of a subject I might send you a paper upon from time to time if you thought well-namely, The Homes of our Children." The appended sketch accompanied this communication. We did think well of our friend's suggestion, and requested him to carry it out and furnish us with similar sketches to the one given. This he has kindly agreed to, and already several are in our hands. We hope our adult readers will turn their attention to them; their perusal, we are sure, will tend to awaken kindly feeling toward those who have to call such wretched places as are here described their homes. Only the other day we were startled by hearing a little boy we were passing in the street, who was the very picture of desolation, say to some others as dirty and as naked as himself -"I'm going home." "Poor little fellow!" we thought, "what sort of a habitation can that be which you call home?" And our minds instantly went to the engraving above referred to as an answer ]

No. I.-LIZZIE'S HOME.

HE active Sunday-school teacher will stumble into many queer places from time to time as he moves about seeking his young friends. You meet many people in the streets of large towns, and little imagine what kind of homes they have, especially if they be decently dressed. We speak of the "happy homes" of England, and believe them to be clean and nice, and everything beautiful like a picture.

It is pleasant to look at the labourers in the field, with their pleasant surroundings, but it is desperately hard work for them.

Lizzie was a girl that would pass among children without attracting notice so far as dress went. But see her at home with her surroundings, and you will then take note of her, and if you meet her again you will remember her home. The neighbourhood has scenery of the most enchanting kind; not far from this suburb of the town dwells a noble lord; and a few doors off there is a neat chapel, and they worship God there. Lizzie doesn't invite you to see her; you must find her out by seeking for her, as you must do nearly all the deserving poor.

They have a front entrance, but it is easiest to get in at the back of the premises, yet they have but one door.

After threading your way in and out and round about, you fancy you have come upon an entrance to a cellar. There is none, though; it is a narrow stone passage, and to get down it you stoop and sidle along. You say, "Well, what a strange place is this! As you look along the entry you fancy you are in a subterranean passage under some great castle.

And here is a room. Holloa! a woman, too, is here! The floor is strewn with lime, and broken stones, and dirt. The fire-place is nearly down, the cupboard door won't shut, and there is a damp smell

in the place, and with it a grave-like feeling. You wonder what this young woman is doing. There is nothing, so far as furniture is concerned, in the place; and you stumble in, and contrive an excuse for your visit. You learn in a word or two that somebody lives, or pretends to live, here. Yes, this is the place, Mr. Editor, where to-day lives (if living their existence can be called)—a husband and wife and two daughters. And this is LIZZIE'S HOME.

WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

A MAN of very pleasing address, but very dishonest in his practices, once said to an honourable merchant, "I would give fifty thousand pounds for your good name.'

"Why so?" asked the other, in some surprise.

"Because I could make a hundred thousand pounds out of it."

The honourable character, which was at the bottom of the good name, he cared nothing for; it was only the reputation, which he could turn to account in a money point of view which he coveted.

But a good name cannot be bought with silver; it of all other possessions must be fairly earned. When it is possessed it is a better business capital than a great sum of money. It is a fortune any boy or girl may secure. Honesty must be its foundation even in the smallest particulars. When an employer says, "There is a boy I can trust," that youth will always find himself in demand, provided he joins industry with honour. "The hand of the diligent maketh rich."

It seems hard at the time, perhaps, to be bound to a ceaseless round of work, while other boys are lounging or playing on the green; but the reward will come if you are faithful. While idlers are dragging out a miserable lifetime in privation and poverty, the hard-working boy lives at his ease, respected and honoured.

Remember that if you desire to make your way in the world there is nothing that can serve your purpose like a name for honesty and industry; and you will never acquire either if you are a loiterer about the streets, and neglectful of your business. "A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold."

"FATHER," cried Johnny, running to the potato-patch where his father was hoeing, "a lady gave me this twenty-five cents for the bunch of flowers I picked on my way home from pasture;" and his chubby face was glowing with delight. "What are you going to do with it, Johnny ?" asked his father. "First thing, I shall take some for Jesus," said Johnny. "Ten cents will go right into my giveaway box." "Right, Johnny,” cried his father; " pay God first."

A FELLAH DONKEY BOY.

