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acceptance of the fact, his hands stretched out on the table, the left palm turned up as if he offered some item of information, presenting it to his auditors. The palm of the right hand is turned down on the table, the fingers stretched out and slightly elevated, as if repelling something. Judas sits on that side, and with his left hand stretched toward the Savior's, seems to repel or object to the statement which he has just heard: "One of you shall betray me." There is an air of divine resignation in the attitude and gestures of Christ, while Judas seems startled, and turns round not merely his head, but his whole body, looking inquiringly at the speaker, and grasping the bag of money which he carried, as the treasurer of the company (one must not understand this to be the thirty pieces of silver which he had yet to receive). Close behind him the energetic form of Peter is seen: he has leaned toward John; reaching behind Judas and placing his hand on John's shoulder, asks him to inquire of Christ who it is that shall do this fearful deed. John clasps his hands with an air of utter despair, casts down his eyes, and inclines his head toward Peter, upon feeling the resolute touch of his hand, so as to hear what it is he has to say. Peter points at the Master with the forefinger of the hand which he places on John's shoulder, while in the other hand he still holds the knife with which he has just now been cutting food, and bending his right arm to turn the point of his knife back out of the way, he thrusts the handle, by accident, into the ribs of Judas, who starts forward with a new fright, and upsets the salt-cellar with his right arm, and thus increases his embarrassment by an evil omen. Goethe considers this group the most perfect one in the picture. It unites the three characters most distinctly individualized-the fiery Peter, the soft and spiritual John, the sordid and selfish Judas. On the left of this group of three is another group, at the end of the table, consisting also of three disciples. Of these, Bartholomew, at the extreme left (of the spectator) has arisen and is leaning forward to hear the result of Peter's question, and perhaps to get a better view of the face of Judas, which is turned away from him. Next to the face of Bartholomew is seen that of James the younger, a relative of Christ, and showing a family resemblance in his mild, refined features. He reaches with his left hand Peter's shoulder, as if to charge him with some additional item for which to seek explanation from John. His manner is very civil, while Peter's is violent and threatening. Peter reaches behind Judas, and James reaches behind Andrew, an elderly disciple, who holds up both hands, palms outward, and turns his face in the direction whence he has heard the terrible words, full of horror at their meaning. Thus each person in the two groups on the left hand expresses in his own individual way his inward reaction at the shock produced by the announcement of the Savior. On the right hand the first group is composed of three, likewise-three faces that are directed to Christ without inter-mediation, but each one questions or appeals or remonstrates, addressing his appeal directly to the Master. James the elder (another family resemblance to Christ) opens his arms wide, the palms outward, hands slightly bent as if to repel something, his face showing horror and detestation of the traitor, whoever he may be, the brows slightly knit, the mouth gaping with horror, the arms seeming to appeal to Christ to interpose his power and confound the deeds of such a traitor. Thomas has approached behind James and holds up his index finger bent slightly toward his forehead, an earnest, inquiring look on his face; he evidently asks: "Is it I?" Next removed is Philip, who has also risen and is bending toward his Lord, and laying his hands on his breast, a look of the deepest pain on his face, and an expression that seems to appeal to the testimony of the Savior: "Thou knowest that it is not I." Lastly, there is a fourth group, also of three. Mat

thew, a fair, youthful form, extends both hands toward the Master, pointing thither as the source of information, which he is rehearsing to Simon, the eldest of the disciples, and the most unmoved of all. Matthew turns his face toward the end of the table, away from the direction in which his hands point. It is the most prominent gesture in the whole picture, and connects his group with the centre in a very ostentatious manner. The ostentatious gesture is, however, needed in this case, as the group is occupied apart by itself, discussing the nature of the communication. Jude (or Thaddeus) turns his face toward Simon, but with an askance look down the table as if he suspected the traitor, and he lifts his right hand to strike with its back the palm of his left, saying quite plainly by this act: "I told you so." Simon expresses with his hands stretched out a painful surprise at the information he receives from Jude and Matthew, and a refusal to believe it: "How can such a thing be possible? He could not have said it!"

