Published, Semi-monthly, by the Executive Committee of the AMERICAN FEMALE GUARDIAN SOCIETY, at the House of Industry and Home for the Friendless, 29 E. 29th St.

EDITED BY MRS. SARAH R. L. BENNETT.

For Terms and Notices, see Last Pages.

OUR HOUSE.

THERE is a place called "Our House," which everybody knows of. The sailor talks of it in his dreams at sea. The wounded soldier, turning in his uneasy hospital-bed, brightens at the word; it is like the dropping of cold water in the desert, like the touch of cool fingers on a burning brow. "Our house," he says feebly, and the light comes back into his dim eyes; for all homely charities, all fond thoughts, all parities, all that man loves on earth or hopes for in heaven, rise with the word.

"Our house may be in any style of architecture, low or high. It may be the brown old farm-house, with its tall well-sweep, or the one-story gambrel-roofed cottage, or the large, square white house, with green blinds, under the wind-swung elms of a century, or it may be the log-cabin of the wilderness, with its one room, still there is a spell in the memory of it beyond all conjurations. Its stone and brick and mortar are like no other; its very clapboards are dear to us, powerful to bring back the memories of early days, and all that is sacred in home-love.

There is no one fact of our human existence that has a stronger influence upon us than the house we dwell in, especially that in which our earlier and more impressible years are spent. The building and arrangement of a house influence the health, the comfort, the morals, the religion. There have been houses built so devoid of all consideration for the occupants, so rambling and hap-hazard in the disposal of rooms so useless and cheerless, and wholly without snugness or privacy, as to make it seem impossible to live a joyous, generous, rational, religious family life in them.

There are, we shame to say, in our cities things called houses, built and rented by people who walk erect and have the general air and manner of civilized and christianized men, which are so inhuman in their building, that they can only be called snares and traps for souls-places where children cannot well escape growing up filthy and impure-places where to form a home is impossible, and to live a decent Christian life would require miraculous strength.

A celebrated British philanthropist, who had devoted much study to the dwellings of the poor, gave it as his opinion that temperance societies were a hopeless undertaking in London, unless these dwellings underwent a transformation. They were so squalid, so dark, so comfortless, so constantly pressing upon the senses of foulness, pain, and inconvenience, that it was only by being drugged with gin and opium that their miserable inhabitants could find heart to drag on life from day to day. He had himself tried the experiment of reforming a drunkard by taking him from one of these loathsome dens and enabling him to rent a tenement in a block of model lodginghouses which had been built under his supervision. The young man had been a designer of figures for prints; he was of delicate frame, and a nervous, susceptible temperament. Shut in one miserable room with his wife and little children, without the possibility of pure air, with only filthy, fetid water to drink, with the noise of other miserable families resounding through the thin partitions, what possibility was there of doing anything except by the help of stimulants, which for a brief hour lifted him above these miseries? Changed at once to a neat flat, where, for the same rent as his former den, he had three good rooms, with water for drinking, house service, and bathing freely supplied, and the blessed sunshine and air coming in through windows wellarranged for ventilation, he became in a few weeks a new man. In the charms of the little spot, his former talent came back to him, and

Whole No. 708.

he found strength, in pure air and water and those purer thoughts of which they are emblems, to abandon burning and stupefying stimulants." House and Home Papers," in Atlantic Monthly.

For the Advocate and Guardian.
THE WEARY DAY.

IT was a weary day-the cares of life
Lay heavy on my being, and my feet
Trembled and faltered in their toilsome round.
It was a day of incidents-such day
As often crowds upon a life that sets
Itself the task of being real-life
That has a motive, aim, and love in truth.
There had been accident and haste and wrong,
Ill chance and petulance and feeble nerves,
All to be borne and soothed and laid to rest.
And then came one to ask for sympathy;
And one to ask for alms; and one-alas!
From the disquiet of a useless life,
To be amused; and laughing children came,
Just for a pleasant word or gift of flowers.
And there had been ingratitude for care
And favors, costing pain; unfaithfulness,
And petty wrongs that spring from ignorance,
Claiming at once forgiveness;-trials these
That fret the spirit more than larger woes-
And mine was-0, so weary! while the sick,
Sad aching near life's heart-strings plead for rest.

