iety's school in that thoroughfare
earned the name of the "neck-tie class" by adopting that article of
apparel in a body. None of them had ever known collar or necktie before.

[Illustration: THE FIRST PATRIOTIC ELECTION IN THE BEACH STREET INDUSTRIAL
SCHOOL--PARLOR IN JOHN ERICSSON'S OLD HOUSE.]

It is the practice to let the girls have what garments they make, from
material, old or new, furnished by the school, and thus a good many of the
pupils in the Industrial Schools are supplied with decent clothing. In the
winter especially, some of them need it sadly. In the Italian school of
which I just spoke, one of the teachers found a little girl of six years
crying softly in her seat on a bitter cold day. She had just come in from
the street. In answer to the question what ailed her, she sobbed out,
"I'se so cold." And no wonder. Beside a worn old undergarment, all the
clothing upon her shivering little body was a thin calico dress. The soles
were worn off her shoes, and toes and heels stuck out. It seemed a marvel
that she had come through the snow and ice as she had, without having her
feet frozen.

Naturally the teacher would follow such a child into her home and there
endeavor to clinch the efforts begun for its reclamation in the school. It
is the very core and kernel of the Society's purpose not to let go of the
children of whom once it has laid hold, and to this end it employs its own
physicians to treat those who are sick, and to canvass the poorest
tenements in the summer months, on the plan pursued by the Health
Department. Last year these doctors, ten in number, treated 1,578 sick
children and 174 mothers. Into every sick-room and many wretched hovels,
daily bouquets of sweet flowers found their way too, visible tokens of a
sympathy and love in the world beyond--seemingly so far beyond the poverty
and misery of the slum--that had thought and care even for such as they.
Perhaps in the final reckoning these flowers, that came from friends far
and near, will have a story to tell that will outweigh all the rest. It
may be an "impracticable notion," as I have sometimes been told by
hard-headed men of business; but it is not always the hard head that
scores in work among the poor. The language of the heart is a tongue that
is understood in the poorest tenements where the English speech is
scarcely comprehended and rated little above the hovels in which the
immigrants are receiving their first lessons in the dign