I often feel upset to think that these articles on begging may rob honest men of charity; that people will become under the impression that beggars are born instead of made; aye, even born full-fledged, without having had childhood or youth. I would not like people to think that every man that knocks at their door is a professional tramp; or every voice they hear singing in the street is that of an impostor. It must be confessed that the latter is very probably one, seeing that a man either has to be on the road a long time before he takes courage to sing in public, or must be under the influence of drink. I have seen in provincial towns as many as four men singing together. In a case of this kind, they are almost sure to be real out-of-works, and the reason they sing instead of beg houses is that they cannot all four go to one house, and individually they lack courage; but they can sing all together, each one getting courage from the presence of his companions. People never give it a thought how difficult it is for a stranger to get work, even where there is work in abundance. In new countries things are different; a man is hired at once, without a question of name and address. But in our old countries masters will not hire strange tramps, until they are at the last extremity. I have seen, this last summer, almost within a stone's throw of me, a farmer let his hay be spoilt by the rain, through having insufficient labour, and refusing to employ one or two of the many poor fellows that came looking for work. He, and the few men he had, worked day and night, rather than he would hire a stranger. No doubt he expected Providence to withhold the rain for his sake, and she, kind soul, gave him more than two weeks happy sunshine, quite sufficient if he had not been too greedy to do as much work as possible himself, and pay away little to others. So the rain came, and he suffered in consequence. If people knew the number of men of this kind there are in the land, they would not be so hasty in telling tramps that the farmers are busy with their harvest, and are in sad need of men.