But amid all these ills there had come joys,
Like gleams of God's pure sunshine, lighting shades
With gladsome radiance: birds had sung; flowers
Brought their fragrance to me, and my poor heart
Had listened, looked and loved, and had been glad.
Bright thoughts had come to cheer me, pleasant thoughts
With minds congenial kindly interchanged,
And one sweet message from a far-off friend
But yet in all these words there was a lack,
For none had talked of Jesus-none had told
How, eyer standing by my inner self,
O'ertasked and vexed with all this little round,
The calm, pure angel of His presence was.
I knew that He was there, and sometimes turned
My inward eye upon Him, for I felt
That Jesus loved me, and that held me up.

O! when the mask has fallen from the face
Of this sin-stricken world-when things that seemed
So true, so beautiful, have proved themselves
Illusions-when what was read as fables

Is learned as deepest truths; how will the soul,
In its lone want and weakness, ask for God!
Once had I trusted earth, and made my staff
Of a poor, bending reed, that quickly broke.
So God's peculiar mercy spared not mo,
But tore my reed away: then He disclosed
Such heavy crosses as I could not lift,

'Twas thus I learned assurance God.

Unless He bore them too.
To make my staff and my
The sun at last went down; the guests had gone;
The sick was laid for sleep. My door was shut,
And there was no intruder-none but Night
With sound or motion stirred the holy air.
Alas, alas! that our approach to Heaven
Should e'er be hindered by the feehle clay!
My cheek, that paled at morning, now was tinged
With fever's hue, and my hot fingers pressed
A throbbing forehead, as I knelt to pray.
And then I took the Word, to find therein

A comfort for my spirit; but it seemed

As if each page was haunted with the tale
Of miracles of healing, and I wept.
"Where now is Jesus, in this age of ills

That wants the Healer's power? Or where the faith
That pleading 'I believe,' is answered Yea?'"
"Twas thus I cried, and knelt and wept again.
O! could He pass this way as once He trod
Judea's favored paths, how would I bathe
With tears of penitence and faith His feet,
Or be content to touch His garment's hem,
Or step within His shadow as He passed!
Youth, sorrow-faded then should bloom anew,
Nor bear the languid frame and weary brain,
Or broken aspiration. Is it so,

That thus the strivings of my soul must die
For nought to do their bidding-the weak flesh
Too frail to bear that earnest, upward strife?
My faith was weaker still, but yet I spoke
Confidingly to Jesus, as a child

Might tell its mother all the pain it felt.
And so my heart grew calmer; even then

A gracious answer in the form of peace

Stole o'er my spirit; I had strength to pray,
"Let me still live and labor as I may :
Grant me Thy truth, Thy peace, Thy love divine,
And health and joy and love enough are mine;
I shall not fail, for Thou my strength wilt keep,

And give me, as to Thy beloved, sleep:

I yet shall praise Thee with a firmer voice,
When higher anthem the loud strain employs.

1 fain would sing, so tuning low the song
That could not wake a sleeper, the still night
Had one more hymn of lowly, grateful praise.
Methought the stars had never been so bright,
Or moonlight half so lovely; this fair earth
Was beautiful as Eden, when there stole
A drowsy sweetness o'er me, such as falls
On peaceful childhood in its mother's arms.

I did not dream of heaven-I do not know

As forms celestial stood beside my couch,

Or fanned me with their wings, but there did seem
A pure air breathing on me, and I woke
Without the flush of fever, woke with strength
To take another day into my life,
And lay its burdens down at last on God.

