MY DEAR VERENA, to return to the great money problem, I think you ought to know that the papers print particulars of the will of a Hastings innkeeper who set apart the interest on £300 for an annual supper to sixty Hastings newsboys. And a little while ago I cut from the _Times_ a will in which the testator, a fellmonger and a gunner, killed during the War, left “£1000 in trust during the life of his wife to apply the income for a treat for the children of the Chelsea and District Schools, Banstead, such treat to consist of sweets, strawberries, or a visit to the pantomime, and to be in the nature of a surprise.” Well, there would be no difficulty in arranging for little things like that. All you want is a good almoner and perhaps Miss Power would take the post. And here again you could see the fun going on, which the dead cannot. At least we used to think they couldn’t, but the evidence on the other side is accumulating. There is a conspiracy afoot to make us think that the dead “carry on” too much as we do. All you need is to ask yourself which kind of worker is least rewarded, or you are most sorry for, and go ahead. Lamb’s friend, James White, would have chosen chimney-sweeps. The late landlord of the Royal Oak at Hastings would have replied “Newsboys.” Miss Rhoda Broughton would reply, “Overworked horses.” On my own list would occur railway porters. Also compositors. And what about the little girls who carry gentlemen’s new garments all about Savile Row and the tailors’ quarters—is anything done for them? And the window-cleaners—they can’t have much fun. And oyster-openers—what a life! And carpet-beaters—Heavens! And the little telegraph girls, in couples, with the grubby hands. No, the list would not be hard to compile.