The young can help themselves, more or less, and they have strength to stand their sorrows, with _hope_, blessed hope, to keep them up; but _poor_ old men and old women cannot help themselves, and cannot stand their sorrows, and, as far as this life is concerned, they have _no hope,_ except to die soon and easy, and, if possible, in summer time, when the wind is not so very cold and bitter." "But how can this be put right, Tom ?" asked Fred in a tone of deep commiseration.

"Our being sorry for it and anxious about it (and you've made me sorry, I assure you) can do very little good, you know." "I don't know, Fred," replied Tom, sinking into his usual quiet tone.
"If every city and town in Great Britain would start a society, whose first resolution should be that they would not leave one poor _old_ man or woman unprovided for, _that_ would do it.

Or if the Government would take it in hand _honestly_, that would do it." "Call all hands, Mr.Bolton," cried the captain in a sharp voice.

"Get out the ice-poles, and lower away the boats." "Hallo! what's wrong ?" said Fred, starting up.
"Getting too near the bergs, I suspect," remarked Tom.

"I say, Fred, before we go on deck, will you promise to do what I ask you ?" "Well--yes, I will." "Will you promise, then, all through your life, especially if you ever come to be rich or influential, to think _of_ and _for_ old men and women who are poor ?" "I will," answered Fred; "but I don't know that I'll ever be rich, or influential, or able to help them much." "Of course you don't.