of mental and moral culture, dreams, hopes and aspirations. Eliot, Maine, way down in Piscataquis County, is the lucky town which receives and gives out all this uplift of soul and outpouring of enthusiasm and the spot is as beautiful as the thoughts which are given voice there; possibly the future will know it as a Mecca toward which eyes of pilgrims will turn reverentially as they now do toward Concord in the belief that greatness like that of Emerson and Thoreau shall have left its ennobling atmosphere behind it. Surely out of so great a winnowing, though there may be great piles of bran for the feeding of cattle, there shall also be much wheat for the nourishing of man.

Those who know Green Acre best know best the nature and value of its annual offering. Every season is primarily devoted to the live and illuminating discussion of some of the most vital issues and movements of the day. As a free platform, in no wise hampered or restricted, Green Acre becomes occasionally an asylum for fads and hobbies. But the number of fads aired there is, in comparison with the matters of real moment discussed by people whose thought is of real value, surprisingly small. The self-denominated Elijahs and John the Baptists who come there to pray in their own peculiar way are apt to remain to scoff at their own foolish fancies and finally leave restored to a measure of sanity and broad-mindedness through contact with the really great and earnest thought of the real leaders. Green Acre is intolerant of only one thing, and that is intolerance. You may tell your own dreams and visions with a free

voice but you must not make fun of or acrimoniously criticise those of the other fellow. Therein lies at once the charm of the place and its real value.

The most distinctive feature of Green Acre is its noble persistency in the effort to reconcile differences of faith and religious belief, to reveal the real unity of religious ideals despite their varying forms of expression and to promote a closer sympathy between such; to give a better appreciation of the peculiar genuis of each race. The philosophy of India and of Persia, the exponents of Buddhism and Brahmanism, here come in contact with western thought, with the Concord school of philosophy, with Christian Science, mind cure, latter day temperance teachings and sociology. Each learns of the other and the general public learns of all. It is the camp meeting idea broadened and put on a world basis. Mingled with it all is the glory of the dawn amid the pines and firs of Maine, the sweet somnolence of the sunsets, the vigor of high noon and the solemn radiance of the stars in the great world of out-of-doors.

One can but believe that the soul of Omar Khayam takes a jug and a ioaf beneath the bough at Green Acre and mingles philosophy with the out-door life of the northern wilderness. Where inspiration and aspiration thus mingle there should surely be no expiration and the life of the hopeful movement will doubtless continue through long years to come, bringing to pass perhaps the real university of thought which is yet a dream like the many fancies which are propounded and discussed at this sylvan retreat.

ought to have spoken to me before trying to steal my little girl's heart."

"O, dad!" cried Bessie, and there was no doubt about the tears now. "He means to speak to you just so soon as he wins his first case. He knows that he's got his way to make. When he was here, he didn't think that he had any right to say anything he didn't know just how I felt about him."

"And now he knows? Ah, daughter!-you must show me his letters." "Yes, dad."

"Bring them to me in the library after dinner this evening."

"Yes, dad," came the answer, very low and indistinct.

When her father had gone to the office, Bessie had a long and tearful interview with her mother, who was in her daughter's confidence, and to whom the vision of Fred Wallace as a future son-in-law was not altogether unwelcome, for she had seen much of him the previous summer and recognized his sterling qualities.

"It will not do to oppose your father," said Mrs. Harper, after they had discussed the affair in all its phases; "but I have a plan in mind that may help you. At any rate it will do no harm to try it."

At the hour appointed, Bessie walked demurely into the library, carrying a little packet in her hand.

"Ah, so you have brought the letters, daughter?" said Mr. Harper, glancing up from the perusal of his evening paper.

"Yes, dad; and I'll sit down here and read some of them to you, if you are still willing to hear them," replied his obedient daughter.

"Very good; but will you promise to read them just as they are written?" he inquired.

"Yes, dad, honor bright!" "All right, then; go ahead." Bessie settled herself comfortably in the big chair and began to read in a very serious voice:

"My darling little Bessie!" "What!" exclaimed Mr. Harper, jumping up from his seat.

"You said I was to read everything just as it was written," Bessie returned rather saucily.

"Well," muttered Mr. Harper, as he reseated himself, "I suppose I shall have to stand it. His 'darling little Bessie,' indeed! Well, what follows that brilliant opening?"

What followed, you all know, for there is little originality left in the old, old story. Mr. Harper arose again and commenced to pace the library floor as Bessie calmly plodded on through the scorching missives.

"Stop!" he interrupted presently. Of all the foolish stuff I ever listened to, that is positively the climax. Is a man capable of writing such abominable nonsense as that to a girl likely to make a sensible husband? Impossible! and he calls himself a lawyer. Why it's sheer rot, I tell you!"

"Dad," said Bessie, when his storm of words had subsided a little.

"Dad! since you don't want me to read you any more of the letters, won't you just take a peep at them for yourself?"

"I don't want them, unless to have the privilege of placing them where they properly belong—in the fire," he retorted. Nevertheless he took the proferred package, while Bessie sank down in the chair and buried her face in her hands.

"Bessie!" said Mr. Harper, in a subdued tone, after the lapse of a few ominous moments.

"Yes, dad," came the muffled response from the depths of the easy chair.

"Where did you get these letters ?"

"Mother lent them to me, dad; and I really did read them just as they were written, only I changed the names."