E. L. E.

For the Advocate and Guardian. 'THE INIQUITIES OF MY YOUTH." WHEN the patriarch of Uz, in an agony of spirit, recounted his unnumbered woes and prayed, "Make me to know my transgression and my sin," in the very climax of his earthly sufferings, he placed the recollection of his early sins. He cried, "Thou makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth.' They revived in his memory; they were revived in the light of God's judgments; they bore with crushing weight upon his conscience. No sins, in the commission, are regarded with more indifference, in review, are contemplated with keener remorse, than those of childhood. While conscience sleeps, we look back upon the follies of youth as upon a distant landscape clothed in the beautiful foliage of spring.

Those early years rise upon the reverted

eye in sweet succession, precisely as a far-off mountain range lifts its towering peaks against an evening sky, in soft, waving outlines, as if some peerless artist had sketched the sublimest of nature's works, in delicate tints, upon the moving clouds. But as we approach those enchanted ridges, their beauty vanishes. The soft curves swell into bald and rugged outlines, the shaded nooks sink into fathomless abysses, and the silver belt that marked the river's course becomes a leaping, thundering cataract. The attractive loveliness of the landscape is gone. The gloom of sunless caverns and the sublimity of frowning cliffs occupy its place. A like change comes over our moral, nature when we approach, in memory, the iniquities of our youth. So Paul felt when he exclaimed, "Sin revived and I died." The difference between complacent indifference to the past and a penitential recollection of it was as striking as that between a living, healthy, active man and a motionless, lifeless corpse. Imagine yourself standing upon the battlefield of Waterloo, on an autumnal day. The golden harvest waves over the plain, where heroes bit the dust. The sweet breeze murmurs where the cannon roared. The landscape that was once covered with the mangled bodies of the slain, now teems with vegetable life for the service of man. But while you muse upon the past and enjoy the present, the bones of the buried dead are animated anew. They start, they rise, they unite and stand up a skeleton army. How appalling

the sight! You fly from the ghastly spec tacle with terror. So Paul felt when his sins revived. These forgotten sins stood up in fearful distinctness before his mind's eye. He was appalled by the repulsive array. His self-righteous complacency forsook him, and he died. His false spiritual life was no more. His good deeds, which had previously fostered his pride, seemed but the weeds which contained a decaying corse. So it is with every one who honestly recalls and seriously examines the iniquities of his youth. The sins of that age are really the most fatal to spiritual growth. They are like the wounds and distortions that are inflicted upon the sapling. The scars and curves are visible in the aged

tree.

"A pebble in the streamlet scant

Has turned the course of many a river;
A dew-drop on the baby plant,

Has warped the giant oak forever." The wonnds which sin inflicts upon the young soul are the most permanent and the most fatal. Hence the recollection of early sins causes such bitter sorrow in riper years. I once heard an aged clergyman thus describe his feelings. Often have I been wandering alone, when my thoughts were given up to uncontrolled reverie, with no definite subject of meditation, when suddenly, by some mysterious power of association, the sins of my youth have revived. My early companions and the scenes of childhood seemed to stand before me. I recalled the petty frauds I had practised, the angry words I had

used, the unfair games I had played, and the mean and cowardly violation of the wholesome rules of parents and teachers. Such reflections have unmanned me. I felt that no worthy manhood could spring from such a marred and deformed stock. I loathed myself and found relief only in penitential pray

er.

So feels every honest man when he recalls the iniquities of his youth. So acts every true Christian when he becomes conscious how vile he is by nature. Such days of reflection and spiritual sorrow must come to all in this life. If the sins of our youth are forgotten now, eternity will reveal them in all their enormity. We must meet them again. A soldier lay dying in one of our hospitals. A clergyman approached him, and kindly asked, "Can I do anything for you?" "Nothing," he replied. "Have you no friends ?" "None." He seemed reserved and taciturn. But after much solicitation to reveal his sorrow, to the oft-repeated question, "Can I do anything for you?" he replied, "Can you undo?" "Can you undo?" He was weighed down with guilt, he had corrupted his praying companion, he had seen him die an aposHis turn had come and he could only cry, "Can you undo?"

tate.

