an' a-trippin', I kin tell ye. Far'well ter the peas in that patch. How the boots did strike that ole puncheon floor! Jube led. I could hear his leather 'bove all the rest.

66

But

"All 't one't I struck inter Rollin' River'; fur I see ole Pettibrash eyein' uv me through the winder. Jube see it too -an' sez he' Plenty o' time, boys, fur speakin'. Out with the benches, an' let's hev a dance.'-Out they went, an' the gals an' wimmen folks kem in; an' then I tuk the teacher's desk, an' put my fiddle ter my shoulder, an' sez I, Boys, ef yid rether hev cat-gut music ez ter hev chin, I'm yer man. I'll jest mek all the speech I've got ter mek in mighty few words. It air this. I'm agin the Blair Bill an' fur the fair thing. Them's my sentiments in Congress or on the mount'n.' "Then I tetched up the fiddle, an' give 'em Chicken in the Bread Tray,' whilst ole Pettibrash war left ter chaw the ragged eend o' disapp'intment. It war midnight when we quit. We offered ter divide time' about eleven o'clock, but the boys war in fur a frolic. Waal, we-uns went to Congress, me an' the fiddle. An' that ole fiddle went long o' me ter all the speakin's afore it went ter Congress, an' it beat ole Pettibrash all ter hollow fur argumint. Fiddled his way ter Congress,' the papers said, an' they didn't miss it ez fur ez I hev knowed 'em ter do.

"But the fiddle war not done yit. The papers talked mighty about it, an' about me fiddlin' my way ter fame' an' sech.

"One day a question kem up fur the protection uv iron, an' I voted fur it, long with the Republicans. Ye see I war a mount'n boy; an' them ole hills o' Tennessee, sech ez war not filled with marble war chuck full o' iron or coal, or sech. I war boun' ter stan' by the mount'n. The papers abused me mightly, an' 'lowed ez I played the wrong tune that time.

"That night I had a diff'rint surrenade, on mighty diff'rint instrumints from the ole Tennessee brass band. They war tin horns, an' busted buckets, an' cowbells; an' ther' war a feller ez give out the tunes, an' one war this:

"The Whelp o' the Wataugy,' an' the band applauded right along.

"The next war:

"The Fiddlin' Mugwump,' an' the band seconded the motion.

"The Protection 'Possum o' the Cumberlands' fetched down the house.

"Then some-un called fur me, an' I went out, me an' the fiddle. An' I didn't say a word; I jist tetched the bow acrost the strings, an' begin ter play.

"Fur a minute all war still ez the dead. Then some-un shouted, Go it Bob!' An' the whole earth fairly shuk with the'r shoutin'.

"Fiddle away, ole coon,' they hollered. Go it, my whelp!' -Hooray fur Tennessee!'

6

"The next mornin' ther' war a big poplar coffin settin' on the steps o' the capitol, an' a big fiddle laid 'pon top o' it, an' on a white card war painted in black letters: Hang up the fiddle an' the bow.' An' another card said:-Kin any good come out o' Nazareth?' meanin' East Tennessee.

"Then the mount'n in me riz big ez a mule.. An' that day I made a speech. A speech fur Tennessee, with her head in the clouds an' her feet in the big Mississippi. An' I 'lowed ez I aimed ter stan' by her, an' by her ole iron-filled hills till the breath lef' my body, spite o' coffins an' fiddles, cowbells an' tin horns. An' she'll stan' by me' sez I, 'I be'n't afeard ter risk ole Tennessee.' An' I give the word ez I'd never hang up the fiddle till East Tennessee ordered it, an' ole Jube Turner signed the documint. It war all in the papers nex' day an' I jest mailed 'em out ter Jube. He war mightly tickled, an' the boys all laffed some when he read it out ter they-uns.

"I made one more race, me an' the fiddle, an' hit war the stormiest race I ever set out fur. I hed a new foe ter fight this time, one ez ole Pettibrash couldn't tetch with a fortyfoot pole. Hit war Alf, my own brother. The Republicans put Alf out to head me off, thinkin' ez I wuldn't make the race ag'inst my own brother. I war with Jube when the news o' Alf's nomernation kem. An' Jube he swore an' cussed like all possessed. He give the word ez I hed to make the race fur Gov'ner o' Tennessee ef the whole fam❜ly kem out ez candidates.

"I went home. I war not able ter face the ole man an' the Republican elemint i' the fam❜ly; so I went out an' sot on a log behin' the cabin an' watched the sun a-settin' behin' Lynn Mount'n. So, it seemed ter me, my sun war goin' down behin' the mount'n o' helplessness-my sun o'

success.

"After a while my ole mother foun' me out an' kem down, an' I told her ez how I war hendered by Alf bein' a candidate. An' she heeard me out an' then sez she - an' her

words were slow an' keerful :—

"Ye hev the right; Alfred knowed ez ye aimed ter mek the race, an' he hev unly done this ter hurt the Dimercrats. Ye hev the right ter go on fur yer party, the same ez Alfred hev fur his. Ye hev that right.'

