"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 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!"

But it all helps to add to the wonderful panorama of the day. Not fewer than 200,000 entering this place in the course of the twenty-four hours. It is the people's common, and no one dares to say them nay on this their great, high holiday. "For that Boston it goes crazy and the common takes a spree." For two nights and one day they hold their own, eat, drink and sleep there if they choose; but, before daylight, of the 5th, that motley throng of venders and tricksters is a thing of yesterday; they have folded up their tents and silently stole away. Scarcely a man has been put under arrest in all that jollity, except for real crime. That is one of the "orders" given.

We must not do one a kindness and then knock him down with a billet! But, the policemen are tired, sleepy and dissatisfied as they see how things are, or are not, with just un clin d'oeil on that dull morning on that sorry spot; for the sky begins to threaten rain after all that cannonading, often before the display of firework is all off. The common is covered with debris; its velvet dress shabby and soiled, rent, bedraggled in every breadth, and the beautiful malls, even have "given in!" Woe! Woe! "For that city it went crazy, and the common had a spree."

But, now in the distance, is seen the salvation army, the long display of carts and the steady tramp of men, with shovels and brooms (the industrial procession of the "5th") eager and willing to begin the work of rescue and redemption. They are neither tired nor sleepy and joke and jest passes from mouth to mouth, and roars of laughter, as they shovel up the picked and dry bones of yesterday's feast. By night that place is tidy and in a fair way for recovery. Heavy downpours during the day have kindly washed its face, and soon all be sweet and fair. "For that Boston it went crazy and the Common had its spree."

Makapala-by-the-Sea, 1897.

MIGNONETTE.

A Sweet Employment for Hawaiian Maidens,

Instruct Them Carefully and Scientifically in Floriculture and Horticulture.

What are our native girls to do when done with school, and obliged many of them to face this not always smooth and sunny work-a-day world?

*

We plunge at once into the charming, the poetical, in giving our counsel, to be heeded for no more than it is worth, and exclaim: "Why, cultivate mignonette!"

We repeat to you, my dear Hawaiian girls, cultivate mignonette. Cui bono? (What is the cost of it?) Everybody likes the odor of mignonette, everybody will buy a sprig if they own five cents..

But, you must be taught scientifically as to the preparation of your soil, and in what kind of exposure to make it thrive.

You must begin, too, with the best seed; and, you can never neglect your work, your care, your un-remitting love and attention to your garden, your acre of mignonette.

Now, having begun with this flower (I am perhaps meeting with a maiden who owns that much land somewhere near Honolulu, and who can form a sort of partnership with a few school friends who own no land, but who are willing to hoe, plant and water, pick, tie up and sell), go on to pansies, bachelor's buttons, violets and all other beauties.

The natives who are on the street now, and "may their shadow never grow less," and may the sweet perfume of their blooms