WE gave in our last number a picture of a Fellah residence. Those who saw that picture and read our remarks upon it will know who a Fellah is. He is an Egyptian peasant, or as we might call him in this country, a farm labourer. Our engraving represents a son of a

Fellah whose employment is to look after the donkeys which are hired out to travellers who go to see Egypt. We showed it to a lady who was in Egypt not long since, and she assured us it was a good likeness of these boys, and of the ass too, though the latter, I believe, is English. Both the boy and ass, our readers will admit, are very goodlooking, and it is evident the boy takes pride in his donkey, for see how nicely it is caparisoned. I forgot to ask my lady friend whether these Fellah boys beat the donkeys so unmercifully as do the donkey lads in England at our watering places. From the looks of both o them I should hardly think they do. The confession ought to make us ashamed, but I am afraid it is true that English boys are more cruel to the ass than the boys of other countries. I hope my readers will never wantonly pelt or beat this patient and useful animal.

LETTERS FROM AMERICA.

No. I.

"The land of the free,

The home of the brave."

MANY years ago, when I was a little girl living in Merrie England, taken to chapel and Sunday-school, I used to be delighted when the minister or teacher would give us some information, in pleasant words that were not a lesson, about the great though then comparatively unknown countries across the sea.

I have often seen little restless hands and feet grow still, and sleepy eyes suddenly beam out wide awake when some story about the missionaries, or the strange lands they visit, fell upon the drowsy ear. Knowing this, I comfort myself with the thought that perhaps may be able to win your attention for a season, while I endeavour to interest you in a country that in the course of life many of you may visit, or perhaps, like me, make your home.

I

First of all, I must tell you that when you land in Boston, or New York, if it is not during dog days, and in August, you will be surprised at the brilliant blue of the sky, the clearness of the air, and the fresh new look that all the buildings have. There are no clouds of offensive smoke, no falling soot as in our great cities; but in contrast everything appears particularly bright and clean under the truly dazzling sun of this climate.

In your first walk in Boston streets-and it is a city nearly as large as our Manchester-you will be struck with the absence of beggars, and drunken men and women. If there chances to be either in the thronging crowds of orderly people, white and coloured,

To these

you may be sure that the drunkard will with difficulty keep out of the clutches of the police, and the desolate stranger will probably pass on uncared for, perchance to drag out a miserable existence until death kindly puts an end to his suffering and sorrow. great cities on the coast so many come from Europe without means to live, having an idea that when they reach this "land of the free " prosperity will smooth the path of life for them, and that soon, without much hard work, they will have enough and to spare.

When the great ship which had borne me safely across the everrestless ocean rode gallantly into Boston harbour, I little thought from my first glimpse of land that so fine a city could lie beyond the barren, uninviting shore. Your first impression is that you are entering a rough and newly-settled country, and your greatest surprise is to meet, after a few minutes' walk from the custom-house, an East Boston horse-car, or, as you call it in England, a tramway carriage, in which you can ride into the very heart of the city for a few cents. Your next surprise, after entering the horse-car, is to be ferried over Charles River. You look from the window out upon the blue water, and secretly hope that the horses won't in a sudden fright leap the slender chain, which is the sole barrier between them and the shining river. Now you begin to enter the city, and leave the wooden buildings and dusty roads of the suburbs for wide, wellpaved, well-watered streets, and handsome blocks of brick and granite warehouses and shops, or, as they are called here, stores, with costly plate-glass windows.

As we look through the large squares at the tempting things exposed for sale we do not realise what an expensive luxury these glittering sheets of glass are, being manufactured chiefly in Europe and brought across the sea at great risk of breakage.

The signs which you are accustomed to see over shops here hang overhead, jutting out like so many long arms, in some instances swinging midway across the street in the form of a graceful banner. On our walks through the city we are grateful to miss one very common feature of the streets at home-that is the large gin-palaces; but in their stead are innumerable saloons under the stores, where a German drink called lager beer is sold, and it is a usual thing for the keepers of these places to have a secret store for spirituous liquors ; so every now and then the police pay them a visit, seize all they can find, and the landlord either pays a heavy fine or goes to gaol.

Tasteful awnings protect the windows of the stores from the glaring heat of the sun, and throw a grateful shadow upon the sidewalk, as the causeway is here called. The streets are kept cool by huge watering carts passing constantly to and fro, and looking at them and all heavy conveyances, we notice the driver's seat to be a mere perch set high in front above the body of the vehicle; it is usually set on springs, with a large white cotton umbrella over it fast in a socket. The drivers are very sunburnt men, with large palm-leaf hats as protection from the sun, for sun-stroke is not at all