"Well, little girl, you've outwitted me. You needn't show me the letters you really have received yourself. I'm afraid they can't possibly be more idiotic than those I wrote to your mother when she was about your age. Come here, daughter! You little sinner! when I thought you were sobbing your eyes out just now, I believe you were shaking with laughter. with laughter. There, run along, and when you next write to Fred you might ask him if it would suit his majesty's convenience to spend a week-end with us some time in the near future. It seems that he's won his first case rather easily, with your assistance."

"And, Bessie," he added, as that radiant nymph was tripping lightly out, after kissing and hugging her father, "will you find out where your mother is and ask her if she won't please step into the library for a little while."

Ο

NE day in the early summer there was a great ferment amongst the residents of Bowler street, down in the poor tenement quarter of the city. Two well. dressed strangers had appeared there that morning and acted in a rather mysterious manner. Their attention seemed fixed upon a certain block, and after walking slowly up and down in front of this and seeming to estimate its height and length, they halted and set down. some figures in a notebook. These unusual proceedings drew about them first a group of wondering children, then three or four women ventured up. It was not long before curiosity led to questioning and then the whole matter came out.

The news spread like wildfire. No one in the neighborhood was more excited by it than Mary Williams, who lived in the house on the opposite corner. When her husband came home from work that evening Mary was still out talking the matter over with her neighbors; and so John Williams went at once to the sink to scrub off some of the grime acquired at his daily toil of digging in the sewer. And thus he was engaged when Mary burst in upon him.

“Oh, John, have you heard the news?" she cried eagerly. "What do you think! You've read of that old Mr. McGregor, the rich philan thropist? Well, he had some men around here to-day looking at the

block next to us, which he's bought and is going to tear down and make. the place into a park."

"A park!" echoed John, looking up with his face covered with soapsuds.

"Ay," said his wife, "a park, an open place with trees and grass and flowers growing in it, right here at our very door. Just think of it! Won't it be grand? The men told us how it happened," her tongue ran on. "One hot evening the old gentleman was taking a short cut through here to the station and what he saw made him go away with tears in his eyes to think of what we poor people suffer in these hot, crowded places, with never a sight of a bit of green nor a mouthful of cool, fresh air all the summer long. So he looked around and bought the block just beyond us and he's going to make a pretty little park for us."

"Poo-oo-st!" said Williams with a final slosh at his face and grabbing blindly for the towel. "That'll be a fine thing for the kids. A gr-and thing."

"Oh, won't it!" she cried enthusiastically. "And maybe our poor little Alice 'll get stronger then when we can give her a bit of fresh air and the smell and sight of a few flowers."

"Ay, that's so," said John, polishing off now. "I hope the Lord '11 let us save her, Mary. It's mighty hard for us poor people to see our little ones fading away for want of

what God has given us plenty of, if we only had our rights."

"Well, well, little man," said his wife cheerily, "that 'll be all changed by and by. Those rich folks will wake up some day and see what's best for their interests, and that ' be for ours, too. This park is the beginning of it."

They kept on talking about the same thing while the wife was getting supper on the table and then they sat down with the children, to eat. Presently John grew strangely

silent.

"What are you thinking about, John?" asked Mary.

"I was thinking of the O'Briens. It's going to be mighty hard for them to be put out just now. Pat is working on only half time and between his work and Mrs. O'Brien's washing, I understand they can only just scrape up their rent and get a bite and sup."

"Yes," said his wife, "that's true. It'll be hard on them, and it'll be hard on us to lose them for neighbors. And then there's poor old Mrs. Higgins, who has lived over there in that tenement for thirtyfive years. She'll be thrown out, too. Poor soul, she loves her little room-though it is'nt much, God knows-almost as she would a child; and besides she's too old to be shifting around. It'll well night break her heart."

"Dan Crowly is another that '11 feel it hard," added Williams sympathetically. "He's just after putting in fifty dollars' worth of repairs out of his own pocket and now he'll lose it all, poor devil, and little he can afford it."

"John," said Mary, "I almost wish. old Mr. McGregor had never come through here after all. I guess his

fine scheme will bring as much misery as it will happiness. For my part, I think I'd go and beg him to give up the idea, if it wasn't for our poor little Alice's sake."

"After all," said Williams reflectively, "it's the way things go. I remember when I was a kid at school that the teacher told us one day something about the greatest good to the greatest number, and I guess this is a case where it ought to work. It'll hurt thirty or forty of our neighbors, but there's hundreds of us left to enjoy the park and the grass and the flowers. So what's the use of worrying; we couldn't stop the scheme if we worried about it from now till doomsday."

"That's true," responded Mary, and then as though that objection were fully disposed of, she went on. "And just think, John, our side windows will look right out on it. Won't it be fine?" and her eyes danced with very delight at the prospect.

This was in May. A large gang of men were set to work in a little while to tear down the doomed tenements, and in a few weeks the block of ramshackle buildings was removed and the place leveled off. Soon, under the power of the sun's rays grass began to show itself and by the end of July there was an embryo park, already a cheer to the eye and a pleasant breathing spot for hot and tired humanity.

In the centre a large fountain was erected and this added considerably to the beauty and coolness. of the place. Around this fountain seats were arranged and rarely was there one of them vacant, for here through the hot days sat the mothers. with their sleeping infants, and other women, some talking, some sewing, all enjoying themselves.