E. D. S.

THERE is so much practical good sense in the following, that we give it a prominent place, with the hope that it may prove a word in season to some whom it may concern.

WOMAN'S WORK.

SLOW, dripping, mossy, brown, turns the old mill-wheel, ever running its ceaseless round, or if it takes rest, it is only at hours when we rest also, so that we do not appreciate it. The old wheel has been mended, one part of its sturdy frame gave way, and one day the carpenter put a new piece of wood, bright, clear, yellow, in the midst of the gathered moss and rust of years.

Children sit watching it, and every time the new bright spot appears they cry, "there it comes again," and so they count the revolutions.

So regularly and constantly comes up the question of woman's labor to be discussed, handled, only to disappear in another revolution.

Here it comes again!

Women meet and tell their wrongs and cry for redress, and the world would gladly help them. But how? I do not expect to throw much light on the matter-there is no new thing under the sun-but one cannot well let the subject alone.

Does not this principle bear upon the point? When any commodity is in excess of the demand prices fall. There is too much woman's labor in the market-not of the highest class, for skill commands almost any price-but poor and ordinary ability to use the needle.

My own opinion is that the effect of raising prices would only make more women turn to sewing for, I will not say a livelihood, but an existence. The experiment was tried on a small scale in Cincinnati during a winter of

suffering. Benevolent individuals formed an association, bought materials and furnished work at living prices. No sooner was it known that work was offered than crowds rushed in, and women came from the country and from other places because work was to be had for money. They had as many poor and as much suffering as ever, and a great quantity of clothing on their hands. Sewing is an unhealthy employment, and kills by inches if not faster; while the machine-work, if followed continuously, is worse than the needle. "A girl was at work for me; she seemed well. One morning she did not come, and two days afterward a substitute appeared. She said Julia was dead." This was the history told me many days ago; and no wonder. Only a constitution of iron could stand such wear and tear.

What shall we do?

We do not expect to do anything. We should be glad to convince young girls that varied employment is more useful and more healthful; that household labor is a better apprenticeship for the ordinary course of woman's life, and only a false pride rejects it. There must be many women with families, or those who have cares at home, to whom sewing is the only resource; but if there were only these they would be better paid.

As it is, a girl who spends her days on her needle, with scanty sleep and often wretched fare, is poorly fitted to be a poor man's wife and the mother of his children. She has neither health nor knowledge for her position, and as there is no school in which she could learn these duties, her best training would have been in a well-regulated family.

I have watched the course of many families, and have found thrift, care, economy, and health in those who had been educated at service. Our servants ("help" if you will) are better fed and lodged than the majority of sewing women, and it is no small consideration. aside from other points.

"How is it that does not get on better at home?" "O his wife was a teacher or something, and she does not know how to manage."

"As your

We met a well-favored but pale and wornlooking girl, whose face rather struck me. "That girl," said my friend, "works in a factory from twelve to fourteen hours a day, with half an hour for dinner, rooms hot, atmosphere foul." "She looks like it; the girl will have no health. I could give her as good wages and better health in my house." servant? She would not go for a thousand dollars-she has too much pride. She is engaged to be married, and is saving her money for her outfit." "I hope her pride will keep her up, poor girl. She will not have much else to begin upon; her life is wearing out fast."

And what kind of a housekeeper will she be? Men serve an apprenticeship to any trade or business before they are fit to carry it on for

themselves. A women is expected to be a cook, nurse, laundress, housekeeper, without any previous training, trusting to luck or instinct, both of which may fail; and, judging from results, they generally do.

The best place for a girl who cannot live at home is in a well-regulated family, and the worst-mentally, morally, and physically—is a crowded factory or sewing-room.