The attitude of Thomas has been interpreted as a threatening one (by Mrs. Jameson, for example, in "Sac. and Legend. Art"). This view seems to take no notice of the fact that the index finger is curved slightly toward Thomas's forehead; were it a threatening gesture, the finger would turn out or to one side.

There are numerous attempts to paint this scene; one has only to study them carefully to increase his admiration of this treatment of Leonardo.* There is, for instance, the composition of Albert Durer; in this, the disciples are seated around a table, instead of along one side of it, in the oriental fashion. This makes it necessary to represent some of them by the backs of their heads, or by the slightest glimpse of the profile of their faces. John is lying on the bosom of Christ, apparently in a swoon. Many representations give Judas a villainous look that would leave it difficult to explain how he had been admitted into such company for so long a time and even entrusted with an important office. As Goethe remarks: "Good taste would not tolerate any real monster in the proximity of pure and upright men."

Here is endless subject for study in tracing out in the attitudes, gestures, and countenances, the expression of sadness, pain, vexation, uncertainty, anger, indignation, horror, surprise, astonishment, grief, tenderness, simple loyalty, steadfastness, candor, innocence, fidelity, honesty, sincerity, threatening, suspicion, or incredulity, which Leonardo has succeeded in portraying in this picture.

One should not omit to note how the monotony of a regular series of heads, disposed at equal intervals and of the same height, is avoided by Leonardo by the grouping in threes; there could not be any arrangement by which the groups might be larger-say four, for example-and to have less-two in each group-would make too many groups and render it much more difficult to avoid regularity and symmetry carried to the degree of wearisome repetition. The grouping in threes gives the occasion for the bending or reclining of one or two in each group. The standing posture of three of the twelve, combined with the bending forward or backward, produces undulation in the line of heads which has been so managed as to destroy the mechanical appearance of regularity and symmetry. More import

*Some of the most famous of the pictures of the "Last Supper," are the following: Giotto's-in the Convent of Santa Croce at Florence he has another in a series of scenes in the history of Christ); Ghirlandajo's-in the San Marco at Florence; Raphael's-in St. Onofrio at Florence (almost an exact copy in positions and attitudes, from Ghirlandajo's); another of Raphael's in the Loggie of the Vatican; Andrea del Sarto's-in the Convent of the Salvi near Florence; Titian's-in the Escurial; Tintoretto's; Niccolo Poussin's; Paul Veronese's; Holbein's; Baroccio's; Agristi's; Franceschini's. etc., etc.

ant it is to notice that the inclination of John toward Peter and a slight turn of Christ's head to the right (by which he indicates his resignation) makes a wide gap between the latter and the disciples among whom Judas is sitting, a circunstance which gives great effect to the picture, as well as makes it possible to give to Judas the very significant attitude which he has, without bringing his face too close to Christ's.

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The entire effect of the picture is that of heavenly resignation under the most bitter of spiritual sufferings-the sense of betrayal by those who should manifest the strongest sense of gratitude. Dante makes the lowest round of his Inferno (the Judecca”) the place of punishment for treachery. There Lucifer plunged in a frozen lake, crunches between his teeth the three traitors, Brutus, Cassius and Judas. Dante gives us to understand that the supreme of selfishness is pride- worst of mortal sins. Pride is punished for its fruits, and these are the different kinds of treachery. Pride will sacrifice all good in others-in kindred, friends, native country, and God. It assumes itself to be sufficient for itself without any participation in the good of others which it should receive through association with them and through the requisite devotion to them which makes participation or spiritual combination possible. Dante makes envy to be the mortal sin which comes next above pride. Envy is punished in the Inferno, not as envy, but as ten species of fraud-the product of envy. Fraud is not so non-spiritual as treachery because the latter attempts to destroy all other life than its own; while envy strives simply to deprive others of good which it would possess exclusively for itself. Envy wishes the recognition of its fellow men and of God; pride isolates itself from all and scorns even the recognition of others. Above envy comes nger as the next mortal sin. Fraud, the result of envy, strikes at the bond which holds together human societythe bond of confidence and good will; violence, the consequence of anger and malice, strikes not at society in general but at particular individuals only.

