On School street, too, is Mrs. Haven's coffee room, from all time. She had the reputation of making the best coffee in the city. On the corner of School and Washington streets, the "Old Corner," stands one of the small wooden houses of revolutionary days. It is a famous rendezvous, being one of the most soughtafter-book-stores of Boston; the book shop is crowded with the finest and choicest church literature. It is rare to see this place other than filled with the bon ton of the town. At holiday time men work at night to prepare the place for the mass of customers each day. Not a stone's throw from its door is the Old South, also of the "fighting day," and saved from demolition by the ladies of Boston, who raised the money to buy it, for a land mark; and it is now used as a museum.

From this point it is about three miles or little less, perhaps, to the "Old North Church" (Christ Church) also of revolutionary fame. There, the beautiful peal of bells and the communion service were given by George III.

This end of the city, Salem street, Portland street, and the rest was once a most beautiful part of the town, the home of merchantmen, of shipowners and their captains, of retired merchants and their children, quite elegant and exclusive with the air of of solid comfort and home, all about it. But, to-day it belongs entirely to "poor Jack," and all the fishing tackle that besets him when in port. Ah, it is sad to see the degradation of the end or point of a city that is "run down." And here, some streets, only they are most brilliantly lighted at night, would be unsafe, even, for a guardian to turn his back. Still, there are business quarters in it for shipping stores, etc. And, oh! yes, there are the redeeming parts, also, to help the sailor out of his traps, and to keep him from getting caught in them. There are homes and hospitals, chapels

and churches and bethels; and others besides the "wicked" watching for their men, as intent and determined.

On a calm, quiet Sunday, and Boston is very quiet as an under current! can be heard early the chime of those bells floating over the north and west of the town. They are beautiful. There are now other peals. The first evening I came to this little village whose "roll" of inhabitants-Chinese and native I could call over in a few minutes likely, a little Chinese boy standing at the organ sang to me: "Like a little candle burning in the dark; you, in your small corner, and I in mine." He did his best to please me with his weak, piping voice, and broken English, bid me good night, and went to bed like a Christian child. It was my first sermon, and a good sermon is apt to leave an impression. I sit on my veranda for a time at night, when my work is done, and sometimes Longfellow's words come to me. The place the precincts—are secluded and apart. "I see the lights of the village gleam through the rain and the mist, and a feeling of sadness comes o'er me that my soul cannot resist; a feeling of longing and sadness that is not akin to pain, and resembles sorrow only, as the mist resembles rain."

"You, in your small corner."

Makapala-by-the-Sea, 1897.

"BOSTON COMMON."

Boston (1630.)-Second Paper.

For the city it goes crazy, and the common has its spree. Many of you, doubtless, know that "the pride of the city," the common, was owned by the cows in early times, and they never dreamed of losing their paradise in those happy days when they roamed from end to end at their own will, "chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy" likely. It was the same cows, too, who laid out the city; they were the civil engineers-bless them! and from this "Common" one can go in a "bee line" to any point he wishes to make! Folk "cross the Common" to go any and everywhere.

The common is not large (50 acres), it is, comparatively, quite small but it is as exquisite a gem, and in as rich a setting as can be found in any city of the world. It was the cows' lot, it is now the people's own "common;" and no inch of it can ever be taken from them, or their rights with regard to it curtailed. It is all defined in a "will" that can never be broken. These acres, the very core of the city, are kept in the most perfect form, its trees, turf and malls, its statues and fountains, ponds and bridges-art and nature combining to enhance its loveliness. It will be "a thing of beauty and a joy forever" to that noble city. "For the city it goes crazy and the common has its spree."

Yes, I will try to tell you about that yearly "spree" if you would like to hear it. It's a bad one-no half-way-an Independent Fourth of July spree. My petticoat pocket is literally

crammed—a miniature (pocket)—library—with all sorts of odds and ends, and beginnings and middlings, etc., foreign and domestic, if I can but find time to straighten them out little by little. They are wrinkles, notions, fancies, musses and crumps (my little children, dear), but I'll get them all bathed and brushed-presentable with time and patience. I know my "cock-andbull story" would awaken your interest. But, I like "Boston Common."

THE SPREE.

When it was known "once on a time" that a prince, a live prince, and no other than the Prince of Wales, was coming to see Boston Common the "Fathers" declared in most solemn assembly and tones that everything should be made brand-new for his use, excepting, perhaps, the Atlantic Ocean.

As soon as his royal highness saw the common he at once took an interest in some of the old trees. (Of course he would!) But he had been too well-raised to hint even that his mother had a common at home much larger and just as fine. But then the Queen's is not set down forever in the middle of Bostonand most likely he thought of that.

For days before "Independence" the crowds begin to gather in, from the four points of the compass for miles and miles around, and from neighboring states, even. Many, have been hoarding little amounts of pennies, for the entire year to go with, "to the city on 4th of July day." It is an infatuation, like "the Derby," for no sooner do they get home than plans are laid for another "celebration!" It is now the country folk mostly who keep the day for others have flitted to sea-shore or mountain to escape the turmoil. But the "City Fathers" spare

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no trouble nor cause that will give them pleasure. "For that Boston, it goes crazy and the common has its spree!"

The police force is increased immensely, secret and open, for a few days. The roads are lined with all sorts of vehicles heading one way; the farmer has left his field, the woman her churn, the mechanic has dropped his tools-are, eager for the treat. But, side by side comes, too, the "mixed multitude;" mountebank and gypsy-gypsy, juggler and peddler, and "Punch and Judy," all kinds of penny-shows and trickery, and last but not least comes "Roderigo's thief" in flesh and bones, and no ghost of a thief either, this time! Every Jack has his Jill, and every thief has his detective on that dear day.

The "Fathers" are most generous, wise and considerate; but they manage to keep their heads on that eventful day. "For the city it goes crazy, and the common takes a spree!" Thousands on top of thousands are appropriated for merriment -fireworks and bonfires, regattas and races, balloons and theatres, music music and concerts, processions and orations help to make up the order of the day and night. No sleep is dreamed of the night before, and from the moment of 12 m. Cannonading and bell-ringing and chimes, together with smaller rackets are distinctly heard! At 6 a. m. the "Antiques and Horribles" are out and it is a grotesque and fantastic picture worth one's while. The ball is opened!

So exquisitely dainty is this spot of earth served, for play, and refreshment and rest, to all the world who would enter to enjoy, not so much as a bit of child's biscuit would be permitted to lie on one of the malls longer than it caught the eye of a care-taker. But, on the "4th," booths, tables, stands and all sorts and descriptions of traffic, and peddlers' paraphernalia line the sides. They, also, have been "on hand" all night, and, after a fashion, are nearly akin to the "antiques and horribles!"