I do not set this forth as a cure for all the ills complained of, only as the best that circumstances allow.

For the Advocate and Guardian. MERRY CHRISTMAS.

God's angels had been scattering the beautiful pearly snow over the village where Susie had her home. All night, while the people lay sleeping and dreaming of the Christmas bells that were to awaken them in the morning, and of the dear family groups that were to gather around the Christmas board and the Christmas hearth-stone, the angels flung their frosty treasures over the landscape, and transformed the brown earth

and the naked trees and the stiff houses into a magic scene of silver and pearls and diamonds.

Little Susie saw the glitter on her window. panes and the up-heaped crystals on the ledge, as the sun kissed her lids and made them fly open wide so that the bright eyes might see the glory. At first she was dazzled and put up her chubby hands to shield her from the glare, but presently she sprang out of her soft, warm bed, and sinking down upon her knees by the window, herself a little white heap, with a golden crown upon her head where the sun touched her hair, she folded her hands and said her early prayer.

It was a day to be very glad in; earth and air and sky were full of God's praise, and Susie's heart was a fountain of joy. There was so much to be grateful for! The pure, serene blue above her, and the glistening white below, and the glowing sunlight over all, and the merry chimes that came swelling upon her ear, speaking of Him whose birthday she was to commemorate! Was it any wonder that the fountain in Susie's heart bubbled up and burst forth from her lips in a song of thanksgiving, "Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace, goodwill towards men."

Her father and mother heard the music of the child's voice, and came on tiptoe to her door to see the vision which angels love to look upon, a dear little child at prayer. Byand-by two small bare feet went pattering across the floor, and mother and father and Susie were locked together in one loving embrace, and, Merry Christmas,!" "Merry Christmas!" resounded through the room; and the baby peeped from the bars of its little crib, and crowed its loudest for the rosy sister that it was always delighted to see. Then there were billings and cooings between the two children, as Susie put her lips to the

baby's through the crib-bars, and when all her greetings were over, the little girl flew to the chimney to see if "Santa Claus " had remembered her as he was wont to do.

"To be sure he had," said mamma, as she reached the full stocking from the mantel. Books were piled up around it upon the shelf, with Susie's name in them, and toys and "bon-bons" were in the stocking, and a little purse with a few silver bits, for it was before this ugly rebellion broke out in our beautiful Union, and we had silver and gold in plenty then.

"WE'RE ONLY STEWARDS."

"All for myself?" said Susie, as she counted the pieces, "one, two, three dollars."

"For yourself as God's steward," answered her mother, with a grave, sweet expression.

Susie knew what that meant, “To be used as my Father in heaven would approve, that is what mamma means," said the little girl to herself. She sat upon the floor, thinking, with the purse upon her lap and the silver bits in her hand. "How much good a dollar can do," thought she, "and here are three, how rich! how rich! There is Jack, the errand-boy, has no shoes, his poor feet were quite frost-bitten and sore yesterday, and today there is snow to walk upon, he must have a pair; that would please God, I am sure! And little Sally, over the way, needs a thick, warm petticoat, I could see her poor blue limbs through her thin frock when she was here the other day. Would that be a good steward, mother?"

She forgot that her mother knew nothing of what she was thinking, and with a merry laugh, as her mother looked inquiringly at her, she chinked the pieces into the purse again, and jumped up to dress herself, that she might not be tardy at breakfast.

Later in the morning she sat beside her parents in church, listening to the minister, as he told them of the God-Man who was born into this world to sanctify it and redeem it from the curse of sin, so that we who have done wickedly and must otherwise have been punished forever, may through this blessed Jesus be saved in His eternal kingdom, if we will.

The light from the stained windows shone in strange beauty among the evergreens that adorned the temple, and as one thick cedar was all aflame with a red glow, Susie could not help thinking of the burning bush in which God appeared unto Moses. It filled the child with a solemn awe, for "it is the glory of God," said she, "He is visible in all His works." That is what her mother had taught her, and she could not look carelessly upon any of the wonders of creation and not behold in them the Divine Power. By-and-by the sermon was ended, and the people received the benediction and dispersed to their happy homes.

