A gong sounds.
     "Shall we go in?" asks Theophilus; "the children are at dinner."
     "White table-cloths!" he exclaims softly, as we enter.
     Here a number of long covered tables, some with girls, some with boys, closely seated on each side, and always a monitor at the end. The monitors may be black or white, little or big, no matter; at their posts they are impressive and superb. The children eat with subdued ravenousness. They have soup, meat, plain vegetables, and all the bread they want. Hands are raised if supplies are needed. They glance pleasantly at each other, but not a word is spoken.
     Again the walls have somewhat to say from between the pictures- "Bless our Home" - and the knives and forks rattle briskly; - "The Lord will provide." Who, looking round, doubts it? "God Bless Our Daily Bread." Amen, amen to that.
     "May we walk about among the tables?" whispers Theophilus to the gentleman in charge.
     It is Mr. Appley, assistant superintendent and principal of the school, who, Dr. Brooks believe, has no equal in the country for thorough hyet mild control of boys. He has been connected with the Institution for seventeen years; and for nine, his wife has served it faithfully as matron. Many a vagrant boy have they seen lifted to a prosperous and worthy career; many a once homeless and perverted girl trained to honored and happy womanhood!
     Permission being given, we make a rambling tour of the room - Theophilas with Mr. Appley, and I with Miss Stickney, talking in an under-tone as we pass along. We know Miss S. by this time, and I have inwardly apologized for expecting to find her an austere, stern looking woman. Why, she is hardly more than a sunny girl, crowned with sweet womanly dignity. To be sure, one sees an expression about her mouth and chin that might make a bad child tremble; but just as surely it would make a good child long for a kiss.
     What a multitude of young faces we see - of all styles and expressions. Involuntarily we recall Hawthorne's description of the blue-gowned girls of an English charity school, where he was surprised to find "so many children collected together without a single trace of beauty or scarcely of intelligence in one individual; such mean, coarse, vulgar features and figures, betraying unmistakably a low origin and ignorant and brutal parents. They did not appear wicked, but only stupid, animal, soulless." We recall it, however, only to wonder at the contrast. There are some beautiful little ones here - children of whom it would seem any parent might be proud. But alack! these are quite likely to be the incorrigibles of the institution - sent in on account of utter insubordination or of crime. Our guides, evidently unwilling to break in upon our admiration, spoke kindly of their charges, finding some good even in the worst. But it was startling to hear of a sweet blue-eyed girl - "her trouble is stealing;" or of a noble-looking rosy-cheeked boy - "yes, but the poor child's temper is terrible;" or of yet another smiling youngster - "treated his mother dreadfully." On the other hand, it was delightful, while looking at some sallow, misshapen face, to be told, "that's a dear little thing, so good and faithful" - or of another with a downcast, unwinsome look, "he's had a hard time of it, poor little fellow! - but he begins to brighten a little. He'll undoubtedly turn out well."
      One youngster brought to mind something a teacher had said to me: "A few children yield to good influences right away; but some you have to tune, and tune, and tune." He looked as if no amount of tuning would make anything of him. His little failing was being "utterly ungovernable at home." What a saucy look he shot at us as we passed!

On to the kitchen, where we saw steam-cooking apparatus, modern improvements, big windows, clean tables, tidy cooks. We were bewildered to learn of its serving up, daily, three hundred pounds of fresh meat, a barrel of potatoes, three hundred quarts of milk, besides startling quantities of beets, beans, cabbages, and other vegetables. Thence to the bakery, where three barrels of flour are cast into the oven every day, and on Saturdays nearly an extra barrel for ginger bread.

     How can I give all the details of that wonderful day? It would require as many volumes as the letter A in the catalogue of the British Museum. Nay, if all were told - but all could never be told - every minute of every hour would widen into a dozen dissertations. The idea is appalling. Let us run for relief to the play-grounds.

Just in time; dinner is over. A few girls are playing croquet; their place is prettier than the boys', because with them grass and flowers are not impossible. Theoph and the Doctor feel like joining in. A tall girl with weak eyes hands her mallet to Theoph; the rest crowd around the Doctor, their mallets thrust at him like a medley of jackstraws.   "Whose turn shall I take?" - he asks.      "Mine" - mine" - and "mine," they answer.      "We all want you to play for us," comes from a little one, just as the Doctor hastens to position.      Theoph and the Doctor cannot play as well as the girls, so they decide that the ground is uneven, and move off to pastures new. Soon, hearty shouts near by drew us to the boys' quarters, a great bare place, where many feet have trodden the ground almost to a solid stone.      Here we see turning-poles, swings, flying courses, benches, and -boys. Boys shouting, laughing, racing, swinging, turning, jumping; boys playing leap-frog, and boys falling in line at the pump!

     Theoph and the Doctor cannot play as well as the girls, so they decide that the ground is uneven, and move off to pastures new. Soon, hearty shouts near by drew us to the boys' quarters, a great bare place, where many feet have trodden the ground almost to a solid stone.

     Here we see turning-poles, swings, flying courses, benches, and -boys. Boys shouting, laughing, racing, swinging, turning, jumping; boys playing leap-frog, and boys falling in line at the pump!

     Not a whit do they mind our august presence. The Doctor radiates mirth on the play-ground as he radiates zeal in the school-room, and devotion in the chapel. The thirsty ones at the pump, perhaps, are a little more orderly in waiting their turn; but the monitor in charge is a power in himself.

     Now, for the twentieth time, we laugh at the boys' hats. What hats! Yet they all were new a few weeks ago. They were good ones, too - strong white straw with a black band. Some few are in good condition yet, but many are brimless or crownless, or both.

Boys Play Ground

being in fact hardly more than little mats of ravelled straw.  Looking attentively at the owners, you are not surprised. You can see their demolished head gear in their faces. One red-headed little fellow, wearing a mere rim, entered heartily into our amusement at seeing another cautiously lay a few shreds on his head before leaving the building. He had just enough straw left to prove that it was his hat; an important point, for in a few days a second summer distribution would take place, and new ones would be given in exchange for the old.

      Soon the Doctor beckoned to a speck on the pump-line, and out it came -- Master Bernard Austin Daly, six years old, the same wee orator who in the main room had given his funny speech in such a solemn way. His sober little face looked still more sober in the sunlight, as, after the inevitable bow, he favored us with a song, the burden of which was: ---

     "Some of the best quaker blood of England there," said the Doctor, as we walked away from the little fellow --- "quiet yet fall of snap."

    As he spoke, a number of the larger boys walked off, led by only one of the teachers.  They were going to the river to bathe; the idea of any of them attempting to run away seemed to be quite unthought of. During the day we had noticed a party of boys setting out for a ramble to High Bridge with one of the lady officers, as a reward for good conduct.

    "What could she do if they should try to escape?" I asked of the Doctor.

    "Very little," said he. "But there is do danger. They would consider it intensely dishonorable to run away under such circumstances. If one attempting it should be caught and brought back, his position would be made intolerable by the rest."

    Theoph coughed -- and the cough said "I told you so," as plainly as could be.

     Bless the Doctor!  He is studying human nature every day, he says; yet most men with half his knowledge would dub themselves H.D.--- Doctors of Humanity --- at once. Hearing how he talks to the children, we cease to wonder at their so quickly yielding to him. Like Davy Crockett's coon, they may as well "come down" at once, since his first shot is sure to send the daylight clear through them.  He knows just how to aim and when to fire, or whether to fire at all. "Such conduct must come from sickness," he says to one style of bad boys -- "you need medicine."  Or, to others, "Go away. I'm discouraged. I don't want to think of this sort of thing."  To others: "Why, if this failing of yours were cured, I could dance for joy." Sometimes he pleads: "How long must I bear this burden? Can't you try to do better?"  Sometimes he startles and shames one of the fighting kind by "squaring off" at him on the spot; and not long ago he told his boys that under certain desirable circumstances he would joyfully sing Old Grimes for them.  They caught him there --- acted up to the mark --- and to their intense delight he kept his promise to the letter. Respecting each child's individuality, never attempting to set down in plain black and white things that cannot be so recorded, using the best methods flexibly, kind without indulgence, and firm without harshness, he evidently keeps the general sentiment and sense of justice on his side, yet is a moral terror to each evil-doer. "He's an awful kind man, Dr. Brooks is," said a youngster lately who had just left the superintendent's presence after being summoned to answer for some grave offense.

     The reader may be glad to learn here a few points of the Doctor's history, recently communicated by one of his almost life-long friends.