"I know what you think. Yes, I know. He could make it white and clean as he could my heart, as I think he has; but I just wanted to look ready, too. I am all ready but one or or two little things. I want to go. There's too much pain and weakness here for me. I love the home up there. I love those that live there. They seem like dear, kind friends to me. But one thing troubles me,-and that is how I'll go. Etty thinks a shining angel will bear me to the sky, don't you, Etty, dear?" "Yes, Florry, I'm sure of it." "But if it should be a stranger angel," she said anxiously, "wouldn't I be afraid? If only the kind Lord himself could come! But of course he can't for every child that has to go! Do you think I'll be afraid?”

I patted the little thin hand, and shook my head and smiled. "Not even one tiny bit; I think the dear, kind Friend' you have there will send such a messenger as you will be glad to go with. He has made all the other things come right, he will make this right too. Only trust him for this as you have for the rest."

"I think I can," she said looking earnestly at me. "I will. I do. Will you tell me now about your Garden of Eden?"

I described to her as well as I could the general plan of the garden; the little lawn in front, with its trees and shrubs, and the gravel walks that ran in and out among the grass, waving now to the right to give space for an arbor vitæ, and now to the left to make room for a clump of sumach; and then hiding themselves in a little thicket of greenness; the close-cut grassy terrace that went quite around the house; the high trellises that carried the vines to the top of the piazza; the shorter ones that supported the roses and clematis; the summer-house over in the corner; the geometrical flowerbeds bordered with thrift, and blazing with brightest colors; the hemlock hedge that ran across between the flower-garden and the kitchen-garden; the row of great white Antwerp raspberries that were planted all along the side fence; the spicy strawberrypatch behind the hedge, where the rows of currant and gooseberry bushes were planted; where the pear-trees stood; where the cherry

trees grew;—and then the whole wonderful procession of the blessed flowers, from those that blossomed first and bravest in the damp, nipping, early spring morning, to those that opened boldest and latest in the dark autumn frosts, until finally, the flowers and the summer had to move together into the big bay-window of the library, and stay captive till the spring came again. The child's eyes were earnestly fixed on mine, a faint smile flitted over her face now and then, and once in a while her fingers pressed mine.

"Go on; go on, please," she said when I paused. Isn't there any more?"

"Oh yes, any quantity; all you want to hear."

So I went on then to tell her of the robins that had built their nest in the elm tree, with a little piece of pink tissue paper at one side for a festive banner; of the felonious old gray puss that tried to steal the baby-birds, and got sent away for it; of the two fat toads that lived at their ease in the lettuce bed, and came out at dusk to ensnare insects with their little lasso-like tongues; of the great green spotted frog, a perfect stranger to all the the family, who suddenly arrived one morning from foreign parts, without a shadow of an introduction, and coolly settled himself in the high grass around the mossy trough that catches the drippings from the well.

The sultry August morning had been. growing sultrier and more oppressive every moment; the distant, busy hum of the streets was only an indistinct murmur, and the house was absolutely still. The great, bright eyes that had been fastened so earnestly on mine at first, had slowly drooped and languished, and closed more than once, and the child seemed too drowsy to speak. But again the little fingers pressed mine faintly, and again I talked on, in the most dreaming, droning tones I could command, spinning an endless thread, spider-fashion, out of myself about anything that came uppermost; the bees that visited my garden, and foraged for honey and pollen in such a fussy, buzzy, blundering way, hurrying and scrambling for fear some other bee should get ahead of them, and muttering and talk

ing about it all the time, like some people who take their dinner with so much needless noise and commotion that their friends wish they would do their eating in Greenland, and only come home between times. And then of the butterflies, the gorgeous, beautiful creatures, the floating flowers that perch upon the anchored ones, and fan them with their painted wings, and display their beauties in the sunshine, and sip so deftly, that like some other people who take their bite and sup most daintily, pleasing you with their brightness all the time, you hardly ever remember that they eat at all.

And then of the wasps, those fervid fireworshipers, who seem to die with every chilling wind and to be born again with the sunshine; idle as well as peevish, they like best the viscous silene and other gummy flowers that have already generously exuded their treasures for them; but most of all they love the juice of a bruised strawberry, an over-ripe raspberry or a fallen pear! That's the wine for their lordships! They tipple and tipple, till they scarcely can rise again into the warm summer air, and then go drifting lazily by to leeward, centerboard down.

The child's eyes had now long been closed, her fingers had fallen quite away from mine, her whole frame seemed relaxed and tranquil in a sweet, calm sleep. Softly rising from my seat, and holding up my finger to Everett as an entreaty for perfect stillness, I stole silently away again to my own Garden of Eden.

