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THE '»ÜFSr. Oaoe there wa3 a restless boy Who dwelt in a Ur.ms by the sea, Whore the "water danced f . r joy AaO. the wind was glad »od free : But he sr.? '■ "GJud mother- oh ! let me go : For the dullest place in the world, I know, la this little brown house. This old brown house, Under the apple tree. ' I will travel east and west ; The loveliest homes I'll see ; And when I have found the bes\ Dear mother, I'll come for thee. I'll come for thee in a year and a day, And joyfully then we'll haste away From this little brown house. This old brown house. Under the apple tree." 80 he traveled here and there. But never content was he. Though he saw iu lands most, fair The costliest homes there be. He something missed from the sea or sky. Till he turned again, with a wistful sigh, To the little brown house. The old brown house, Under the apple tree. Then the mother saw and smiled. While her heart grew glad and free. "Hast thou chosen a home, my child ? Ah, where shall we dwell f' quoth fehe. And he said, "Sweet mother, from east to west, The loveliest home, and the dearest and best, Is a little brown house. An old brown house, Under an apple tree." —Eudora S. ßUnutead. in St. Nicholas. MOTHER'S WAY. Fred White sat on the edge of the sice walk, slowly replacing his shoes and stockings. The shoes were heavy with red clay, and the stockings clung with camp tenacity to a pair of blue feet, refusing to be tugged beyond the wet little heels of their owner. "I pay, Rob." "Well," inquired Bob, med.tatively tracing with one bare toe the hop-scotch pattern on the sidewalk. "Well?" "You and the rest of the boys go'long and get your 'scases. Don't wait lor me, tugging at the refractory sock. "Teacher'll expect us back right away"—tug, tug, and a sound of parting stitches in the stock ing. "Meet me at the comer and we 'll all go to school together. There !" Seeing that Fred's prospects were brightening, Rob and the others ran down the street, intent on producing from ma ternal pens the required excuses for the unfortunate tardiness in the school-room. "How they sing 1" soliloquized Fred, as the voices of his gehool-mates fell upon his ecrs through the open windows. "They ain't late, nor going home for a note, nor anything. Bother the raft and the poles and the mud !" and the little bry ruefully wiped his cheek with his clean jacket sleeve and proceeded to tie a knot in the stiff, clay-colored shoe string. "I will be good, I wi'.l be good, I will be good to-day," shouted the chorus in the school room, as Fred rose and started for his home around the next corner. "I will be good, I will be good !" proceeded the songsters, with the usual vehemence of threescore mischievous and thoughtless urchins ; but the words struck the listener unpleasantly. "Just what I said to mamma this morn ing when she pinned my collar," said he, feeling involuntarily for thj too frequently lost article. "1 meant it, too. But R>b and the boys called me to the water, and then Tom Grey said 1 didn't dare go on the raft ; and, anyway, I won't be dared by Tom" Fred sighed as he opened the little gate and went thiough the gra^s to the kitchen door. The hardest of his v:ay was in meetiDg his mamma and corquering her scrnpies—tor uiaunna had her scruples and they inteifeied sadly sometimes wilh Fred's plans. She was washing, though, and perhaps would be in a hurry. That wait in his favor. '•I say, mamma," winningly. "Why, Freddie !" came in sweet, sur prised tones from the clouds of steam. "Say, now—now, mamma," laying a stick of wood with great precision on the nearest pile. • "What is it, dear? Why aren't you at school? It is late." "Well, that's just it. You see Rob and the boys and—well, yes—and, and me—" "Come here, Freddy. Let me wipe your face and your collar. How came you to take hold of it with muddy fingers? Come into the house." ) ••Oh, never mind. I'm in a hurry.' Fred thrust his feet behind the chips, for reasons best known to himself. "I'm tardy, mamma, and teacher wants a note. •ni - U r..ii/>lr 'nan act TVû crr\t. to hfi 'cause I've to be •ni - U r..ii/>lr 'nan act TVû crr\t. to hfi Please do it quick, 'cause I've got to be back in time tor 'rithmetic. I'll be bring ing in wood while you write." Now this unusual offer of Fred's struck his mother suspiciously, and she dried her hands slowly, with a troubled look on her face. It was a way his mother had. She always looked seriously upon the misde meanors of her children in their dealings with their teachers. Fred never liked it. It made him so much trouble to have her ask questions. Why didn't she let things go, as Tom Grey's mother did? ' Freddy." "Yes'm," hesitatingly, from the dun re cesses of the woodshed, where the dry sticks lay. "Come in for a moment." Fred obeyed. She was a little mother, but he always obeyed when she spoke. She led him into the cool room beyond the kitchen. "Yes, sir," said Fred to himself. "Yes, sir. She's going to ask questions. The boys'll be waiting. Oh, dear 1 That old raft and Tom Gray !—and anyway, what did make mamma so inquisitive ?" "Where have you been?" began his mother, sitting down in the green arm chair (she looked pale against the green, Fred thought), and removing the strip of linen from the neck of his "roundabout." "Just down to the ravine a little while. There were whole lots of boys 'nd a raft. They said I daren't get aboard, and so I did. You wouldn't have me be a cow*rd, of course," doubtfully, but encouragingly. Mamma didn't seem very appreciative just here, so Fred proceeded : "'Nd then we went to the bridge, and the hell rang before we could get ashore. Rob and the others were late, too." As bis mother's eyes were slightly down cast, Fred stood a little closer to her skirts. His feet seemed in the way. "What did your teacher say?" asked Mrs. White—so sadly, it seemed—taking from Fred's pocket a roll of soiled linen, once a clean handkerchief. "Oh ! she said we must get onr 'senses the rule, you know. Oh no ! My feet are warm enough. Don't uiind me 1 You iust keep writin'. 'cause I am in such a lurry !" Quietly surveying the clay-spread shoes Mrs. White began removing them. Fred thought her hands looked very white and delicate against his toiled stockings, and wondered, «s she laid the damp articles aside, if washing was very hard anyway ; mamma 's arms were slender, too. 