Susie walked alone behind her father and mother, she had been used to going often by herself, and they did not wait for her. It

was pleasant to linger to-day in the first snow of the season; children love it so. Besides she was well protected in her warm merino cloak with its fur collar and cuffs, and her face shone out of the rosy lining of her white satin bonnet, as rosy itself as was the lining. She turned a little aside from the road home, to see how the brook was stopped in its course by the frost and snow, and how its waters were rounded up here and there over the stones and capped with white. It was so pretty! There was something there that hurt the landscape. What was it? A poor old man, with silvery locks struggling from under a shabby hat, and bony hands, and thin frame, and wrinkled face, shivering and trembling in the wintry air. He leaned upon his cane and seemed scarcely able to creep along, and Susie's bright eyes were filled with tears as she remembered her own dear old grandfather, who was petted and caressed at home, and upon whom the chilly breeze was never suffered to blow painfully.

The old man seemed cheered by the little ruddy face before him, and as she drew very near to him, and said in her sweet, childish accents, "Merry Christmas!" a smile broke over his features and he returned her greeting, but in a moment a sense of his misery came to him again, and he said with bitterness, "What is Christmas to me?"

"Isn't it the birthday of Jesus to all who

"Yes,

will take Him into their hearts? That is what mother told me," said Susie, putting her little hand into the old man's withered palm and leading him towards home. He could not resist her simple faith. child," said he; "may God forgive me! It is indeed the day of days for all mankind. Whatever of poverty or sorrow may come to us, Christmas day brings to us riches and joy, blessed be He that left His Father's glory and was born a little infant for our sakes!"

"Haven't you any little grandchild?"

asked Susie.

The old man pointed heavenward with his

cane.

"Nor any home ?"

"Not on earth," said the old man, "they turned me out the other day because I could no longer pay the rent, and I am too feeble to work."

"I have a dollar for you in my stocking," said Susie, "Jack must have his shoes, and Sally her petticoat, but I have a dollar left; maybe it will help you some."

The old man pressed the little hand and a tear fell from his eyes to the ground. They had reached Susie's home, and she led him in and told her mother, “God had sent a stranger to them, he might be an angel; she could not tell." She had heard her father read the verse, "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." And she was a queer little thing, always putting her own meaning to what she heard.

"He shall have a nice, warm dinner, and

we will fit him up with some of grandpa's clothes, and make it a happy Christmas for him if we can," said mamma.

Papa directed that he should be nicely dressed, and he was installed in a comfortable chair at their own table, for there was something in his face that told them he was no common beggar.

When he was warmed and fed, so that his old, chilled memory began to revive within him, he turned suddenly to Susie's grandfather, and stared at him long and earnestly, and grasping his hand, said, "Brother!"

It was really so; they had been separated when young men, and the unpropitious years had brought one of them to loneliness and poverty, but this birthday of Jesus, which was meant to put all things right, had re-united the long-severed brothers, and given untold joy and gladness to the miserable old heart.

After they had finished their dinner and were all seated around the great Christmas fire, with the baby in the middle of the floor playing with her toys, Susie brought her purse to her mother and told her her plans. "Is that being a good steward?" asked she.

Mother thought it was, so Jack got his shoes, and little Sally the nice warm petticoat, and the other dollar Susie gave to the stranger that she always would call "an

angel." But the old man said, "angel

means messenger, and therefore Susie must be the angel, for she was the messenger of God to me to bring me to my kindred and to make for me a happy Christmas.”

FAN FAN.

Advocate and Guardian.

NEW YORK, DEC. 16, 1864.

[CLUB SUBSCRIBERS.-Several letters of inquiry are before us relative to club sub

scribers.