In the scene of the "Last Supper" we have the type of the highest spiritual conduct on the part of one who is assailed by those actuated by the most deadly of human passions. It does not answer treachery by treachery, or by fraud, or by violence. Christ shows only sorrow and gentle resignation, he is willing to suffer unmerited ill from others, and still harbor no feelings of revenge.

די

In this lesson of the manitestation of the divine nature when in contact with sin (for sin all proceeds from selfishnoss as its root, and pride is the absolute form of selfishness), we see exhibited before us a phase of spiritual manifestaon widely different from that which is celebrated in classic : t. The Nibe group, for instance, offers to us the spectae of family destroyed by the gods because of insolent ting on the part of the mother. Niobe boasts that her caldemar more beautiful than the children of the gods. on after the other of er fondly cherished offspring she sees 87 nder th arrows of Apollo. She looks up to the Is with a countenance in which we see struggling the gs of pain, indignation, defiance, and mother-love for dying ones aro in 1 her. The Greek gods themselves not without envy, and Greek mortals were full of ride The Christian conception of the divine removes vy a d pride from it, and it worships a God who is willto do the death of a criminal, betrayed by one of his er-cip'es!

There is another phase of the "Last Supper" not specially brought out in this picture. The institution of the sacraJent celebrates as the most divine mystery the sacrifice of the divine for the human. Humanity is allowed to participue in eternal life tho ch the vicarious sacrifice of the holy one for the mortal. It celebra.es the fact that man

comes into spiritual life by association with others-with God and with humanity-that the human race is in a certain sense the revelation of God to each member of that race. "Inasmuch as ye did it not to, one of the least of these, ye did it not to me."

Man must be always minded to cast in his lot with his fellowmen and give all that he has for their welfare, trusting to receive from their reciprocal giving what blessings he shall stand in need of, and accepting his lot without murmuring. When the individual man has come to possess the mind of Christ he can accept even the betrayal of his life through his disciples, without admitting hate into his soul.

COMPENSATION.

It was the time of autumn,

When leaves are turning brown,Green to yellow and pied to black; And some were tumbling down.

It was the time of autumn,
When fruits are gathered in,
Some for the press, some for the vat,
And some for the miller's bin.

Then poor men fell a-playing,

For that their work was o'er; And rich men fell a-sighing,

That they could play no more. For the summer-time is a merry time, If a man have leisure to play; But the summer-time is a weary time, To him who must work all day. Then thanks to God the giver,

Who loves both great and small;
To every one he something gives,
But to no man gives all.

The rich who careth for himself
Finds, after pleasure, pain;
But the toiler whom God careth for,
Rests and is glad again.

TO MRS. GARFIELD.

Unsullied days with toil and struggle rife
Will win at last; yea, God had given him all—
A seat above the conflict, power to call
Peace like a zephyr o'er men's turbid strife;
Home music, too, children and heroine wife,
God gave-then gave Death's writing on the wall,
And on the road the assassin: bade him fall
Death-stricken at the shining crest of life.

And yet our tears are sweet. God bade him taste
Honey and milk and manna raining down;
Clothed him with strength for good whose sweet re-

nown

Touched wind and wave to music as it passed; Then crowne 1 him thine indeed-giving at last Heroic suffering, the true hero's crown.

CITY LIFE IN THE UNITED STATES.

It has often been said that all cities are alike, especially all American cities. There is some truth in this, as in all common sayings. It expresses the feeling of the superficial traveler who carries away only a confused recollection of a railway station, an immense hotel, crowded streets lined with costly but irregular buildings or wretched tenement houses, immense wealth and squalid poverty staring each other in the face. If in memory he distinguishes one city from another, the chances are that it is because he enjoyed his dinner at one hotel and was badly served at another. If he be a conscientious sight-seer, with guide-book in hand, he may visit public monuments, libraries, hospitals, or schools, but he will seldom find in these anything peculiar and characteristic. Such institutions are very much the same the world over The ordinary English traveler soon wearies of American cities, and takes refuge among those grand works of Nature which are always new and impressive, and always have an individuality of their own. Mountains are mountains, but no two are alike; and we may have a hundred varying views of the same peak. He who has seen Niagara does not enjoy the less the humble cascade which makes music among the rocks in his own park. It is not so with our cities. The ordinary traveller who has seen New York finds all other American cities only a poor imitation of the metropolis.