'T»as too bad to make her so much work. But the note 1 "Come mamma—will you ? " Yes, Freddy, since your teacher re quires it. Put on thetedry things." And biie turted away to get her pen. "Whv, ain't she .lolly, though ? wins pered Fred to his dry socks. 'No ques tions nor grieved looks. _ Ttj.l you, III never co this ngain. No sir.' "What shfcll I eny ?" asked mamma, as j»he pushed down the clothes in the boiler »nd returned. "Oh, just what they all say : 'Piease a-'scuse Freddy, as he was necessarily 'tained,' " said the yonng diplomat. "Thon it was necessary for you to go to the water?" queried the mother doubt Freddy was chipping the dry mud from his coppsr -toes. Ile okin t reply. "And necessary to play on the raft ? "Tom Gray dared me to," interposed Fred dulling his knife rather recklessly. • And necessvry to stand in the cold water V "Well now, mamma, let's not talk about that now. It's most ten o'clock. Please bewritin'." . "What shall I write?" "Oh ! you know." And the speaker nervously twisted his shoestring through an evelet. Mamma began writing, gravely, heed hopped on one foot to the table, anxiously spelling out the words he saw ' "N o, no ; e x-c use, excuse." "Down went the undressed foot. Mat ters were glowing serious. "H-i-S, his; o-w n, own; fa u-l-t fault." "Oh, mamma I She'll punish me, she 11 punish me! How can you? Oh! don't you love me? Oh, mamma !" "Yes, dear, I love you. Ln't my note true?' "Well, but couldn't you just say—just say—Well couldn't you fix it up some how ?" he sobbed. "That is the truth, dear, and the truth can't be improved by fixing. Mamma can't tell a lie for you." "1 don't want you to tell a lie ! Oli, no the dear face of mother was too pure for that. Fred only wanted a compromise. "But don't you love me? Do you want me to be punished?" ' I love you too well to send you to your teacner with a falsehood in your hand 1 cannot fix the note, Freddy, without mak ing it untrue ; but I would gladly bear the pain of your punishment cn my own hand." _ _ . . "Never!" exclaimed Fred, with un wonted chivalry, kissing the hands that were finishing his toilet. "I will walk with you, dear,' putting the neat Shaker boünet over her strangely dewy eyes, "and you will not be as lonely then." , • "But you'll hear her whip me. bhe will certainly do so if I take this note# and sobs began again. "Then l shall know you are Learing the pain rather than carry an untruth irom your mother's hand," said Mrs. hite, taking Fred's in her own, and moving to the door. Uoing toward the school room, a strange medley of thoughts passed through the little boy's mind. Mother's way was so strange, so irresistible. It made trouble for him ; yet it was right, he knew. But that terrible ruler ! His hand would tremble ; but his mother bade him good by at the g«.te, as though a punishment were nothing. ' Go in row, Freddv. Mamma can wait for you to decide whether she is right or wrong. Good-bv." Fred brushed the tears away. Tom Gray shouldn't see him cry. He waited to kiss mamma She looked so pale, and maybe her way v> as best. He looked back from the entry. He would smile toward her. It would be too bad to let her go home grieving, and he remembered her arms were so small, and those stockings were only two among many muddy ones. He had made her a great deal of trouble this morning—little mother ! He went into the schcol-iojm. Mamma waited without for three, four, five min utes. No sound or blow or cry. Six, seven minutes. All quiet within. Then she drew a long breath and went home. . , At noon, two feet bounded ltto the kitchen and a voice exclaimed : "Hurrah for mamma !" "Well, dear?" brightly. "She never touched mf. Not a stroke. She only looked odd around the eyes, and L-iie read your note aloud, and she said ; Here is a good mother.' My I I was so proud I didn't care if I did have to stay and make up my lesson. I wouldn't have you write the other 'scuse for any thing." ■ , _ 'And how about Rob and the others ? asked his mother. Oh, 1 didn't ask. They didn't have to stay, though, 'cause they weren't gone as long. Oh, 1 didn't mind. When a fellow is so full of happy and proud, and never meaning to be bad again, he don't think much about the others getting off easy. I say, mamma," (Fred's face was in the kitchen towel), "I say, after all, even if she had whipped, I think your way's the best. Dinner ready t ' -In dependent. The Brakeman'a Losa. There is danger that the modern paseen eer brakeman will die of ennui. On the Fort Wayne road there is now in process of testing a device which is to be operated by compressed air from the engineer s cab, and which is, in effect, a noiseless annun ciator, quietly informing the passengers, through their eyes, not their ears, of the name of the next stopping place. This, if generally adopted, will rob the brakeman of the dear joy of shouting in an unknown tongue. One by one this official's duties have passed away. A decade ago he twisted the had brake as vigorously, an^ oftener, than did his co-worker on the freight train. Air and the engineer now perform that atduous duty. Now comes that silent, air -operated station annunci ator. There are a few privileges, how ever, left to the passenger brakeman, which the man in the engine cannot take away. There are pretty girls to help on and off, fat women, babies, old men and packages unnumbered to look after. But the vocal training of the brakeman will be totally neglected, and he will at times sigh for the times when he could relieve his feelings by splitting some passenger's ear drum and emitting a language that Max Muller himself could not interpret.— Pittiburg Bulletin. There are two things for live men and women to do ; to receive from God, and giv* out to their fellows.— Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. Dr Oliver Wendell Holmes, the Rev. Samuel May and the Rev. S. F. Smith, cel ebrated as the author of "America,' were the only ■ones who met at the reunion of Harvard's famous class of 1829 who met at the class reception at Boston. It is all very well for the wine and spirit trade to quiet its apprehension by reverting to the majorities against pro hibition in Michigan, Texas, Tennessee, Oregon and West Virginia elections, but the fact is still apparent th*t the senti ment against our business is constantly growing in this country and gaining frier ds among the most substantial ele ment in our population. The question is a grave one, and the sooner we appreciate fully the hold it is securing on the public mind and conscience, the better. It is to most of its followers what the slavery question way to its adherents, a great moral question. The good that alcohol does is little referred to, the harmful effects follow ing its abuse are been by all the world, 'J o check this abuse is the aim of the conservative classes, and hop ing to find a remedy in prohibition, they are rapidly falling into its ranks We are familiar with society's com plaints against the liquor traffic. We realize that there is good ground for many of these complaints. We deplore these facts hut stand helpless and without a woid of advice to those who would correct them. Herein lies our weakness. W r e are without a policy. We see young men becoming diunkards, but we offer no remedy. We see old men turn to common sots, but we offer no remedy. We see the scum of society flocking into the retail liquor business, but we offer no remedy. We see these men gain control of city gov ernments, but we offer no remedy. We see the retail business dragged down to The Romance of a Violin. While wandering through Creoledom j the other day 1 chanced to stumble over ! an interesting old second-hand store—a veritable Curiosity Shop. Long was 1 ' entertained by the decrepit shopkeeper, the old French gentleman who had seen bet ter dajs "axant la guerre," and many were the sad and romantic teles connected with each part of his collection, but to me the most pathetic was the following : More than half a century ago there lived, in Aquila, an Italian town in the province of Naples, a young boy who earned his bread by the music of his violin. When quite a child be was left an orphan by the death of his father, from whom he inheri ted a great mus ; cal talent and a violin. He began his career by wandering th-ough the streets playing on his violin. After some years of this life, thinking that he might do better elsewhere he con cluded to leave his home. The streets of Aquila, where most of his time had been spent, were the only home he knew, but it was perhaps as dear to him as some of our richer home3 are to us. Yet what caused him the greatest regret was that he would leave perhaps never to see again, the only friend he had ever had. This was a young girl who, in his poverty and loneliness, had befriended him, and had ever since been a ti ter to him. Let ns pass over the next twelve years of his life, and where do we now find him? In Aqula again. Is it possible that he has never left there ? No it is not. Since we last saw him he has visited nearly all the principal cities of Europe where, not without much hard labor and discourage ment, he worked his way to fame, till now his name is known far and wide. Bui why has he returned to Aquila ? Surely, if he is now so great a personage, he will not wish to recall the poverty of his early days. Instead of wishing to blot out all recollection of his former poverty, he re joices in its remembrance for it was when he was poor and miserable that the seeds of a love, which was strengthened by time and by separation, were sown. He has now come home to offer this love to the dear friend of his childhood. Not only does he find that his love is accepted, but that it is returned with equal fervency. They were soon afterwards married. For eleven years they lived a most happy life, but at the expiration of that time our poor hero lost his wife, a blow from which he never recovered. He now lavished all his affection on his only child, a son of nine or ten years. Like many another strong man he had one weak spot and that was for his child. He gave up everything to his boy to whose slightest request he never turned deaf a "ear. Althoagh in easy circumstances he again took up his profession of violin playing which he had given up some years before. This was a most unfortunate step, and m&da of his son an idle, good for-nothing man. In stead of being grateful to his father for all his sacrifices he looked upon them as bis due. Afier dragging his father ail oyer Euro, e he easily persuaded the now aging man to come over to America. Here they went from one city to another, the son spending money right and left, unheeding his father's frequent appeals to desist, as his money was rapidly disappearing. They gradually made their way to New Orleans, where the last of the poor violinist's money was gambled away by this most ungrate ful ot sons. Soon the old man was com pelled to part with his last memorial of former days, the old violin which he had inherited from his father. This he was now obliged to sell, or else to die of hun ger. Be was too old and f»eble to use it now, and rather than beg for bread he sold it and so severed the last link that bound him to a sweet and better past. Soon af ter hearing of the sudden death of his son. he sank into a swoon, which lengthened into the sleep of death.— Roberta. Habits of Ostriches. There are certain old traditions about the ostrich which, I have been told by the owner of the California ranch, are falla cious He sa*s that the ostrich does not bury his head in the sand and imagine he is unobserved by his enemies. On the contrary, he is a very pugnacious bird and always ready for a fight. Nor does the female ostrich lay her eggs in the sand for the sun to hatch them. To do them justice, they are quite domestic and de serve a better reputation. Nor is the ostrich ever used for riding, as he has an exceptionally weak back; any person might break it with a blow from an ordi nary cane. His strength lies in his great breast and hie feet. He has one great claw and a very small one, and with a terrible pre cision he can bring down the large claw with a cruel force that will tear open any thing not made of sheet iron. Savage birds at best, they are danger ously so during breeding time. The twenty-two birds brought to our Califor nia ranch trusted to their instinct and laid their eggs during the California winter, which corresponded to their summer south of the equator. It being the rainy season, their nests were filled with water and the eggs were chilled; so the first season of their American sojourn was a failure. The ostrich makes its nest by rolling in the sand and scooping out a hole some six feet in diameter, and, excepting an incu bator house, the California ranch requires no buildings for the use of the birds, though the land is divided off into pens, fenced in, each about an acre in extent, for the use of the breeding birds, every pair occupying one such enclosure. The ostriches live upon alfalfa and corn Alfalfa is a grass cultivated ail over the ranch. It resembles our clover and grows to a crop some six times a year.