"Then I riz up an' went in. An' I tuk down the old fiddle, an' teched it gentle like, an' all the ole times kem crowdin' back. I see the Hall o' Representatives. An' I heeard the clerk's voice callin' uv the roll. An' the shouts o' the boys a-contendin'. Then it changed an' Hail ter the Chief,' said the fiddle in my ear, unly it war a brass band. Then the tune turned agin, an' I heeard the cowbells an' the tin horns an' the hissin' uv the people. Then it began to fade, an' Kerry me back. Kerry me back,' an' I riz up an' shuk the fiddle in the face o' the whole house, an' sez I— Yaas, I'll go. I will go. I will go. All hell can't hender me.' "An' I went. Me an' the fiddle, fur it tuk tall playin' ter git above Alf ez war up ter all my tricks.

66 6

"Nip an' tuck we run, me a neck ahead on the homestretch, me an' my fiddle. Fiddled himself inter the Gov'ner's cheer,' they said; an' ther' war some toler❜ble tall fiddlin'done after we got ther'.

“I aint laid her by yit, my ole pardner. Ther's a vacancy ter the United States Senate jest ahead, an'—”

There was a shout down the river: the fisherman had returned. The Governor rose and shook himself.

"Ah, gentlemen," he said, "we shall have fish for our supper after all.”

Richard was himself again.

SUNSET ON THE MISSISSIPPI.

BY VIRGINIA FRAZER BOYLE.

DROOPS the day upon the borders,
As her mantle sways and dips,
Where the golden sunbeams dying,
Kissed the river's silver lips.

Not a shadow breaks the barring,
Cuts the stillness like a sigh,
Save a buzzard's black intaglio
'Gainst the amaranthine sky.

And the blue smoke from the cabins,
Veins above the homely sod,
As if born of low-swung censers,
Climbing slowly up to God.

Far away, the long light slanting,
Glints the rank alluvial yield,
Pricking in the dusky workers,

Winding homeward through the field;

And the breezes full and drunken

With the wine of Autumn, bear
A cadence on the river,

Like the prelude of a prayer:

"Gwine home, gwine home
Gwine home, ter die no mo'!"

Pulsing down the mellow silence
Beats the echo deep and low,
"Gwine home ter libe fur ebber
Gwine home ter die no mo'!"

Fades the day upon the borders,
That her rosy lips have pressed;
Then a darkness shrouds the river,
With an opal in his breast.

BY

DESTITUTION IN BOSTON WITH STRIKING ILLUSTRATIONS AND PRACTICAL

SUGGESTIONS.

EDWARD HAMILTON, REV. EDWARD EVERETT HALE, D. D.,
RABBI SOLOMON SCHINDLER, REV. O. P. GIFFORD, REV.
WALTER J. SWAFFIELD, AND REV. W. D. P. BLISS.

INTRODUCTORY WORDS.

[ONE of the most humiliating features of our modern civilization is the poverty and destitution found in all our great cities. He who has cye and ear open to the needs of his fellowmen is constantly brought face to face with sickening illustrations of misery induced by our defective social system and man's weakness, or brought about by circumstances over which the victims have no control. To remedy this great evil is one of the herculean tasks before the earnest and thoughtful workers of the present. The subject must be so generally agitated as to awaken the moral sentiment of the people. We must find the great root causes of this giant evil and then direct our efforts against them. It will not do to say that poverty has always existed and therefore always must exist. What satisfied a more brutal and inhuman civilization in the past can no longer be tolerated by the humane spirit of the present, for we are rising into the light. The very fact that we are becoming so keenly sensitive to the great evils that everywhere bring misery to our fellowmen, emphasizes the truth that we are moving up from the cellar of selfishness and sensuality into the light of a higher civilization.

There are certain great evils that lie at the root of the major part of the destitution and vice in our great cities. When our people are morally developed sufficiently to comprehend that it is cheaper as well as wiser to prevent poverty and crime, than to take care of paupers and criminals, measures will be devised which will go far toward abolishing poverty. At the head of the great feeders of human want and misery in our large cities stands the saloon, the menace alike of individual comfort and national integrity and prosperity. Side by side with this evil stand the great, overcrowded, filthy tenement houses, where people are huddled together in herds; where vile odors permeate the air; where filth is omnipresent, and where, instead of the mystic charm of home, there is nothing present to elevate, or to give the inmates courage and hope, and it should be remembered that when these great motive powers are taken from man, he has lost the weapons which make him invincible in the presence of temptation. Keeping a man in the atmosphere of degradation with the window of hope closed and barred, is one of the surest methods of dragging him to the level of a beast. This is one of the results of life in the overcrowded tenement house. It would doubtless be cheaper, in the long run, if the city purchased land in its suburbs, divided it into little plots, and sold it on very easy terms and long time, to those who live in the tenement-house districts, and who are struggling to be free. If the city owned the means of transportation, which sooner or later it surely will, a low rate could be charged to all laborers who received less than a certain amount of wages, they being furnished with check cards stamped and registered. Thus, at a cost of two or three cents, the poor man could come to his work, and return to his home in the suburbs. Of course these are only hints of what might be accomplished if society was awake to its duties. Agitation of this great problem is imperative. We must not be satisfied with what has