Not many days after, my little Pilkins came once more to see me. I spoke to him cheerfully as he entered the library, but he did not answer. I asked him if anything had happened,—if Florry was worse, but he could not answer. I opened my arms and he ran into them, hid his face on my shoulder and cried long, long and heavily.

True to himself, however, he struggled with his sorrow; he checked it as manfully as he could, and soon lifting his head, he said gently:

"My Florry's gone, all gone at last! She went away this morning, just a little while ago, and everything happened the way she wanted it. She had a good sleep the day

you were there. When she woke up she said, 'Etty, dear, when you see the lady that lives in the Gardena-Edena, tell her she soothed me to a sweet, long sleep, the best I ever, ever had.' And in that sleep she had a vision. It was a vision of an angel. It was dressed in white and it looked like you, and had flowers in its hand as you had.

I smiled at the simple childishness that did not see how the living fact had suggested the dreaming fancy."

"Yes," Everett went on, "and it smiled, too, like you smiled at Florry, and it looked in her eyes, and it laid its gentle hand on Florry's, and it said, 'I'm sure you would not be afraid to go away with me,' and Florry said 'Oh no, not at all! I'd love to go with you!' And then it said, 'I shall come soon,' and it faded away like a light, fainter and fainter, smiling at Florry all the time. It looked like you, only it was ever so much bigger and stronger, and dazzled up all the room. Joey said it was a dream, but Florry said No, it was a vision; and farer said Who knows? let the child take her comfort!' The next morning Florry made them wash her nice and clean and lay her white frock by her. 'It may come to-day, Etty, dear,' she said, 'or it may come tomorrow; and I must be all ready.' And yesterday she got all ready again and waited. But this morning she called Joey early, and made her put the white dress on her, and tie her curls with the new white ribbon. This is the day,' she said; 'I wasn't sure before, but now I know it; call them in,. and kiss me good-bye, all.' Then we all kissed her good-bye, one by one; and little Collo felt lonely, and climbed up on the bed, and cried and lapped her cheek, so she kissed him good-bye too, and he cuddled right down by her side. Then she said she was tired and wanted to go to sleep; but first she wanted Joey to lay the little new baby on her arm so that she could feel it there a little while, and then she smiled at us and said, 'I'm just as happy as I can be,' and fell fast asleep."

"And did not wake again?

"Only for a minute. We think the angel must have come for her; for after a while, she opened her eyes quick and bright, just

as if somebody had called her, and said softly, 'Yes, yes! I'm all ready!' and smiled and lifted up her arms to be carried, and then, and then, they said she was gone!"

Once more the poor little man gave in to his sorrow and leaned his head on me, and sobbed, while I spoke such words of sympa thy as seemed to soothe him best. "Everett," I said at last, "let us do something for Florry that we know she would like. Let us take quantities of flowers, rich and sweet and beautiful, and let us make a perfect bed of them-bed and pillow and coverlet for the little form in its little white dress that Florry left behind her."

"Oh, that would be nice," said Everett; "my Florry did love flowers so much."

And so we did; the little pearl-white child with all that was beneath her and about her, we so garlanded and crowned and wreathed and decked with flowers that the last picture of her on earth was that of a waxen bird in a great wilderness of glowing brilliant blossoms.

at the place in the open palings where the pleasant little face had been wont to frame itself, and listened many a time for the soft footfalls that used to come so unintrusively in at the side gate, but in vain. At last I bade my handmaid Rose summon him to his friend and the flowers once more.

"Oh dear, ma'am," she exclaimed penitently. "I do beg your pardon, I'm sure! I forgot entirely to tell you that the little fellow was here twice to see you. The last time, when I told him you'd be away for a couple of weeks yet, he just cried and said he'd never see you again, and he left a long message for you. I passed particular remarks upon it, ma'am, he gave it so wise and old-fashioned like! Tell her,' said he, 'that I came to say good-bye. Father says a poor man with a big family can't do much for his children, but he can give 'em room to grow, for room's cheap out West in this country, if anything is; so we're going out West, far, far West, and I'm afraid I'll never see her again!'"

His foreboding was true; I have never

When I returned, after six weeks or more, I missed my little comrade. I looked often

WHAT IS THE USE AN old grammarian says that orthography is intended to lead the writer from the sound to the symbol, and the reader from the symbol to the sound. In other words; letters and sounds are mutually representative; and, as the same author says again, there should be for every sound one symbol and for every symbol only one sound; "this nature and reason crave, and I can but trow that the worthy inventors of this divine faculty shot at this mark."