— £t. Nich olas. An Uncommon Royal Spectacle. Apropos of grand dukes, it may be in teresting to state that the czar has recently given the rare spectacle of an autocratic sovereign freely renouncing some of his privileges and reducing the amount of monevs attributed to members of his fam ily out of the State budget. The empress, who received annually 600,000 rubles—a ruble is nearly equal to eighty cents—will get only 200,000 hereafter, and in case of widowhood her dowry will be reduced by one-half, if she resides outside of Russia. Instead of 300,000 rubles, the czarowitz will have only 100,000, and his wife 50,000 instead of 150,000, as now. On her hus band's death she would get a pension 100,000 rubles instead of 300,000, if resides within the empire, and only 5v, in case of her residing abroad. The g dukes, brothers of the reigning czar, who received 100,000 rubles as a pension until now, will get no more than 33,000 Ihe daughters and grand -daughters of the em peror will receive from the State a dot of 1,000,000, and nothing more. Each son of the czar will get at his majority apranages bringing a determined income and 1,000, 000 rubles toward the building and fur nishing of a palace. Similar reductions have been ordered by the czar in regard to money appropriations made to other mem bers of the imperial family.— Sew York Tiibuue. Killed and Crippled. It is reported that 1200 persons a day are killed in the world by the monster liquor traffic. There are more than 1200 women and children crippled, too, every day by this monster ; children starving ; women wailing. Our stores are crippled by rum debts, much credit and little cash. Farmers are crippled by high .taxes and poor markets. Missionaries crippled by ship loads of rum Cnurches crippled by the dram shops. The monster pities nobody. The inno cent and helpless are among his cripples. Who is not crippled by it ? The saloon keeper and the brewer must pay the debt of death, Sody and soul. H. Hansen. 'NOT I! SOTI!' Who will be drunkards by-and-by ? Let each boy shout, "Not 11 not I ! A drunkard's death I will never die. In a drunkard's grave I will not lie !" Chorus ,—Not I ! not I ' I'll work, I'll try. To have no drunkards by-and-by. How will the dreadful ranks be filled When these poor drinking men are killed ? Who aretoe boys now growing up To siak#ïelr souls in the shameful cup ! Who wiîape willing by-and-by. To live^»uakiog others die ? To staue^pehind a.screen and sell Liquid çgiine and fires of hell? Who Drui be guilty, by-and-by. Of Hktgg bailey, corn, and rye, E\ n tue wheat, that makes our bread. And making it into poison instead ? — The Crusader. American Evolution Squadron. to gibraltar — courtesy of british officers. ltar Bay , Jan. 12 —The utmost has been extended the officers of the ^Jfnerican evolution squadron during the pAt week, and they will leave Gibral tar with pleasant recollections of the mu nificence of its residents and of British naval officers. The two British admirals and the com manders of the British men-of-war in port have visited every vessel of the squadron, and have expressed themselves in the highest terms of the vessels' eff-sctive de signs and armaments. To-night Admiral Walker will give a dinner on board the Chicago. Although it is probable that visits to the galleries of the famous Rock have been writteu ud time and again, it may not be out of place, in connection with our visit, to say something concerning them. Per mission is usually obtained at the adju tant general's office, but a call on Mr. Paul Munro Ferguson, of Mark Twain celebrity, rendered this unnecessary. A not unpleas ant up-hill journey of three quarters of an hour found it beside the portals of an old Moorish castle, said to have been erected by the veteran Tarie El Taerto, A. D. 711 After this we parsed through a massive gateway, dismounted and found ourselves in a roomy tunnel with port holes for the admittance of daylight and projection of guns, everv fifteen yards or so. Muzzle loadinj; rifles of six and eight inches cali bre are mounted on wooden carriages, but have not much scope for elevation or de pression; indeed, some can only be fired point blank, so little space is there in the port holes. Artificial lights are not re quired in the galleries except at night. There is always a cool breeze blowing through the galleries. We walked along for perhaps a mile enveloped in the solid rock, and then emerged into a large open space where the galleries meet. This is called the hall of St. George, and here Nelson, the victorious, was feted by the officers of the garrison after the battle of the Nile and not a great while before the fatal day of Trafalgar. The walk through the galleries, which are one above the other like the fighting decks of an old line -of-battle ship, is two miles; but we did not go throueh the upper galleries, permission for which was not obtainable, nor were we permitted to see the powder magazines. This seemed to us perfectly absurd, as did also the prohibition of pho tographing any interesting parts of the rock or ships-of war. These galleries did not exist at the time of the famous siege, they were commenced only whea it be came absolutely necessary for the'garrison to protect itself by excavation from the murderous fire which was being poured in its midst; then gangs of convicts were set at work and blasting operations com menced and boring pushed vigorously until the present roomy and spacious gal leries were completed. During the siege the rock was defended against fifty of the most formidable battle-ships of that pe riod and an army of 50,000 men, by 96 pieces of artillery and a garrison of 7000 men. At the present day over 700 guns are mounted, and it could hold its own against the combined fleets of the world; yet the Spaniards still claim Gibraltar as theirs, recognizing, however, that it is 'temporarily" in the possession of the English. A walk through the Alameda gardens and around point Europia by the formida ble water batteries is delightful on a fine day. Standing on the extremity of South em Europe, with the distant pillar of Hercules Centa in full view, one cannot fail to be struck with