bers did not take the trouble either to register or to vote. On Fifth Avenue from Fortieth to Sixty-eighth Street, there were three solid miles of brownstone fronts, and yet how many men who lived in these houses voted at that election? Only twenty-eight! Such neglect is more than a disgrace, and it ought to be made a crime. In many of our wards, there are several hundreds of voters who are members of our churches. If you get fifty of them out to a primary meeting you do well; and yet we all know that here is the place to begin. It only takes a comparatively few men to break up the plans of the rings,' if the few only are in earnest. Rev. Father Scully of Cambridge is correct in the statement he is reported to have made in the hearing, March 24, at the Legislature, when he said: "The saloon threatened the annihilation of every American interest.'

"The great danger of Mormonism has not been so much in polygamy as in its close organization, and this has never been given up. It is a vigorous hierarchy, political and religious, and is wily and unscrupulous. Look at the history of these people, compare their principles with the compact in the Mayflower, and then think of seeing any parallel between the two. They will bear watching still, for they were and are foes to the Republic. There is too much of a similar state of things in all our cities, and men are instructed to vote solid from those at the centre whose interests are selfish and dangerous. To sum it all up, my remedy for the 'weak spot' is organized effort in church extension and in patriotic endeavor. A common danger always brings men together. Is it not true that the present condition in many of our cities is sufficiently grave to produce this result among us?

"Pastors as well as laymen should be members of the new association. It is time for the Congregational Church to take a more aggressive position. We believe in the simple polity which we inherited, and which is making such rapid strides in the new West; and let us show our belief by our works, and let us have a revival of the patriotic spirit of our fathers. In the late war a brave color sergeant was seen far out in the front, exposed to the fire of the enemy. His colonel, seeing the danger, was heard to sound out the order: "Color Sergeant, bring those colors back to the regiment!' The brave fellow stood in his place and called back: 'Bring the regiment up to the colors! Let us move our standard into the very thickest of the fight all along the line: courage and earnestness will be contagious, our

young men will be aroused, moving to the attack, and as we are fighting the Lord's battle with sin we shall be on the winning side."

As one reads the account of such a movement in the churches as the Christian Endeavor movement, and is touched by the fine enthusiasm of these thousands of young people, one feels many at least must feel-that such a movement would be vastly stronger, and that the members of the societies would develop in themselves a sturider manhood and womanhood, if the civic consciousness were cultivated more and the thought of civic duties had more prominent place. There is always danger in every such movement of stirring up emotion that shall eventuate in nothing. The leaders of this great movement, which we do not wish here to criticise but to applaud for the good that is in it, are surely alive to this; they have, doubtless, many times warned their young people of the danger. Prayer itself is too often a danger and a weakness to some young people, and to some old people- because it becomes a spiritual indulgence and gets looked upon as a virtue that may take the place of stalwart moral and social effort. Prayer is good for nothing in an able-bodied man unless it goes hand in hand with work. "Faith in God, faith in man, faith in work - this," said Lowell in his noble essay on "New England Two Centuries Ago," "is the short formula in which we may sum up the teaching of the founders of New England, a creed ample enough for this life and the next." The New England sons of the New England fathers should always remember this and remember all of it. It is a pleasure to note that the leaders of this Christian Endeavor movement have faith in work—that more and more, as the movement has developed, they have seen that the prayer-meeting side must not be given too great place, but that the young people must be set to work. We could wish that their interest in affairs, their sense of obligation to the community as a whole, might be further stimulated. We could wish that every Christian Endeavor Society might become a Good Citizenship Society, as Mr. Capen has so earnestly said that every church should become. It would make every society and every member of it broader, more thoughtful, more dutiful, more human, and better ventilated; and it would accomplish incalculable good for our American social and political life in the next decade. Is it not worth the while of these young people to think about this thing?

W

Of that fair one, whom Fate and I

Should choose for true Love's constancy. Mythology and legend, — classic lore,

I searched, and yet I looked for something more!

Should she be Helen, - goddess? — queen?
The very name pictures a scene

Of discord, I'll not put my Troy

At such a chance, for such a toy.

Fair Venus made a dupe of young Paris,

And I'll not risk my heart with that bold Miss.

Lucretia was a model dame;

Besides, I rather like the name;
But then I'd fear a tragedy;

Her mood is too high strung for me.
Cornelia's fair, but then she had a way
Of repartee and having the last say!

