few words of grace; though it might be contrary to the spirit of his gift to erect his statue.

Vaccination and temperance are insisted upon; dogs are not allowed on the premises, and the rules of the place must be subscribed and adhered to.

It does not look so happily homelike, nor so good a school for life as a mews. The animals, the excellence and fineness of all things connected with carriages and stable fittings, the scrupulous cleanliness and daily attention to valuable property, the many comforts and the good feeding, the plants, the bright liveries, the knowledge that all these good things come from some individual master whom they must respectfully obey, give a brighter and more genial, natural aspect to a mews than to this street, which seems to represent the hotel system as adapted to poor families. There is but little housework to be done here, so much is done by thought of others for them, and the small space lightens that little; there are no pails of water to be carried from a long way off, nor any heavy work but occasionally to lift the coals to their cellars. This must cause loss of selfreliance. Few geniuses will be turned out hence; there is too much time for mental culture to allow them to value it. The women have next to nothing to do, for the once-a-month cleaning of the portion of passages, etc., does not amount to our daily average of house work, and their provision shops are close at

hand outside the buildings. It is a life calculated to encourage an easy dolce far niente existence, such as has not been found profitable or useful in a higher station.

I saw one girl rubbing her brass door-knocker with a leather, certainly; but then it was Saturday, her cleaning day, the busy day: to me it looked like a whole holiday, indeed.

Wages are high enough to supply food of the best quality, and here are all the means and appliances to cook it easily. The family clothing, when not bought ready made, or worked by the machine, is not sufficient in itself to take up much time and attention, especially in small, regular families, where money is as easy as respectability.

How thankful those blessed by it should be for the Peabody donation, that they have their precious time for trade-work spared them, the fatigue and dirt of London household work lightened, their lives redeemed from squalor, and good, cheap schooling for their children found them, and all this so thoughtfully planned as not to pauperize or cause loss of selfrespect! Ah! the poor of our day have much for which to thank the good; even flowers and good cheap music are provided for them. I only trust that, like spoiled and petted children, they do not take all these gifts as a matter of course; that they become better workmen and workwomen with their lightened loads, that Satan will not find some mischief still for idle hands to do.

"My grace is sufficient for thee; My strength is made perfect in weakness."

O all depths there is a lower still. This is a tale of a microscopic home told by Mrs. Gay, who warrants it as fact.

"Anima and I were looking over our

stores of things new and old, among the rest the babylinen preserved from my early married days, which had passed down through the family. I was never famed for a showy baby, but the tiny garments were all hand-sewn, and though plain, were of fine texture and good quality. I was rich, and brought up to be as elegantly idle as was in my nature to bear (I could not always bear it), so I did not then do all my needlework at home.

"What a dear little shirt, mamma!

Is it pos

sible we can all have worn that?' said Anima, remembering that her brothers soon grow out of very long trousers and we hear that my boy out in Japan measures six feet three. And here is a dear little day-gown; how beautifully it is stitched and gathered!'

"That is smock-frock stitch, Anima. We admire it now, because it cannot be worked with the sewingmachine.'

"It ought to be put in a glass case. make it?'

Did you

"No; perhaps I should exhibit it if I had. But it reminds me to tell Mrs. Caddy that besides her lily of the valley, or Violet Cottage, there is a model dwelling even poorer still.'

"Where and what is it, mamma? A turnpike? I once thought I should like to keep Dulwich turnpike. I would have made it a bower of roses, and had everything in miniature like a doll's house.'

"But poor people's appetites are seldom in miniature, so one must have the cups and spoons, plates and pots, of the usual size;-imperial measure, indeed, the beds as long and the chairs as wide as our own, all of which would crowd the space.'

"But a cottage like that, with diamond-paned windows, a pond in front with swans on it—and— and-'

"And Cupid to live in it,' interrupted I. 'No,

indeed; the model dwelling I mean is no pictorial paradise; it is a large room on a second-floor front. It is true a cockloft was added as the family grew bigger and better off. It is in Sale Street, a small street turning out of Praed Street, Paddington—a lodging in a slum, as some would call it-and it is the abode of a cabman!'

"Oh, mamma! I had rather hear about a cabman's shelter.'

"This is a cabman's shelter for his nine children.' "Nine children, mamma! You are piling up the agony.'

"This, though sensational, is true. The cabman in question had one great piece of luck in life.' Anima was all attention. 'He married a needlewoman.' Her face fell.

"Is that all?'

"Yes. You know Hood's "Song of the Shirt;" now you shall see the converse of that story. The woman who made these baby clothes for me lived happily and brought up nine children in a room in Sale Street, Paddington. Her husband did not drink spirits nor smoke bird's-eye, otherwise he was an average cabman; the children took after the mother, who was of superior type. I have known her many years. I heard of her by inquiring at C. and R.'s, the then great outfitters, for a needlewoman to do some special work that was out of their line. They told me of