But, after all, this is only a superficial view. Behind the bricks and mortar there is life; and whe ever there is life there is variety. We often forget that cities are anything more than vast collections of houses, or, at best, great market places but the real city is the mass of human beings bidden behind these dumb wails. Each city has its own social life, which is peculiar to itself; and the more intimately we know this, the less does it seem like other cities. This individuality is not so marked in America as in the Old World. It is not so marked in Europe as in Asia. All cities have been made more cosmopolitan by the wonderfully increased facilities for travel and the development of internati al commerce. Even Paris and London are not so utterly unlike as they once were. In America the first impressio is that foreign immigration and the restless sprit of the native population have reduced all our cities to a common level of chaotic sameness. This is so far true that we should search in vain in New York for the city of Irving's "Diedrich Knickerbocker," or in Boston for any trace of the social life depicted in Hawthorne's "Scarlet Letter." If such phlegmatic Dutchmen or canting Puritans ever existed they have disappeared and left no trace in the society of the present day. But it is still true that Boston is very unlike New York, that Philadelphia resembles neither, while Washington has an individuality peculiarly its own.

New York is the most cosmopolitan, Philadelphia the most provincial, of our cities; Boston the most cultivated, Washington the most American. Society in New York is based upon wealth, in Philadelphia upon family, in Boston upon intellect, in Washington upon official position. There is most extravagance in New York, most comfort in Philadelphia, most philanthropy in Boston, most etiquette in Washington. New York is the great commercial center of America; Washington has no commerce, Philadelphia is a city of manufactories, Boston is the business center for the manufactories of New England. New York is Democratic, Philadelphia Republican, Boston doubtful, and Washington disfranchised by the National Constitution. The Germans avoid Boston, the Irish Philadelphia-both congregate in New York. The negroes prefer Washington. Boston is the place to study Unitarianism, New York Catholicism, Philadelphia Quakerism.

Such general statements as these might be extended indefinitely; but, while they are strictly true, they are liable to mislead. Any man may find, congenial society in any great city, and the impression which he carries away depends very much upon his own taste in the selection of associates. General views are always more or less partial or imperfect. There are men of high culture in New York, perhaps more than there are in Boston; there are rich ignoramuses in Boston, still it is true, in general, that culture reigns over society in Boston, and money in New York. There are old Dutch families in New York, and old Puritan families in Boston; but nothing to compare with the exclusive Quaker aristocracy of Philadelphia. There are those even within this charmed circle in Philadelphia who have heard of places not reached by the Pennsylvania Railway; but they feel no personal interest in them. Boston is the seat of Unitarianism, but it is not a Unitarian city. Catholicism rules in New York; but nowhere in America is Protestantism more vigorous and active. Philadelphia is the Quaker city; but the Quakers are a small minority there. The general statements which I have made are valuable only as indicating in a rough way, that each of these cities has a character of its own which distinguishes it from any other. The same thing may be said of the great cities of the south and west. There is but one New Orleans, but one Chicago, but one San Francisco in America, although these last have their would-be rivals. I have selected the principal Atlantic cities, because, in revisiting America, these are the ones where my time has been spent, | and I have nothing to offer in this article but the personal impressions of a non-resident American.

New York is no longer the city it was fifty years ago. It has grown so rapidly in extent, in population, and in wealth, that all the conditions of life are changed. I visit the palatial residences of former days, and I find myself in the midst of towering warehouses, or in the midst of a German city, or surrounded by squalid tenement houses, swarming with Irish. Another turn, and I am in a Chinese quarter. If I would find the fashion and wealth of the city, I must go far out among the old market-gardens and the more distant pastures, which are covered now with costly dwelling-houses. Then, £20,000 sterling was a great fortune; now, New York boasts of a citizen who is worth £20,000,000 sterling. There are others who are almost as rich. They are railway kings, or men who have grown rich by the sudden and enormous rise in the value of real estate; and Socialism, imported from Europe, having no kings here to attack, has found a name for these men, and threatens them as "Monopolists." The palaces of the Fifth Avenue laugh at the faint echoes which reach them from the halls near the Bowery, where socialist club's discuss the rights of labor, and openly advocate the assassination of monopolists; but no one can seriously study life in New York without finding himself confronted, first of all, with this problem of the relations of wealth and poverty. New York has not grown rich so much through the skill and energy of her citizens, as through the rapid growth of the country, with which she has had but little to do, except in the way of developing her natural advantages by building railways and canals. Most of her rich men owe their wealth to the rise in the value of real estate or to fortunate speculation in stocks. It has not been a slow growth.. It has come suddenly. The poorest man in New York who can read a penny paper is familiar with the slang of Wall Street. He knows that he is cutting stone or carrying mortar for a palace which is building for a man who has "captured a railroad," or "watered stock," or "made a corner." He does not need to go far to be told that this does not mean money earned, but money stolen from the laboring classes. He believes it. And even this does not touch him