We are instructed to say that in cases where a club had been obtained or renewed and prepaid since Sept. and previous to the notice of advance in Nov. 1st Advocate, the paper will be sent at previous rates. If our readers will tell us how we can change the market price of paper, and all other commodities, so that former prices shall again prevail, the way will be plain to meet the wishes of those who feel unable to make the trifling advance of twenty-five cents. Till that time shall come, the Committee will find it necessary to abide by the terms specified in our last two numbers. See notice on last page.]

CLOSE OF THE YEAR.

THE present number completes the 30th volume of the Adv. and Guardian. Truly a long period for a paper to survive and pros

per, with a record whose review furnishes so much cause for gratitude. If we may credit the united testimony of its numerous readers, notwithstanding its shortcomings—its mis sion has not been fruitless. As grace has been given, it has pleaded the cause of the poor and needy, the fatherless and him that had no helper-and has enlisted from year to year a host of friends, for the homeless and friendless. It has aimed to commend to the young a worthy self-reliance, a steadfast adherence to truth and virtue, and whatsoever things are pure, lovely and of good report. It has aimed to take Bible ground on all questions considered in its columns, regarding human censure or applause of little moment compared with the approval of Him in whose word it is written, "So then every one of us must give account of himself to God."

To the many that have contributed valuable thoughts and suggestions, and helped to enrich its pages by mental effort, the thanks of the Committee are gratefully tendered. Those also whose physical labors have so of ten swelled its list of acknowledgments, are remembered as recipients of "the blessings of many ready to perish." The noble band of volunteers, who have proffered their personal services in continuing and extending the circulation of the Advocate and who have thus far kept the subscription list undiminished, are as valuable to the work as a commissary department to an army. For what they have done in all the past, and especially for what they are doing at the present crisis, they have our hearty thanks. Another thir ty years and all this work will have passed to other hands. Let none be weary in welldoing, for "the time is short."

THANKSGIVING-DAY AT THE HOME.

AMONG the seasons specially marked by grateful memories, our late Thanksgiving and Donation visit at the Home will ever have a prominent place. The day was calm and of the little ones to whom it was to be a day beautiful-made on purpose for the enjoyment of gladness. The efforts of all, both patrons and helpers of home charities, and those whose means were given exclusively to the country and its brave defenders-had been so engrossed in providing for the mammoth dinner, forwarded by ship-loads to a half million soldiers-that we were happy in expecting this once, but just a passing remembrance. And yet, there was no lack. Abundant supplies were sent in for a Thanksgiving dinner for the Home children and the several Industrial Schools connected with its mission.

And, in addition to this, the amount of ma terial aid received proved quite equal to that of any similar occasion of other years.

During the afternoon and evening the Home was thronged to overflowing-hundreds going away, unable to find seats or a standing-place in the Chapel. The disap. pointment of the patrons in this regard was matter of extreme regret, on the part of the managers, but beyond their power to remedy.

At 3 P. M., Mr. C. C. North, of our Board of Counselors, took the chair and the exercises were opened with prayer by Rev. J. Bruen, of Irvington. The Home School and a portion of three of the five Home Industrial Schools occupied the galleries, and gratified the audience with their sweet songs, recitations, dialogues, etc., during the afternoon and evening. A graphic allegorical picture of the Rebellion, its cause and issues, was presented by a group of misses from the Home School, and elicited so much applause, that its repetition was urgently solicited. The Chairman remarked appropriately, on its second introduction, that it was intensely loyal, and the characters represented so well understood as to require no comment.

A Home boy present, gave a recitationreferring to "The loved and lost "-whose elder brother, also "a Home boy," had lost his life in the service of his country. Twelve little girls, beneficiaries of the institution, wearing red, white and blue, expressed, through one of their number, the thanks of more than a hundred soldiers' children pre. sent upon the gallery, for the Thanksgiving dinner just sent to their fathers and brothers in the army, asking the friends present to pray

for the soldier and the soldiers' orphans. The performance and deportment of both the Home children and those representing the several outside schools were creditable alike to themselves and their devoted teachers, and we only regret the want of room and time to do them better justice.

