial task which, before
all others, it should set itself to accomplish.


I KNEW as little whither or how I was
going, as I knew what an actual Dolomite
was like. It was all guesswork. I had
never read Gilbert; I could get no books
at that time. I was alone with my maid
brought by accident into Italy over the
Brenner Pass.

I was so far instructed as to know that
Brixen, one of the mountain stations of the
Brenner Pass, was a good starting-point.
At Brixen, therefore, I left the train; the
night was dark, the roughest and dirtiest
of omnibuses waited for passengers; the
people were perfectly civil, but spoke an
unintelligible patois, neither Italian nor
German. It was clear that with the train
I had taken leave of civilisation.

Brixen is a mile from the railway,
through the valley. Arrived there, I was
conducted to the Elephant, the dirtiest,
noisiest, and most impossible hostelry that
ever hung out a sign. The place was
crowded, the single waiter distracted, eating
impossible. I was offered a room beside
the kitchen, which I declined, and finally
rushed out into the dark and dirty streets
to seek some quieter and cleaner quarters.
They were found at the Golden Star, where
the neatest and kindest, though ugliest, of
German maidens rose up to receive me,
fed me, treated me like a Christian, and
finally left me, after much kindly sympathy,
to sleep in peace. Let other adventurous
ladies, landing as I did, lost in the night,
bear in mind this humane hostess. With
the morning came the question, when and
how was I to proceed? Brixen having no