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so directly as the fact that he pays an exorbitant rent to another monopolist for his filthy rooms in a tenement house. He is not allowed to forget the fact that this man is an aristocrat, and lives in untold luxury, simply because his father or his grandfather owned a cabbage-garden in what is now the center of the city. An attempt was made last spring to form an anti-rent organization. It failed; but it served to turn the attention of the Irish population to the fact that there was room for a Land League in New York as well as Ireland. Why should they subscribe money to save their brethren at home from paying rent while they themselves were suffering quite as much from landlords in America? We may be sure that we have not heard the last of this. The opportunity to plunder the rich through a corrupt city government, which is under the control of the non-taxpaying voters, affords a certain satisfaction to the Irish especially, and their political leaders have found it for their interest thus far to keep aloof from the professional Socialist, and quietly fill their pockets from the city treasury. But it is at least questionable whether this is not more demoralizing than downright Socialism.

If we turn from the discontented poor to the more successful classes in New York, we find the natural results of suddenly acquired wealth-unbounded extravagance and luxury. In this respect New York rivals Paris. Those who have attained social rank, and those who aspire to it, live for display. The profits of legitimate business seldom suffice to meet the demands of this style of living, and everyone is more or less engaged in speculation in stocks. One result of this is that much of the business of New York has fallen into the hands of more economical foreigners, especially the Germans and the Jews. It is astonishing how large a percentage of the signs in the business streets show unmistakably foreign names. The wealth of the city is gradually passing into their hands. They are making their way, too, into fashionable society. This society is anything but Puritan in its morals. It is thoroughly Parisian, as might be expected from the fact that its standard of excellence is not character, but wealth. I have no wish to enter into details, or give illustrations of the mysteries of New York fashionable society, but no sadder pictures of moral ruin and degradation could be drawn from the lowest quarters of the city, than from the palaces of the Fifth Avenue.

It

If this were all of New York society, this article would never have been written. There are rich men whom wealth has not corrupted, and poor men whom poverty has not embittered. This does not need to be said. It may be said of every city. But there are probably few cities in the world where a choicer society can be found than in New York, and there are few, if any, where there is more earnest, active Christian life. We find it among the rich and the poor. is colored somewhat by the dominant spirit of the city, but it is genuine. It is struggling manfully to redeem the city from crime, corruption, filth, ignorance, irreligion, and degradation of every kind; and if the city is saved from outbreaks of the worst forms of Communism, it will be by its means. Men who love learning, art, and science, are trying to win over the wealthier classes to an interest in these things. As art is fashionable, it is patronized; but science and learning are not so fortunate. Their patrons are generally to be found only among those who are also interested in religious and philanthropic efforts. Literature of the lighter sort, novels, magazines, and newspapers, may, of course, be found in every corner of the city; but it may be doubted whether it does much toward elevating society. That which is good is not as likely to reach those who need it as is the bad to reach those who would be better without it. Perhaps an exception should be made in favor of the leading magazines, which are an honor to the country, and fur

nish the best and purest reading which goes into many a palace in New York. Let us