the grandeur of the ecene. Rising high above us on the high est pinnacle of the mighty rock is Oharas Tower, and as we pass further toward the eastwaid and take our stand upon û little beach with the waters of the Mediterranean lapping our feet, we feel astonished at the intrepidity of the 500 heroes who boldly scaled the almost perpendicular cliff only to be hurled furiously into the sea." This was when the Spaniards, led by a mountain shepherd, attempted to take the rock from the rear. When They Wanf Pennies. "Will you kindly give me some pennies in change ? " asked a gentleman rider on a street car last night. "How many ?" asked the conductor. "Oh, about ten," was the reply. The transaction was made satisfacto rily, and the gentleman stowed the ten pennies carefully down in the corner of his vast pocket. •'Is not a demand for pennies rather un usual ?" was asked the conductor when he had taken his place on the rear balcony of the c&r. "No. On Saturdays we often have re quests for pennies, but on other days of the week people don't want them, and of ten absolutely refuse to receive five cents worth of coppers. You see, men with families find it profitable to be prepared with pennies to give the children for Sun day sahool and to drop on the plate. Ten cents' worth of pennies will go along way, but if a man has much of a church going family it will cost him quite a sum if he is compelled to give them all five or ten cent pieces because he has nothing smaller. "All the pennies I dispense on Saturday come back to me on Monday morning. There are twenty-eight churches along my line, and I catch all the ministers go ing down to the weekly meetings, and they all pay their fares in pennies." Philadelphia Record How Jsy Gould Dispenses Charity, Like most of the successful men of the present age Mr. Gould is extremely me thodical and systematic in his habits. He rises every morning at precisely half past seven, seldom varying from that hour more than ten minutes. At 8 o'clock he sits down to his breakfast, which in his case is usually French rolls and a cup of coffee, and expects to find every member of his family present at that meal. Break fast over, his private secretary is called in, and the-numerous begging letters of the morning's mail are laid upon the table. Each member selects at random a number of these letters and reads them over. If any one of them is impressed by any of the letters they are laid by for future reference, while the others go into the waste basket. Those letters which have been laid aside are then taken up and dis cussed, and if a majority of those present conclude that it is a case which really de serves assistance the assistance is sure to come within a very few hours, in a very substantial form and without the slightest hint as to the identity of the donor.— Philadelphia Inquirer. "Have you felt slippers ?" inquired tn old lady in a shoe store. The clerk, who was new at the business and young, an swered : "Yea ma'am ; many a time." The Largest City. London, the great capital of the British Empire, is declared to be the most won derful city in the world. We are early taught that it is the largest city in the universe, but when we are told it would take our six largest cities to make a Lon don, we find it difficult to grasp the re markable fact of magnitude. The popu lation of London is about five million, and it is said to increase at the rate of one hundred thousand a year. Disraeli des cribed the English people as made up of two "nations," and socially there are two di-tinct',London : the London of the "West End," with its beautiful parks and palaces its wealth and rank, its pride, its lavish expenditure, and the London of the "East End," with its ugliness, and bad odors, its poverty and wretchedness, its vice and irreligicn. The "East End" has been called "the largest heathen city in the world," and among its one and a half mil lions of poor, we find the refuse of many nations. Its principal streets maintain a show of respectability, in spite of a large number of gin shops, but it is said that in few cities are the poor so degraded in their poverty. This sad state of affairs i3 not chargeable to the indifference of the better class of the community. Almost super human efforts are constantly being ^made to meet and destroy the forces of evil, and all classes of society engage in mission work, from the rich aristocrat to the hum ble mechanic. The English people give freely in char ity ; indeed, they are charged with an ex cess of benevolence, or rather, with being unwise in their benefactions. Large num bers of poor are systematically helped and th s method has sapped the energies of the people, and has, unhappily, resulted ir\ the complete demoriliz&tion of many whom it has changed from "chance paupers into profess locals." London is reported to have 110,000 paupers. Begging is pro hibited, but there are many ingenious ways of evading this law. In 188" Eng land and Wales raised a tax of $75,000 000 for the relief of the poor, and 7fi7,922 persons were receiving relief January 1, 1887. In addition to this public tax, an ■ enormous amount is yearly given in pri- j vate charity The Charity Organization Society of London was established in 1809, "not to form a fresh relief fund, but to attack the causes of want and pauperism in a syste matic manner," and has among its sup porters some of the yreat philanthropists of the city. A most earnest effort is being made for "judicious wirk among the poor, for it is evident that tue poor of London have been made poorer by indiscriminate giving—a seeming paradox, but a true statement, nevertheless. Miss Octavia Hill and others have for years most stren uously urged the adoption of more enlight ened method«, and some progress has been made in a reform of charity itself, for peo ple are beginning to comprehend that charitable werk among the poor requires experience and wise thought as well as sympathetic feeling. As Miss Hill indi cates, it is better is teach the poor self-con trol and foresight than to keep them on the brink of pauperism by the continued distribution of petty doles London Christians feel the stimulus of numbers, and the greatest zeal i3 displayed in all the varied forms of mission work. The evangelization of "the largest heathen city in the world" is no mean problem, but. as Dr. Cuy 1er puts it, "God's people are wrestling with it bravely." Several churches