r blessed haven of rest.

One of the evening papers, about a year ago, contained the following
"Incident of City Life:"

"In a cellar, No. 91 Cherry street, we found an Irish woman with five
children, the oldest probably ten years old. Her husband had been out of
work for nearly six months, and was suffering severely from bronchitis.
There was no appearance of liquor about the place, and the Missionary who
had visited them often said she was sure they did not drink. The woman
was suffering severely from heart disease, and had a baby three weeks
old. But what a place for a baby! There were two windows, two feet by
two feet, next to the street, so splashed on the outside and stained by
the dust and mud that they admitted but little light. A tidy housewife
might say, Why don't the woman wash them? How can she stop to wash
windows, with a baby three weeks old and four helpless little ones
besides, crying around her with hunger and cold? The floor had no
carpet. An old stove, which would not draw on account of some defect in
the chimney of the house, had from time to time spread its clouds of
smoke through the cellar--the only room--even when the baby was born. A
few kettles, etc., stood around the floor, some crumbs of bread were on a
shelf, but no sign of meat or vegetables. A wash-tub, containing
half-washed clothing, stood near the middle of the room; there was a
table, and a bedstead stood in a corner pretty well furnished--the bed
clothing the gift of charity. In this the father, mother, babe, and
perhaps a little boy two years old, slept. But the other children? O,
they had some old bundles of rags on the floor, and here they were
compelled to lie like pigs, with little or nothing to cover them. When
it rained, the water from the street poured into this hole, and saturated
the rags on which the children slept, and they had to lie there like poor
little drowned rats, shivering and wailing till morning came, when they
could go out and gather cinders enough to make a fire. The privilege of
living in this place cost five dollars per month. And yet this woman was
willing to talk about God, and believed in his goodness. She believed
that he often visited that place. Yes, he does go down there when the
good Miss --- from the Mission descends the slimy steps."

[Picture: THE CITY MISSIONARY.]

"I have been astounded," said a city clergyman to the writer, "to find
so much genuine piet