So wrote Alexander Hume in his "Orthographie and Congruitie of the Britan Tongue," which he dedicated to King James the First at about the time that the authorized version of the Bible was made, some two centuries and a half ago. He was a hard

OF THE ALPHABET? headed Scotsman, and he enunciated a sentiment which the most advanced phonologist re-echoes without change to-day.

66

Written language does not begin with an alphabet but with pictures of objects-with figures representing the names of the objects which the writer wishes to bring before the reader's mind. Professor Whitney says that an alphabet is the final result of centuries, even ages, of education and practice in the use of written characters." Our own alphabet, which is used by a large portion of the civilized world, as we all know, is traced to the Phenicians, and it seems probable that it grew out of the civilization of Egypt, the very ruins of which astonish the scientific explorer after the lapse of so many ages.

The Greeks took up the work of the Phenicians, and by adding to it and changing some of its signs, adapted it to the faithful representation of spoken language. The Romans, in turn, adapted the same series of letters to the wants of their speech, and from them it descended to the modern European people.

The Roman alphabet was first introduced into England about thirteen hundred years ago, each letter being used to represent the English sound nearest to the one it had in the Roman pronunciation of the time, three signs being added to denote sounds not provided for. The spelling that resulted was so nearly phonetic that every change in it indicated a change of pronunciation. That is, spoken language was written down by the ear, as short hand reporters record it now, instead of in accordance with orthographic tradition, as the rest of the world writes it. The spoken sounds were, however, reduced to writing by persons of comparatively little phonic culture, who were satisfied with roughly indicating the sounds, and by writers who were careless of accuracy if only the thoughts were conveyed to the minds of their readers. From time to time, too, the sounds of the vowels changed without a corresponding change in the orthography of the words in which they occurred. At the time of the Norman conquest a considerable addition was made to the English vocabulary of words from the Latin which had been modified by use in the Norman French tongue. In some cases the French spelling and pronunciation were transferred to England, in others the French sounds were expressed in English spelling, and again the French word was not changed in orthography, but was pronounced as if it were English. Without going into the details it may be said that seven variations in spelling are exhibited in the classes of words that have come to us from France. Words have likewise been incorporated into our vocabulary in the same careless manner from most of the languages of the civilized and uncivilized nations of the globe. A few classified specimens will serve to show by what various combinations of letters some of these words of foreign derivation are spelled.

From the Hebrew come abbot, amen, cherub, seraph, jubilee. From Arabic,—almanac, atlas, sherbet, bazaar, chemistry, elixir, giraffe, tariff, syrup, zero. From Persian-caravan, chess, emerald, sash, shawl, turban. From Hindu-calico, chintz, boot, nabob, paunch, pundit, rajah, rice, rupee, rum, sugar, toddy. From Malay-bantam, gamboge, rattan, sago, verandah. From Chinese-caddy, nankeen, satin, tea, mandarin. From Turkish-divan, odalisk, scimetar. From our own Aborigines-canoe, cocoa, hammock, squaw, skunk, potato, wigwam, yam. From Italian-bandit, bust, canto, charlatan, domino, ditto, folio, gazette, harlequin, stiletto, studio, umbrella, volcano. From Spanish-alligator, armada, congo, cigar, desperado, musquito, punctilio, tornado. From Dutch-boom, boor, breeze, ogle, scamper, schooner, yacht, loiter. From German-loafer, waltz, wicket, quartz, zinc. From Greek-demagogue, strategy, anarchy, symbol, chronicle, paradox, method, hydra, cycle, optic, monopoly, psychology, sycophant, blaspheme, blame, police, pore, epistle, anatomy, phlebotomy, syntax. From French-bivouac, badinage, bouquet; brochure, etiquette, omelet, brusque, foible, penchant, coit, duke, count, chivalry, homage, service, beef, veal, pork. From Latin— action, agent, coagulate, covert, candle, audit, candidate, cap, cant, accent, add, abscond, diary, journal, condole, ambition, lucifer, frail, defy, gentle, progeny, remain, grief, grave, legacy, ominous, pace, adore, expend, arrest, devote, terminate.

It is evident that in these words the letters are not used with their proper values, nor, indeed, are they used with any systematic values whatever; so that no one who has not committed to memory the pronunciation of each individual word on the list, can be sure that he knows how to utter it properly. The same result will be plain if we look into our English dictionaries to learn, first, how many sounds each letter of the alphabet has in speech, and then to count up the number of different ways in which each sound is represented.

Casting out the superfluous letters k, q and x, we have twenty-three left to represent forty sounds, which makes it necessary to