are doing noble work, employing as aids orphanages, mission schools, ragged schools, Bands of Hope, etc. N umerous societies and individuals attend to special departments of mission effort. The London City Mission, organized in 1835, exerts an immense influence through Its nearly five hundred missionariep. The total receipts of this society for the last year ware §512,010. These missionaries refer all canes of tem - poral distress to the care of friends, a3 it is a positive rule of the society that the missionary shall be known only as a reli gious teacher. Nearly four hundred of the missionaries have special districts as signed them, preaching in the open air, establishing Sunday schools, and seeking in every way the spiritual benefit of those committed to their care. One hundred and one of the missionaries, instead of having districts assigned them, are ap pointed to [some particular work. Some û 3* oks their whole^time to visiting liquor saloons and coffee houses ; others minister to the needs of various foreigners, whom they are able to address in seventeen dif ferent languages, and so the good work goes on in all the nooks and corners of this great city, an effort being made to give every class an opportunity to hear the gos pel message. The work of these mission aries has been greatly blessed, and it is a pleasure to know that through their min istrations "whole districts have been changed in their character, and whole classes of parsons have been influenced for good."— Miss JS. E Backup, I a Housekeeping Boy3. There were four boys in the family, whose activity was exhausting. The mother was a wise little woman who be lieved that much ill-directed force might be utilized by a judicious division of labor, which would spare her nerves and increase the family comfort. So the oldest boy washed dishes when he was just tall enough to wear his mother's apron tied around his neck. He swept, dusted, and even cooked a little. If storms or sickness kept them in the house they were given needles, thread and thimbles, and taught to replace buttons, and set at other slight repairing, which they learned to do quite skillfully." When the third brother (who is the hero of this story) had grown to fit the apron, the first was honorably released. His deft-handed successor, more ambitious or more teachable, became that rarest of artists, a good plain cook, who was ^el come at campings^ont and other festivities of a Bohemian character. He was un daunted by biscuit and triumphant over steak. This "third brother" could also mend neatly, and even made his own neck ties to afford himself more variety. A time came when this training was worth a small salary. He found himself with an invalid wife, a boy of three years, and a hand so badly injured that he was obliged to change his employment. Some thing suited to his altered circumstances was not easily or quickly found ; but the man who had washed dishes had other resourcss. He did not, as well-meaning friends ad vised, give up his home and waste his substance on hired nurses and boarding houses. Through a whole discouraging year of waiting he nursed the' sick wife, cooked for the small family and kept the house bright and tidy with an occasional day's help. When the right position was offered at last, and the housekeeping fell again into natural ehannels, it was evident that a man could assist his own family without loss of dignity, and at the same time avoid the discomfort, and perhaps debt, caused by additional cares, while the real care taker was unable to meet them. In a partnership each member of the firm should be able to perform, or at least direct, the other's work ; and there is no reason why a man should not understand some of the details of housekeeping, or a woman learn to drive a nail straight and use a saw if necessary.— Louxs Hall, in Wide Awake. A miser and hermit died at Longview Tex, of pneumonia. While dying he tried to tell of buried treasures, but was too weak. His hut was miserably furnished his only chair being an empty nail keg After his death, was found in different places several hundred dollars, and he owned 700 acres of land. Seattle is making a crusade a, biers. Seventeen were arrestc REV. DE. TALMAGE, He Writes a Letter of Salutation wiiat he has seen abroad —HIS jour neyings in palestine and apos tolic lands and seas — a rough night on mount hermon. Constantinople , Jan. 18, 1890. On leaving America I addressed some words of farewell to my sermonie readers, and now, on my way home, I write this letter of salutation, which will probably reach you about the Monday that will find me on the Atlantic Ocean, from which I cannot reach you with the usual sermon. I have completed the journey of inspec tion for which I came. Others may write a life of Christ without seeing the Holy Land. I did not feel competent for such a work until I had seen with my own eyes the sacred places; and I left home and church and native country for a mo st ar duous undertaking. I have visited all the scenery connected with our Lord's history. The whole journey has been to me a sur prise, an amazement, a grand rapture or a deep solemnity. 1 have already sent to America my Holy Land observations for my "Life of Christ," and they were writ ten on horseback, on muleback, on camel back, on ship's deck, by dim candle in tent, in mud hove! of Arab village, amid the ruins of old cities, on Mount of Beatitudes, on beach of Genesareth, but it will take twenty years of sermons to tell what I have seen and felt on this journey through Pal estine and Syria. All things have combined to make our tour instructive and advantageous. The Atlantic and Mediterranean and Adri atic and iEffean and Dardanelles and Mar mora seas have treated us well. Since we left New York we have had but a half day and one night of storm, and that while crossing Mount Hemion. But let only those in robust health attempt to go the length of Palestine and Syria on horseback. I do not think it is because of the unh«alth of the climate in Holy Land that so many have sickened and di i here or ^Iter ward as a result of visiting the?c lands, but because of the fatigues of travel. Ihe number of miles gives no indication of the exhaustions of the way ^ hundred and fifty miles in Palestine and Syria on horse back demand as mu h physical strength as four hundred miles on horseback in regions of easy journey. Because of the near two months of