to perform, a work that I do not hesitate to say, in the recent words of a good Bishop, "has to be done with as little public show as possible, by dogged perseverance in quiet, rather than by earnestness in public. There are occasions, no doubt, when it is necessary to compel men to listen to the awful story of the evil that lies hidden under the decent veil of society; but these occasions are rare, and, as a rule, the less that is publicly known of what we are doing in this conflict the better."

In endeavoring to justify the system (which I have rarely found attempted) it has been asked, what harm would there be, for one instance, if a tradesman determined to devote the results of one day's sale to charitable purposes, and why should we not therefore sell also? I should be glad indeed if many tradesmen were disposed to act thus, but I should hardly consider that his customers were "doing charity" by going to make purchasers on that particular day, even if he proclaimed his intention beforehand. And in the same way, if ladies or artists or needle-women can dispose of their work or their talents at fair and reasonable prices, and give the proceeds away, their action is commendable, but do not let us suppose that the purchasers of goods or tickets, who want, or suppose they want, the articles, can have any claim to a share in the good work. They have their reward in their money's worth, and that must suffice for them. "Sales of work" are justified by many who would conden.n the other schemes to which I have alluded, and if the right principle be kept in view there is neither delusion nor falseness in the plan. But nark that even here deceit begins to be practiced and creep in. "A sale of work" recently advertised added to its announcement that there would also be a stall for Art Pottery, which can have none of the same claims to exemption, unless painted by the same hands that did the needlework.

And here I may be allowed to say a word on behalf of the tradesmen who are universally complaining of hard times and bad trade. Have they nothing to say about the system that can hardly fail to injure many of them by withdrawing custom from their shops? It is obviously impossible for purchasers to spend their money at both shop and bazaar, especially when "useful articles" are among those enumerated at the latter. Some articles may be procured originally from the shops, but if so, probably at a lower rate, unless a fictitious price is added on afterwards. The latest announcement was that of a sale of Christmas presents, suitable for all classes, at a private house. Can there be any doubt that this must be a serious injury to the shops which rely greatly on such sales?

A noble protest has been raised against receiving money thus acquired, by one of our oldest and most respected Societies for the Furtherance of Christianity throughout the world, by the propagation of the principles of truth, honesty, and sincerity. I can but trust such an example may be largely and widely followed, and that powerful voices will be raised in sup

port of what that Society has thus ventured to affirm. Fashion and custom are strongly against us. Royal and noble personages, in the kindness of their good nature, not pausing to reflect before they agree to perform an easy act in aid, as they are told, of some great and good work, do not hesitate to grant the favor requested, and so an added sanction is given to the system by their encouragement.

One of the saddest aspects of these exhibitions is perhaps when little children are brought on to the scene, frequently in varied and fantastic costumes, with the object of importuning their elders to purchase, or offering some special attraction of display or vanity. Surely the innocence and self-forgetfulness natural to children carefully trained and sheltered, should not be exposed to lose its early bloom thus prematurely by contact with such scenes as these! To bring children forward in any way as taking part in active philanthropy, is a question which, to many minds, is fraught with objections and dangers well worth consideration. But hardly less painful is it to see girls of older, but still of tender, years, walking about to importune strangers of the other sex to purchase some trifle or partake of

some amusement.

It may be objected that these are but the views of a few individual minds, and are over-balanced by the majority who gave a different judg ment. But I think not so unworthily of English feeling as to believe this. Anyhow, in reply, I venture to give the thoughts of a few writers on the subject which will surely not be lightly esteemed, and may, I trust, carry more weight than my poor words can hope to do.

An esteemed Bishop of a Colonial Church, finding that the English methods for collecting money were rapidly spreading, has recently spoken out strongly and plainly as to this matter, condemning the "unscriptural and utterly fallacious methods of raising money for Church purposes;" he then formally inhibits all churches and congregations within his diocese from using the following methods: (1.) Raffling, throwing of dice, games of chance, or gambling of any kind. (2.) All theatrical, dramatic, or impersonating exhibitions, whether public or private. He then proceeds to say that "the only true and scriptural method by which we can raise money for the cause of Christ" (and does not that include all charitable work?) "is the exercise of the Divine principle of self-renunciation. The spirit too often invoked is that of self-gratification or aggrandizement. Our offerings, to be acceptable to God, must represent, not the price which some have paid for amusement and others for gain; but the self-denial of our hearts for the love we bear to Christ." Let us hear again the words of John Ruskin, which may have weight with some who have long admired. his talents and his noble generosity:

"Thus bazaars, concerts, private theatricals, even football matches, are made the means of wheedling money out of people who are too indifferent or too niggardly to give. We are

simple enough to believe that the motive qualifies the gift, and that money reluctantly extorted brings no blessing with it. Voting charities appeal to the commercial instinct. and offer a quid pro quo in the shape of patronage. You give a guinea and get a guinea's worth. You are giver and taker at once, and are twice blessed." Hear, again, one of the most eloquent preachers of the present day, when he condemns "all kinds of methods to spice charity with fashion and idleness, and to galvanize one or two thousand pounds out of a spurious and spasmodic philanthropy."

I can hardly wonder at the effects and results of a system so demoralizing, because based on so unsound a foundation as I have endeavored to describe. The pure springs of charity, from which alone the true stream can flow, are apt to be forgotten and lost sight of in the vain and frantic efforts that are made to increase its bulk, but which are more likely to result in choking it. There are not wanting signs that a climax has been reached, and that the palled and satiated appetite for novelty cannot long continue to be fed with still newer and more exciting draughts, and then the system must collapse. I believe that a conviction of the unsoundness, the unworthiness, of the principle has reached many hearts, who would gladly speak out their dissatisfaction, but who are still following the leading multitude in ways they secretly condemn.