It was pleasant to see their bright faces upon the gallery and equally pleasant to see them surrounding the long dining-tables, quiet, respectful and happy in partaking of the bountiful repast so kindly provided by the friends, who, whatever other claims may press, never forget the children.

It was pleasant to see the many familiar faces in every part of the building, who, for near a score of years, have on every Thanksgiving-day placed their names anew among our list of donors. Pleasant that while no urgent appeal had been answered by their coming, it was evident that love to the work and continued approval of its results, had made

for it fast friends who felt it a privilege to sustain and extend it by their presence and contributions.

Thanks, that words seem poor

to utter, to these generous helpers in this common cause, and before all and more than all, thanks to the great Giver, from whom cometh every good and perfect gift.

We must allude gratefully to a special effort made in behalf of two of the schools, viz.: No. 2 and No. 5-by the respective Committees, proving entirely successful. As the result of this effort one of the schools was provided with a needed outfit of sacks, etc., the other with a noble Thanksgiving dinner at their school-rooms, beside a surplus given to worthy poor families, and funds with which to provide for other incidential expenses of the schools, (see acknowledgments.) The donations received by the Com. of School No. 5 were mostly the voluntary, free-will offerings of friends connected with the Collegiate Church of 29th St. The success of their Thanksgiving festival-occurring as it did on the same day of the large Home gathering

-was due to the labors of an efficient band of teachers, whose example, if imitated by others in all the churches in our city, would bring thousands of street vagrants under the daily saving benefits of Christian nurture.

The expectant little ones from four schools, not present on Thursday for want of room, were afterward dined at the Home and else where, so that in all, about 1100 received a Thanksgiving dinner.

If the labor and outlay required on these occasions shall open new channels among the wretched for saving Christian influences, if but one little child is thus drawn from the wrong to the right path, the cost will be amply compensated.

It was quite apparent that many who gave-and we trust all-were prompted by motives approved by the precept, "Whosoever shall give a cup of cold water in the name of a disciple, shall in no wise lose his reward." The spirit manifested in many in stances was so similar to that exhibited in

the following note, that we could but regard this occasion as a blessed earnest of one to come when the war shall be over and Christian hearts are all enlarged.

dear little ones. God bless you a thousandfold in your glorious work.

Yours, very truly, WM. B. BRADBURY.*

Two very sweet hymns, composed by Mrs. Corbit for the occasion, were sung by the children. We have room only for the following.

Hapless little ones we were,

Lonely seemed our friendless way,
Yet our Father's tender care
Shielded us from day to day;
Kept us safe from perils near,
Led our weary footsteps here.
While beneath this friendly dome,
Friends will cherish, clothe, and feed;
Lonely we no longer roam,
Kindness meeting every need;
Rest on earth, and peace above,
Won through: God's exceeding love.
Tender pity sought within
Haunts where want and sorrow meet,
Found, amid the city's din,
Gathered from each crowded street
All our little band; now we
Give the praises, Lord, to Thee.
Well we know our Saviour's story-
How for love of us He came,
Laid aside His crown, His glory,
Suffered poverty and shame-
Oft His hand in pity laid
On some little, favored head.

We sincerely thank the unknown writer and donor for his very large gift, and of which we have never sought to be though it may be the fruit of ill-gotten gains stewards--yet in this case, as it seems to have come through the channel of genuine repentance, we welcome the trust, and think it may be so used as to prove a safe and wise investment.

The letter is suggestive. We have read and re-read it with both sorrow and gladness Sorrow that there should have been the occa

We advise those who want S. S. books or superior pianos, to apply to Mr. Bradbury. He makes both discourse heart-music, and with the proceeds wakes the soul to melody in the dwellings of the poor.-[See Advertisement in next Advocate.]