bright sunlight by doy, and bright moonlight or starlight by night, the half day of storm was to us the more memorable. It was about noon of Dec. 18 that the tempest struck us and drenched til© mountains. One of tli8 horses fall and we halt amid a blinding rain. It is f f ® ez * ing cold. Fingers and feet like ice. Two hours and three-quarters before encamp ment. We ride on in silence, longing for the terminus of to-day's pilgrimage. It is, through the awfnl inclemency of the weather, the onlv dangerous day of the journey. Slip and slide and tumble and climb and descend we mus', sometimes on the horse and sometimes off, until at last we halt in the hovel of a village, and in stead of entering camp for the night we are glad to find this retreat from the storm. It is a house of one story, built out of mud. My room is covered with a roof of goat's hair. A feeble fire mid-floor, but no chimney. It is the best house of the village. Arabs, joung and old, stand around in wonderment a j to why we come. There is no window in the room, but two little openings, one over the dcor and. the other in the wall, through which latter opening I occasionally find an Arab lace thrust to see how I am progressing. But the door is open, so I have some light. This is an afternoon and night never to be forgotten for its exposures and acquaint ance with the hardships of what an Arab considers luxurious apartment. I sat that night by a fire, the smoke of which, find ing no appropriate place of exit, took lodgment in my nostrils and eyes. For the first time in my life 1 realized that chimneys were a luxury but not a neces sity. The only adornments in this room were representations of t»o tree branches in the mud of the wall, a circle supposed to mean a star, a bottle hung from the ceiling, and about twelve indentations in the wall to be used as mantels for anything that may be placed there. This storm was not a . surprise. Through pessimistic had expected that at this sea may O says been ally State of very point and ing, not its feet a to a laid bat . pl ' j in î a j one on the It it is it son we should have rain and snow hail throughout our journey. For the most part it has been sunshine and tonic atmosphere, and not a moment ha3 our journey been hindered. Gratitude to God is with us the dominant emotion. Having vi^ted tue scenery connected with Christ's life, I was glad to close my journev by passing through the apostolic lands and seas. You can hardly imagine our feelings as we came in sight of Da mascus, and on tlie very ro*d wliere Saul was unhorsed at the Hash of the supernal light. We did not want, like him, to be flung to the earth, but we did hope for some great spiritual blessing brighter than any roonday sun, and a new preparation for usefulness. Our long horseback ride was ended, for a carriage met us some miles out and took us to the city. The impressions one receives as he rides aiong the wailed gardens of the place are differ ent from these produced by any other city. But we cannot describe our feelings as we entered the city about which we have heard and read so much, the oldest city under the son, and founded by the grand son of Noah ; nor our emotions as we pass through the street called Straight, along which good Ananias went to meet Saul ; and by the sight of the palace of Naaman, the leper, and saw the river Abana, as yesterday we saw the Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus that Naaman preferred to wash in rather than the Jordan. Strange and unique Damascus ! It is worth while to cross the Atlantic and Europe to see it. Though it has been the place of battle and massacre, and of ancient affluence and splendor as well as it is of present pros perity, to me its chief attraction arises from the; fact that here the scales fell from Paul's eyes, and that chief of apos tles here began that mission which will not end until heaven is peopled with ran somed spirits. So also I saw day before yesterday Patmos, where John heard the trumpets, and the waves of the sea dashed to his feet, reminding him of the songs of heaven, "like the voice of many waters." But this letter can only give a hint of the things we mean to tell you about when we get home, where we expect to be be fore this month is ended. I baptized, by immersion, in the Jordan, an American whom we met, and who desired the sol emn ordinance administered to him in the sacred waters I rolled down from Mount Calvary, or ' place of a skull," a stone for the corner stone of our new Brooklyn Tabernacle. We bathed in the "Dead Sea" and in "Gideon's Fountain," where his 300 men lapped the water from their hands as they passed through ; and we sailed on Lake Galilee and stood on Mount Zion and Mount Moriah and Mount Her mon, and I saw the place where the shep herds heard the Christmas anthem the night Christ was born ; and have been at Nazareth and Capernaum, and sat by "Jacob's Well," and saw Tel el-Kebir of modern battle, and Megiddo of ancient battle, and where the Israelites crossed the desert, and slept at Bethel, where one ladder was let down into Jacob's dream, but the night I slept there the heavens were full of ladders ; first a ladder of clouds, then a ladder of stars, and all up and down the heavens were the angels of beauty, angels ot consolation, angels of God ascending and descending ; and I was on nearly all the fields of Herodic, and Sol omonic, and Davidic, and Mosaic, and Abrahamic history. I took Rome, and Naples, and Athens," and Alexandria, and Cairo on the way out, and take the (ireek Archipelago, and Constantinople, and Vi enna on the way back. What more can God in His goodness grant me in the way of natural scenery and classic association be in to a spiritual opportunity ? Ah, yes. I can think of something gladder than that he can grant me. Safe return to the people of my beloved Hock, the field of my work, and the land where my fathers died, and in the dust of whose valleys I pray God 1 may be buried. T. DeWitt TalmAGB. Life in Honduras. unpleasant features op the place where major e. a. burke resides. A special dispatch to the St. Louis O lobe- Democrat from San Antonio, Tex., says : Mr. Alfred Raphael, who has been absent for three years, has returned to San Antonio. A great part of his time has been spent in Central America, and especi ally in Honduras. Concerning the con cession of Major E. A. Burke, defaulting State treasurer of Louisiana, he says : "It is located three miles from the town of Concordia, and I have been over it very often. It is many miles in extent and is very valuable, particularly from a mineral point of view. The lodes are both gold and silver bearing, the latter predominat ing, and some of them very rich. I did not see Burke while there." Of Honduras in general, Mr. Raphael says: "Like all tropical countries, it h»a its drawbacks. First, the climate. Al though we were at an elevation of .5000 feet and 200 miles from the coast, the changes during the twenty-four hours were at times very severe. During our winter months it probably averaged 85' from 8 a. m. to 11 p. m. As the sun lowers a cool breeze comes from the mountains, followed by a heavy mist, which chills one through. The thermometer drops before midnight to 65', and several times dropped to 54°. jk "The houses are made of mud (not a do be) The roofs are mtde of v .ile ;i so laid as to keep out only bat with door a id -■ wind will sodiki ' - . pl ac ed ' "i the m: Idle f the r >om. i.der ' clothe 0 •._•• ■ 1 ^«saturated j in the morning. Theru is no use making î a file, a3 the heat all goes out through the j basket -work roof. Besides, it must be built on the floor in the middle of the room, and the heat seems to draw every insect within forty yards into the house. There is not 5 per cent of the population free from chills and fever, and it shakes one pretty lively down there. "a great portion of the people sleep in hammocks, others on rawhides stretched on a frame. This style of bed can get harder and keep colder before morning than the lining of an ice box. Not even the poorest will sleep on the ground. "The insects are various, vicious and venomous. The scorpion is veiy plentiful and builds its nest in the tiles of the roof. It keeps warm and quiet duriDg the day and at night prowls around, and getting numbed with cold and looses its grip and quite too often contrives to fall onto or into the bed. Then there is music. They are much larger than ours, more tuan twice the size, but are not considered dan gerous to adults. The children go >uto convulsions from the pain of the sting, and it is so severe somettmes as to cvase death. It depends on what portion of the body is stung. The cassampulga is a small black spider with red spots or stripes, and it is greatly feared by everv one. Its bite is invariably fatal is not attended to at once. The'negua or jigger, is the chap that lays^its eggs under the skin of the toes, and in three days its nest, of which it is in the center, is as big as a buckshot. Its presence is known by a slight itching ; then the skin must be carefully raised and laid back with a needle-point and a little sac removed without breaking it. It looks like a grain of barley, and leaves a clean cut round hole to the flesh, which will be healed the day following. If the sac is broken atd any of the eggs left, as is often the case, it is sometimes weeks before the person is able to walk, and the sting must be carefully attended to. "There are species of flea brought about the doorway of the houses by hogs, who are often rendered unfit for food from the ravages of this little pest. I have seen them with both toes of the hind foot al most eaten away. The most dreaded of all the snakes is one about twenty-four inches long and as thick as a big sausage. It is of a bright green and mottled with brown. It is called tamagas. It is also a very pugnacious chap. The men cultivate corn and sugar cane, and the women and children go each day into the hills to wash gold with variable luck. Sometimes a woman will make $1, and often when they strike gold gravel it is not unusual for them to make $5 in a few hours. As may be supposed, poverty is practically un known. Besides, they have at their door, in almost every garden, bananas, pineap ples, oranges, coffee and a great variety of fruits not known in this country." Queer Beliefs. The Fijian cannibal's emotions have reference for the greater part to food, so he worships the god Matawaloo, who has eight stomachs and is always eating. The Tongans have a very curious dogma to account for a day and night being twenty-four hours long. It used to be less ; the sun used to go down too ^aick. So one day a man caught 'A with a nooSe, and it had to goislower thereafter. The ancient Peruvians believed that the sun once came down to the earth and laid two eggs and then went back again. From these two eggs men sprung. The American Indians had a dogma that the sun was the one preme god, and the moon was his wife. TTne tribe inhabiting a fearfully hot district worshipped the moon alone, saying that they had no use for the sun. In the davs of Columbus scientific dog mas asserted : If a ship should reach India she could never get back again, be cause the rotundity of the globe would present a kind of mountain, up which it would be impossible to sail even with the most favo.able wind. A Burning Question. I am curious to know what it is that makes a painting by one artist worth $10, 000, and a painting by another, though equally good, perhaps even better, worth $ 10. 1 saw some pictures recently by a painter who can just keep his head above water, which are as well painted as are the canvases of many artists who are on the topmost wave of popularity. Perhaps you will say they lack the sacred fire. On the contrary, they possess it to a greater degree than some of their more fortunate fellow craftsmen. And yet they will lie in unknown graves while the others have lofty monuments reared above their heads. I wonder what makes the difference. Sometimes I think it is enterprise, indus try and tact—merely commercial qualities, that have nothing to do with the intrinsic merit of a work of art.— The Critic• Just Reward. Prisoner before the police j udge. Judge—You say that you drank whisky because you were sick ! Prisoner—Yes, your honor. Judge—^What was the matter with you Y Prisoner—A bad cold, your honor. Judge—A cold, do you say ? Prisoner—Yes, sir. Judge—Are you sure ? Prisoner—Quite sure. Judge— Just an ordinary, every-day American cold ? Prisoner—Yes, sir. Judge— You are not only discharged but must dine with me to-day. The fact that you had a cold and did not call it la grippe or influenza, entitles you to great respact. You can buy your wife fine clothes and a nice face, but there is not a store in the land that keeps dispositions. Something to be kept on hand—Gloves.