|Title||The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists|
|Chapter||The March of the Imperialists|
It was an unusually fine day for the time of year, and as they passed along the Grand Parade - which faced due south - they felt quite warm. The Parade was crowded with richly dressed and bejewelled loafers, whose countenances in many instances bore unmistakable signs of drunkenness and gluttony. Some of the females had tried to conceal the ravages of vice and dissipation by coating their faces with powder and paint. Mingling with and part of this crowd were a number of well-fed-looking individuals dressed in long garments of black cloth of the finest texture, and broad-brimmed soft felt hats. Most of these persons had gold rings on their soft white fingers and glove-like kid or calfskin boots on their feet. They belonged to the great army of imposters who obtain an easy living by taking advantage of the ignorance and simplicity of their fellow-men, and pretending to be the `followers' and `servants' of the lowly Carpenter of Nazareth - the Man of Sorrows, who had not where to lay His head.
None of these black