. . . . " Because I do not know
The owner, sir," she said. " A while ago
I found it. And there's money in it—much,
Oh, so much money, sir!"

                                   A hungry touch
Of the defeated tempter made her wince
To see him count it. Such a short while since
She, too, had done the same.

                                 " Your name? Address?"
She gave them. Easy, from the last, to guess
Their wretchedness who dwelt in such a place.
The shrewd and practised eye perused her face
Contented, not surprised; for they that see
Crime oftenest, oftenest, too, see honesty
Where most of us would seldom look for it,
Or find it with surprise—in rags, to wit.

"Honest and poor. Deserves a large reward.
No doubt there'll be one."

                                  " Ah, the times are hard,
So hard, God help us all; and, sir, indeed
We are so poor. Two little mouths to feed.
If we could only get some work to do!"

"Ah, married? out of work? and children two?
Mem. Let the owner know, if found. Good night."

But still she stood there. He had turn'd to write.
She stood and eyed him with a dreary eye,
And did not move. He look'd up presently.
"Not gone yet? Eh? What more?"

                                         "And, sir," she said,
"There's by the poor-house wall a woman dead.
There was no room within, sir, I suppose;
There are so many of them, Heaven knows.
'Tis hard for such as we to understand
How such things happen in a Christian land."

Her face twitch'd, and her cough grew fierce again,
As she pass'd out into the night and rain.

THE PARISH PARLIAMENT.

TWICE a year a bustling person of out-door
aspect—this characteristic being manifested
chiefly in his hat, which is strongly suggestive
of an instrument for measuring the rainfall—
knocks a treble knock at my door (he gives one
over, as indicating a cut above the post) and
leaves a paper, which, on perusal, I find to be
the Queen's bill for governing me, judging me,
fighting for me, and, generally (with a flag
which has braved, a thousand years and a little
over, the battle and the breeze), protecting my
interests, both at home and abroad.

Twice a year, also, another bustling person,
crowned with a hydrometer, knocks a treble
knock—not to be confounded with the post
either—and leaves a paper, which, on perusal, I
find to be the Parish's bill for paving me, lighting
me, draining me, policing me, causing me to
love my poor neighbour—not by any means as
myself—and for various other services of a
kindred nature.

In the first pride of being a householder, I
did not greatly trouble myself about these little
bills. I did not examine the items, but paid the
totals at once—much sooner than there was any
necessity for, as I have since found—and was
proud to think that I was a taxpayer and
ratepayer. When a leading article in a newspaper
said " Taxpayers of Great Britain," I felt that I
was one of the important and responsible class
addressed. When bills in the shop windows of
the High-street bore the heading, " Meeting of
the Ratepayers of the Parish of St. Sniffens," I
was proudly conscious that I was entitled to
attend that meeting and take part in its
deliberations; when I saw a regiment of cavalry ride
up the road every morning for exercise, I derived
considerable self-importance from the reflection
that those magnificent men and beasts owed
some degree of their magnificence to me a
taxpayer. When I saw a street in my neighbourhood
being taken up—which was often—I
was gratified to think that the paviours owed
some portion of their wages to me as a
ratepayer.

But man soon becomes indifferent to the
most priceless privileges, quickly grows
accustomed to the highest dignities. I got used to
the glory of being a taxpayer of Great Britain,
and equally so to the distinction of being
addressed as a ratepayer of the parish of St.
Sniffens. I was not so ready to pay the little
bills presented to me by the Queen and the
Parish. I got into the way of telling the Queen
and the Parish to call again tomorrow, or some
time next week.

It is not until he feels the burden of the
charges that are laid upon him, that a man
begins to examine his bills, and closely inspect
the items. It then becomes a very important
object to see that he is not charged too much,
and that he gets his money's worth for his
money. I began, at last, to overhaul the bills
presented to me by the Queen and the Parish,
and a very cursory examination of their
respective demands suggested matter for serious
reflection and consideration. The first thing
that strikes me on comparing the two accounts,
is the disproportion which they bear to each
other. The Parish, for merely local services,
charges me five times as much as the Queen
asks from me (directly, at least), for governing
that empire upon which the sun never sets.
Put indirect taxes out of the question, and
say, for example, that I am one of the numerous
class of persons in this parish of St. Sniffens
who let lodgings. Here, then, is the bill which
the Queen presents to me twice a year:

                                             s.    d.
House Tax     ...    ...    ...     16  10½
Property Tax  ...    ...    ...     11    6
                                        ___________
                                       £1   8    4½

The property tax is reimbursed to me by the
landlord, so that I have to pay only sixteen
shillings and tenpence-halfpenny every six
months, or annually, the sum of one pound
thirteen and ninepence.

Now for the bill presented by the Parish: