from the finest reference atlas of high cost to the little school atlas worth ten cents. The cheap atlases from Sweden and Holland were of surprising beauty, as full of suggestions to many a teacher as the great relief maps from Italy, and the great ethnological and geological maps. Maps of the same regions produced in different countries were hung side by side, so that the visitor might compare the processes and merits of the cartographers' various countries; and so of globes and charts and models and pictures. Here, it seems to us, is a good hint for the directors of the exhibition at Chicago- to so arrange the displays in the various provinces of education, geography, history, industry, etc., that comparison may be easy and the lessons emphatic. Here, too, are hints for a hundred things that might easily be done for stimulating our teachers, and many a local public by setting before their eyes the results achieved and the instruments used outside their own precincts.

PROFESSOR DEWEY of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology recently gave an address, which attracted some attention, on "The Limits of Publicity." He treated his subject, as we remember, on both its sides, pointing out among other things the duty of the private individual to co-operate with officials in the preparation of full and accurate statistics, for instance, concerning health and disease, statistics whose chief or only value is in their fulness and accuracy. He touched in this connection upon the census, and upon the unnecessary and culpable withholding of information, and the indulgence in shallow and mischievous criticism in various quarters. There are certainly important fields where the private person is under obligations to publicity for the good of the community. But one of the most noticeable and offensive things in our present social life is the extent to which an improper publicity has invaded privacy, and a thousand things which belong to the sacred reserves of the home and the circle of personal friendship are piled into the street. The man with the spyglass and the trumpet pushes everywhere; and the question of what is to be done with him becomes pressing. The article on "The Right to Privacy," prepared by two of the younger Boston lawyers, Mr. Samuel Warren and Mr. Louis Brandeis, which appears in a late number of one of the legal journals, is very timely and very interesting. It is a strictly legal article, and erudite and technical at that, which makes it the more valuable and significant;

but our eyes were especially caught by the paragraph in the opening pages, in which, in popular and trenchant language, these lawyers describe the evil from which they would show society how to protect itself:

"Of the desirability-indeed of the necessity-of some such protection, there can, it is believed, be no doubt. The press is overstepping in every direction the obvious bounds of propriety and of decency. Gossip is no longer the resource of the idle and of the vicious, but has become a trade, which is pursued with industry as well as effrontery. To satisfy a prurient taste, the details of sexual relations are spread broadcast in the columns of the daily papers. To occupy the indolent, column upon column is filled with idle gossip, which can only be procured by intrusion upon the domestic circle. The intensity and complexity of life, attendant upon advancing civilization, have rendered necessary some retreat from the world, and man, under the refining influence of culture, has become more sensitive to publicity, so that solitude and privacy have become more essential to the individual; but modern enterprise and invention have, through invasions upon his privacy, subjected him to mental pain and distress far greater than could be inflicted by mere bodily injury. Nor is the harm wrought by such invasions confined to the suffering of those who may be made the subjects of journalistic or other enterprise. In this, as in other branches of commerce, the supply creates the demand. Each crop of unseemly gossip, thus harvested, becomes the seed of more, and, in direct proportion to its circulation, results in a lowering of social standards and of morality. Even gossip apparently harmless, when widely and persistently circulated, is potent for evil. It both belittles and perverts. It belittles by inverting the relative importance of things, and thus dwarfing the thoughts and aspirations of a people. When personal gossip attains the dignity of print, and crowds the space available for matters of real interest to the community, what wonder that the ignorant and thoughtless mistake its relative importance. Easy of comprehension, appealing to that weak side of human nature which is never wholly cast down by the misfortunes and frailties of our neighbors, no one can be surprised that it usurps the place of interest in brains capable of other things. Triviality destroys at once robustness of thought and delicacy of feeling. No enthusiasm can flourish, no generous impulse survive under its blighting influence."

So far as the legal aspect goes, it appears that the individual is already remarkably secure in what Judge Cooley calls "the right to be let alone"; the details of this careful article should be very reassuring to any who wish to be let alone and fear they cannot be. What is chiefly needed among us to-day is not legal security for the right to privacy, but social re-enforcement for it. A stronger wish for privacy is what is needed, a hatred of gossip and of personal trivialities in place of the morbid hunger for them that is so common, a conviction of sin in multitudes of very respectable people who do not know how vulgar and often how profane they are. This is the direction in which a crusade is chiefly needed. Meantime, we are surely grateful to our lawyers for telling us how good the laws, which might be better, are.

THE WHISTLE.

A WHISTLE clear as a bluebird's call

From the sunny street,

And her heart springs up, to faint and fall
In anguish sweet.

O whistle, O tender whistle, be still,
For thou dost not bring

Her boy with hair like the daffodil
And face like Spring.

O whistle, O gay soft whistle, float on
Along the street,

Ah, dream, ah, ghost of a joy that is gone,
O whistle so sweet!

A TALL, thin doctor in the town had an office, out of which a door led into a small laboratory. One day, while working there, an Italian fruit seller entered the office. Finding the room de

lives?" "Why you're Professor Smith," replied the policeman. "I know that myself, you fool,” responded the disgusted professor, "what I want to know is, where he lives!"

AT a recent art exhibition a porter was stationed at the door, who was as faithful as he was stupid. He had been given the customary orders, and was bound to enforce them. He had been on duty but a few moments when a gentleman approached the door, and presented a ticket for admittance. "You can't go in till you leave your umbrella or cane outside," said the sentry. I have no umbrella or cane," protested the visitor. "Then you must go and get one," declared the man; "them's my orders, and I've got to stick to them."

"But

THE apothecary business is proverbial for its big profits. A little conversation recently overheard between an apothecary and his assistant shows that the reputation has sometimes been justly

the door to the doctor's closet, in which was a human skeleton, in all its awfulness. The sight was too much for the poor Italian. Dropping his basket of fruit, he made his escape in a panic. The doctor heard the commotion, and came from his laboratory to see what the matter was. The open closet door and the fruit scattered on the floor instantly explained the situation. He went to the window, and saw the frightened Italian standing on the sidewalk below, looking up at the window. "Come up," said the doctor, at the same time beckoning with his long finger. "No, you don't," exclaimed the fellow, shaking his head, "I know you, if you have got your clothes

on!"

THE blunders of type-setters and proof-readers have afforded material for merriment from time immemorial. Here is one more story: A reporter recently sent in for publication several items which he wished to have printed separately. His frame of mind may be imagined when the paper next morning contained the following paragraph: "Doctor Brown has been appointed head physician at the City Hospital. Orders have been issued by the authorities for the immediate extension of the Potter's Field. The works are being executed with the utmost despatch."

He

A PROFESSOR in one of the smaller colleges was too fond of wine. One evening, after he had passed a very jovial time at the house of a friend, he found much difficulty in reaching home. searched for his house, but was utterly unable to make out which one it was. At last his anxiety got the better of his pride, and drawing his hat down over his eyes, he went up to a policeman, and asked in a voice disguised as well as possible, "Can you tell me, sir, where Professor Smith

tion for a man, who gave him in payment a halfdollar and a ten-cent piece. It was presently discovered that the half-dollar was counterfeit. The assistant reported this to his chief. The latter took it philosophically. "Never mind," said he, if the ten-cent piece is good we shall have made fifty per cent on the cost."

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GENERAL SHERMAN, it is said, possessed the faculty of always remembering faces, but seldom names. One day he met a man whose face was perfectly familiar to him, but he found it impossible to recall where he had met him. Soon the two were joined by a third party, Colonel to whom the general wished to introduce his friend. "You must pardon me," he said, "but although I remember you perfectly, I cannot recall the circumstances." It seems that the man was the cutter by whom the general had recently been measured for some shirts, so he said, to jog the general's memory, "Made your shirts, sir." "Why certainly," said General Sherman; "Colonel allow me to present you to my friend, Maior Shurtz!"

In

A STORY is told of Partridge, the celebrated almanac-maker about a hundred years ago. travelling on horseback in the country, he stopped for his dinner at an inn, and afterwards called for his horse, that he might reach the next town where he intended to make a visit.

"If you will take my advice, sir," said the hostler, as Mr. Partridge was about to mount his horse, "you will stay where you are for the night, as you will surely be overtaken by a heavy rain.’ "Nonsense, nonsense," exclaimed the almanacmaker; "there's a sixpence for you, my good fellow, and good afternoon to you."

He proceeded on his journey, and sure enough, he was well drenched in a heavy shower. He was struck by the man's prediction, and ever intent on the interests of his almanac, he immediately turned back, and was received by the hostler with a broad grin.

"Well, sir, you see I was right, after all."

"Yes, my lad, you have been so, and here's a crown for you; but I give it to you on the condition that you tell me how you knew of this rain."

"To be sure, sir," replied the man; "you see we have an almanac at our house, called Partridge's almanac, and the fellow is such a notorious liar that whenever he promises us a fine day, we always know that it will rain. Now, sir, this day is put down in our almanac as settled fine weather; no rain.' I looked at that before I brought your horse out, sir, and in this way I could put you on your guard."

In a small city in eastern Massachusetts there lives a lawyer who is notorious for his parsimony. One day he stepped into a hat store, and after rummaging over the stock, selected an ordinary looking hat, put it on, ogled himself in the glass, and then asked the very lowest price.

"But," said the hatter, "that hat is not good enough for you to wear; here is what you want," showing one of his best beavers.

"That's the best I can afford, though," returned the lawyer.

"Well, there, Mr. I'll make you a present of that beaver, if you'll wear it, and tell whose store it came from. You can send me customers enough to get my money back with interest; you know pretty much everybody."

"Thank you, thank you!" said the lawyer, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. "But how much may this be worth?"

"The price of that hat is eight dollars,” replied the salesman.

"And the other?" asked the lawyer. "Three."

The lawyer put on the beaver, looked in the glass, then looked at the three dollar hat.

"I think, sir," said he, taking off the beaver, and holding it in one hand as he put on the cheap hat, "I think, sir, that this hat will answer my purpose just as well as the other."

"But you'd better take the other, sir; it won't cost you any more."

"But-but," replied the lawyer hesitatingly, "I didn't know but perhaps you'd just as soon have me take the cheap one, and perhaps you wouldn't mind giving me the difference in cash!"

SOME years ago a populous town in the West was infested by a gang of blacklegs, who amuse‹ themselves, when they could find no one else to pluck, by preying on each other. A new importation of this class excited some alarm among the inhabitants lest they should be completely overrun, and it was decided to take prompt measures for their expulsion. The editor of the county newspaper was settled upon to do the deed, and he was visited, and the case stated to him. He promised to insert a "flasher" which would drive the parties in question to a more hospitable region. When the paper appeared it was "flasher" indeed, for the article gave the initials of several individuals and requested them to leave town immediately. The next morning, while the editor was comfortably seated in his office, fumbling over a parcel of exchanges, footsteps were heard on the stairs, and presently the caller arrived. His first salutation was somewhat abrupt.

a

"Where is the editor of this dirty, lying paper?"

Now, aside from the tone of this opening remark, there were other considerations which made the editor believe that trouble was on foot. The person who addressed him bore a cowhide in his hand. That was not all; he recognized in him a distinguished leader of the faction of which he had spoken so disrespectfully. So, without hesitation, he replied to the query:

"I don't know."

66

Do you belong to this concern?"

No; but I presume the editor will soon be in."

"Well," said the visitor, "I will wait for him." And, suiting the action to the word, he took a chair, picked up a paper, and commenced to read. The editor now remembered that he had an engagement outside; and with the remark, “If I meet him I will tell him there is a gentleman here to see him," made his escape. Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs he was accosted by another person, who thus introduced himself:

"Can you tell me where I can find the sneaking rascal who has charge of this villanous sheet?" producing the last number of the paper.

"Yes," replied the editor, "he is up there in the office now, reading, with his back to the door."

"Thank you," exclaimed the stranger, as he bounced up the stairs. "I've got you, have I?" he ejaculated, as he made a grasp at his brother in iniquity; and they came to the floor together. As the combatants, notwithstanding their common vocation, happened to be unacquainted with each other, a pretty quarrel ensued. First one was on top, and then the other; blow followed blow, kick followed kick, oath followed oath, until, bruised, exhausted and bloody, they ceased hostilities by mutual consent. As they sat on the floor contemplating each other, the first comer found breath to ask:

"Who are you? What did you attack me for?"

"You abused me in your paper, you scoundrel!"

"Me! I'm not the editor of this paper. I came here to flog him myself!"

Mutual explanations followed, and the two retired from the sanctum to bind up their wounds.