Let us have the faith and courage to believe that work which is worthy of support will receive it when sought in true and honest ways, and when the present mists of delusion have passed away. We hear occasionally some remarkable and cheering facts in support of this assertion-small parishes contributing sums large in proportion to their size and means, for missionary and other purposes. One such example is now before me, when a population of 500 helped in the restoration of their old parish church; "there was scarcely a poor person who was not eager to aid the work, and the small tradesmen collected from £6 to £8 each!" In another case a parish, in the East-end of London, containing about 6000 people, chiefly dock-laborers, contributed over £160 to the Bishop of Bedford's fund.

If we believe that the systems now adopted for procuring money by means of bazaars are undermining the spring and source of the Divine virtue, as we have it described by the highest authority, by confusing and warping all our ideas and motives concerning it, surely we shall do well to pause and consider our ways. Those who have looked with pride on our "charitable England," the centre of wealth, as of true, generous benevolence, may well reflect with sorrow, not unmixed with alarm, on these present aspects of alms-giving, for whatever may be the immediate results in a few instances, they must inevitably end in failure and disaster to the great cause of which I have been endeavouring to speak.-LOUISA TWINING, in Murray's Magazine.

MOUNTAIN FLOODS.

ALMOST every traveller who passes through the Southern Alps and Northern Italy must be struck by the extent and desolation of their riverbeds. In summer a small stream trickles through a waste of sand, gravel, and pieces of rock, beneath which it occasionally disappears; in winter the condition of the brooks and rivers is nearly the same, though few pause to observe these things in winter, when the attractions of Florence, Rome, and Naples lie temptingly open before them. In spring and autumn the bed of the lower streams is filled with a liquid which seems to consist of stones and mud rather than water, which rises and falls with an apparent capriciousness, and if it happens to pass beyond its usual boundaries spreads desolation around. It is not the water, but what the water brings with it that does the lasting harm. Theorists have, from century to century, proposed remedies for the evil, but none of those which have hitherto been adopted have proved entirely successful. If money enough were forthcoming, practical men say, the streams might be regulated in an effectual manner; but how to find the necessary cash is a question that sometimes bids States as well as individuals pause.

It is only in countries where streams have their birth that one can form a clear conception of the rise, and progress of floods. The permanent injury they do, as has been said, lies less in the water than in what it contains. In the Dolomites, which owe their bold outlines to the ease with which the stone is disintegrated, every frost loosens large masses of rock that only wait for an impetus to be cast into the valleys. This is given by the rains of autumn and the thawing snows of spring, when the water at once undermines and presses upon them. They then fall, either in masses larger than most churches, or in fragments which are churned into roundness by the torrent below. They block the stream till it breaks a new course for itself, or increases in fury till it sweeps the whole obstruction before it. It is difficult to say which is the more dangerous of the alternatives. In the one case, a valley that has never before been overflooded may be turned into a desert, and houses that were supposed to be entirely secure may be inundated or swept away; in the other, a certain destruction is sent to those who dwell in the lower valleys.

When the brooks have passed the huge limestone gates, by which in the Dolomites they usually rush from the rocky wilderness in which they have their source to the central stream, the danger is not over. After rainy weather of any duration, the whole country is in the condition of a wet sponge. The greensward and the roots of the trees, with the vegetation that woods favor, retain a great deal of the water, and only part with it gradually, but any wanderer can at such times easily produce a rivulet by thrusting his stick into the ground and drawing a small runnel to a lower

level, and he will be surprised on the following day to see what nature had made out of his simple handiwork. Now, when a meadow lies on a bed of soft rock or gravel-and most that border the mountain streams do soit becomes a source of danger as soon as the turf ceases to extend to the river's brink. Not only does the force and friction of the torrent wear away the lower part of the bed, but the water that soaks through from above disintegrates the upper. Any one who watches such an exposed brook-side when floods threaten will be surprised to see with what rapidity small fountains make their appearance in the centre of the gravel and how rapidly they grow, always pushing larger quantities of stone and earth before them. Nature, of course, is only doing here what the wanderer has done above with his walking-stick; it is providing channels by which the saturated grass is drained; but if this condition of things continues long, a great part of the bank is carried gradually away and the turf that rested upon it caves in and falls. This is always a loss to the proprietor of the meadow, but it is most dangerous for others when trees are standing upon it, the branches of which catch the passing stones and mud, and form a natural dam that diverts the course of the stream. The officials who are responsible for the safety of the roads would therefore willingly fell most of the alders and willows that fringe the brooks, but they have no legal power to do so. When it is necessary, they can prohibit a man from cutting down his own timber, but they cannot touch a stem that does not belong to the State. All they can do is to bring the danger the tree causes before the proprietor and the village authorities; but the former has frequently no objection to see his neighbors' fields under water, and the latter are unwilling to incur unpopularity by their interference. Lovers of the picturesque may be glad of this.

Every one who has watched children building their mimic dykes and harbors on the side of a rivulet must have noticed how a single stone cast into the water will occasionally alter the whole current. In a flood, nature, with the apparent thoughtlessness of a child, acts much as he does. A fragment of rock, or the root of a tree which is caught on the bed of the stream, changes its course. Instead of beating on the solid rock at the next turn, as it has done harmlessly for centuries, its chief force is now directed against the opposite bank, which crumbles away beneath it. These changes in the current of a stream are the dangers against which those who live in the lower valleys have chiefly to guard; but when they seem distant a mutual jealousy often prevents the necessary steps being taken, and when the flood has come it is too late to oppose its violence.

In the Alps floods are as usual and as incalculable as snowstorms in England. It is certain that they will come; but when, and what districts will be chiefly affected, are matters of doubt. The Austrian Government has, therefore, taken steps to minimize their influence, though its action has