But I am dwelling too long upon generalities. come down to practical everyday life. The New Yorker is always in a hurry. He is an early riser, and generally eats a hearty breakfast by eight o'clock. If he is a religious man, he has had family prayers before breakfast, as this is the only time of which he could be sure before midnight. If he does not read the morning paper at breakfast, he reads it on the way to his office. He is almost certain to have callers on business before he can leave his house; and if he is known to be a benevolent man, he has a score of begging letters by the morning delivery. He gets away as soon as possible, and is not seen again until evening, when he comes in just in time to dress for dinner. His household affairs are managed by his wife. He is liable to have business calls before he has finished his dinner. If he goes to his club, he talks business there. He has committee meetings to attend. At nine or ten o'clock he may go with his wife to a party, or he may get away a little earlier to the theatre. If he has an evening at home, it is because he has a dinner party or evening entertainment himself. He keeps late hours. If an active religious man, Sunday is almost as busy a day as any other. If not, it is divided between business and amusement. In May, his family goes into the country, or to some watering place, to remain until October; but the chance is that he gets but little rest. When rest becomes absolutely essential, he escapes to Europe. What the ladies do, exceptto make themselves agreeable when they can be found, I can not say from observation, but they seem to be as overworked as the men. Some of them certainly speculate in stocks. They have their clubs and societies, literary and otherwise. Many of the charities and religious societies of the city are largely in their hands. Domestic and social affairs are generally left to their management. If most of the wealthy are devoted to fashion, many are devoted to better things-to self-culture, religion, and benevolence. Perhaps all this is enough to account for the fact that there seems to be so little of quiet and repose in New York life.

Life in New York is very expensive. Luxury and extravagance is the rule, and all classes feel the influence of it. Even the poorest suffer from it. The richer can not maintain their position in society without giving way to it. There is but one recognized way of escape, and that is to take refuge in a hotel. These are expensive enough, but they are always full; and, singularly enough, many American families prefer this promiscuous style of living to the privacy of home life. It must be said, too, that the hotels, as hotels, are very good, especially the more quiet ones of the best class. It is not easy to give an exact idea of the cost of living, but £1,000 is an ordinary rent for a house near the fashionable quarter, and I do not think that an average family, living in such a house, spends less than £4,000 a year. In the fashionable quarter, a fashionable family spends ten times that amount. Leading clergymen receive from £1,000 to £3,000 salary, in addition to their houses.

The clubs of New York are innumerable, and adapted to all tastes and all ranks of society. I can testify that some of them are delightful places of resort. Among the larger, the Century Club certainly stands first. It has a very modest house in a quiet street, but one meets there the best and most intelligent men in New York-men representing all professions and all shades of thought. It is not a club where one goes to eat, although he may eat and drink there, but a place for quiet rest or charming conversation. The great club of the city, which most closely resembles the great clubs of London, is the Union League Club. It has a costly and richly-decorated house on Fifth Avenue, and is intended to rival the luxury of the neighboring private

residences. It originated during the civil war, and exerted a vast influence for the Union in its support of the government; but its political importance has passed away. There are many more private clubs, limited to single professions, which are the most attractive places of resort in New York, when one can obtain an entrance to them. Political clubs are numerous, and most of them are about as reputable as the government of the city. The less said about them the better.

The newspapers of the city are the Herald, Times, Tribune, World, Post, Sun, and a host of lesser lights. If we are to judge of them by what they say of each other, they are all equally stupid and corrupt; if by what they say of themselves, they are unrivaled by any newspaper in the world. The truth probably lies between these two statements. But they all agree in declaring that they are totally unlike the London Times. As I like the Times better than any other paper in the world, they will consider it a compliment if I say that I do not fancy the New York dailies. Still, they have an immense circulation and a vast influence, not only in New York, but all over the country, and this influence has often been used to the great advantage of the country. I think that most of the papers named above act for what they conceive to be the highest interest of the nation, and they deserve credit for it. They spare no expense to obthe nation if half this news were never published, and if the tain news. The only difficulty is that it would be better for other half were not given in such a sensational form. The style of the papers is that of the twopenny novel, and it demoralizes the taste of the people. A remarkable change has taken place in these papers since the war. They have become impersonal and, to a certain extent, independent of party. They formerly owed their influence to their editors; and men asked, not what the Tribune said, but what Greeley said. The paper was the organ of the editor. The editors of the New York papers have now but little personal influence. It is somewhat doubtful what influence controls some of these papers, or in whose interest they really speak. Mr. Bennett, the son of the founder, owns the Herald, and in some sense controls it; but he is seldom in New York, and is a nondescript in character. The Nation, a weekly, modelled somewhat after the Spectator, was an able and influential paper, one of the most so in the United States, but it has been merged in the Post. The so-called religious weeklies exert quite as much influence in the country as the New York dailies, and some of them are conducted with great ability. They are generally in sympathy with the Republican party.