Virginia! Ah, a charming wife!
But that I'd always see the knife
At her white throat, - Iphigenia,
A martyr whom I much admire!
Aspasia might suit great Pericles,

But she would never do for times like these!

Aurora rises much too soon;

I like to see the sun at noon;
I do not care to wake the flowers,
Nor do I dote on early hours;
Phyllis and Phoebe love the milking pail;
I like a beauty rather pale than hale.

Berthas who fill a poet's mind,
And Mauds, to gardens I resigned.
In vain my wanton fancy roved;

I never found the name I loved.

The girl I met, I love,—yes, I adore her,

I never asked her name, - they call her Norah! - Zitella Cocke.

THE DIFFERENCE.

IN earlier times, when poesy was young,
The bards of eld in rhymeless verses sung,
Though for this want made ample recompense,
And what they lacked in rhyme made up in sense.

But modern poets, of this latter day,

Pursue, instead, a far divergent way,

Who make their verses, like church bells, to chime, And what they lack in sense make up in rhyme. T. H. Farnham.

A COMFORter.

VEX'D with the trials of a dismal day,

I sat me down to rail at God and man,

To pour into a bitter venomed lay

All vile anathema, a curse, a ban.

Hope seemed to stumble on her weary way,
And a dark purpose like a river ran

Through my sad soul. But how, O friend, I pray,
Can one long murmur at the ordained plan,
When to the haven of his arms there slips
A baby daughter robed in snowy white,
Who with love's prattle on her infant lips
Has come to kiss and bid me sweet good-night,
And whispers, cuddling close her precious head,
"I'm sleepy, papa, come put me to bed!"
- Robert Loveman.

THE DEBUTANTE.

I BLUSH, if I look in the mirror;
I sigh, while I do up my hair;
Whenever I'm told I am pretty,

I wonder if some one will care.

I start if he speaks to me quickly;
I tremble at taking his hand,
While he only murmurs, "Good evening."
Why is it men can't understand?

I wish I could tell if he liked me;
He's exactly the same to us all:
To-night he took me to the German-

He'll take Belle to the Fancy-dress Ball.
Oh, I hope he don't know that I like him;
I'm afraid that I must have seemed bold
When I said that I "hoped he'd call shortly; "
Well, I'm sure I don't want to seem cold.
How royally handsome, this evening,

He looked in the midst of those men;
The rest were but shadows beside him.
Oh, I wish I could hear him again
Say he hoped that I "wasn't too tired,"
As the waltz's last strains died away.
Oh, mercy! What nonsense I'm thinking!
I wonder what mamma would say.

I thought he would feel my hand tremble,
When he offered to button my glove.
Oh, I know that he doesn't care for me.
Heigh-ho! I'm afraid I'm in love.

- James G. Burnett.

W

Tower of the Auditorium.

HEN the traveller approaches the city of London, the first object which meets his gaze, in surveying it from a distance, is the stately dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. A nearer approach brings into view the less stately temples and public buildings, the

House of Parliament and Westminster Abbey. In approaching Paris, the most conspicuous objects are the towers of Notre Dame and the glistening dome of the Invalides. Long before aught else is visible of the imperial city of Rome, the towering dome of St. Peter's arrests attention. And so with most of the great cities of the old world; the buildings of greatest magnitude and grandeur are the public or government buildings and temples of worship.

In approaching the city of Chicago, the conspicuous objects are the massive temples of trade and commerce, the vast warehouses for the storage of grain, the lofty office buildings, or the great Auditorium, where even the most superb tem

ple of the Muses and Graces which the world has seen, in its hotel and office annex, is made to subserve the purposes of commerce. The contrast is thus striking and significant, illustrating the fact that in the first development of a city, as in an individual, business transcends in importance the questions of religion and art. We are taught that the body is of small importance as compared with the mind and the soul, yet the body is far more clamorous in its demands; and, as neither a statesman, a seer, poet, nor a human soul can be satisfactorily matured without a body, material wants must first be met.

Chicago is a city of magnificent distances, - its extreme length, north and south, along the shore of Lake Michigan, being twenty-four miles, and its width varying from five to ten miles. The heart of Chicago, however, by which is meant its business centre, is comprised in an area something over half a mile square, extending from the main Chicago River south as far as Harrison Street, and from Michigan Avenue west to the south branch of the river. The city thus stands in striking and absolute contrast to the sympathetic and sentimental Mrs. Skewton, who, as the readers of Dickens will remember, herself admitted that she was "all heart." Considered, however, in reference to its accessibility by water and by land to all the principal lines of trans