We pass naturally from the newspapers to the churches. It is often claimed that the papers have taken the place of the pulpit in instructing the people of this country, and perhaps this idea has led them to publish Sunday editions, as most of them do; but the American population in New York has not deserted the churches. The New England Sabbath was never fully accepted in New York, but the day was formerly observed with respect, as a day of rest and worship. The churches are still full, but in many parts of the city shops are open, the tramways and elevated railways are crowded, and the city seems given up to amusement, except in certain decorous streets. The great foreign population has brought its own ideas across the sea, and spends Sunday as at home. It is the great day of the beer-gardens, and the harbor is crowded with overladen excursions boats, when the weather permits. Fashionable New York drives in the park. It has never been very religious. But, after all, there is more religious activity in the city than ever before. It is not confined to any one denomination. It is seen not simply in the multiplication of costly churches, nor alone in the vast congregations which crowd to hear popular preachers-the most popular of whom, by the way,

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have been imported from England-but still more in the organized and successful efforts of Christian men to reach the working-classes. The Episcopal Church, which years ago was supposed to be too aristocratic to trouble itself about the poor, now leads the van in organized church work among them, and has made more rapid progress in numbers than any other denomination. Other denominations do more in united work through various societieslike the Young Men's Christian Union or the City Missionary Society. These societies are making an impression even upon the foreign population, which is very apparent to those who know the city. No one of these societies has interested me more than the Children's Aid Society. It cares for the neglected children of the city. It has lodginghouses for boys, which in twenty-five years have housed 170,000. It has industrial schools for girls and boys, with 10,000 pupils. It has lodging-houses for girls which send out into good houses 1,000 girls a year. It has a home for newsboys, with savings banks and other advantages. It has found homes among the farmers in the West for 50,000 boys from the streets. It does all this work, and much more, at a cost of only about £45,000 sterling a year, and does it so wisely and successfully that it has the fullest confidence at once of the street Arabs and the best men in the city.

It is due to such work as this that crimes against person and property in New York have decreased 25 per cent. in five years, in spite of the increase of population and the peculiar position of the city as the port of entry of foreign immigration. The New Yorkers seem to go into this work with very much the same zeal which is seen in business and speculation. Wealthy philanthropists are not numerous in New York, but they rival the speculators in untiring activity, or perhaps it may be better said that they make philanthropic work a part of their business. It must be said, too, that they are men of very broad sympathies. They do not confine their charities to New York city, or even to the United States. The same spirit is seen in Boston, but not at all in Philadelphia or Washington, although in all these cities local charities, hospitals, and asylums are numerous and well-supported.

The Catholics in New York have a great number of charitable institutions, but, as they control the city government, they manage to make the tax-payers support them. The general religious influence of this church is very much the same as in Europe-in some respects good and in others bad. Its supporters are chiefly Irish.

The Jews are very numerous, and rapidly increasing in wealth and influence; but the majority have no sympathy with religion or philanthropy in any form. They have themselves to blame for whatever prejudice there is against them, such as has manifested itself in the refusal to admit them to certain hotels at the watering-places. It is not because they are Jews, but simply because they make themselves exceedingly disagreeable to respectable people. There is a respectable minority of Jews of whom none of these things are true.

Education in New York, like everything else connected with the city government, is under the control of those who pay no taxes, and is consequently managed without much regard to cost; but this is the worst that can be said of it. The taxpayers would be very well satisfied if all their money was as well spent. The schools are good, and the city is proud of them. They are of all grades, including a free college, and any child in New York may obtain a complete education without expense. The teachers are well paid and, as a general rule, well trained for their work. It is not easy to compare the schools with those of other cities. They seem to be as good in New York as elsewhere, in spite of the fact that they excite very little public attention,

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