Dr. Brooks is a native of Massachusetts. In 1827, when but ten years of age, he left the parental roof to earn his bread, get his education, and wrestle with the world alone, as so many young New Englanders had done before him.  He worked in the summer and attended a district school in the winter until he was eighteen years old, when after a renewing religious experience, he began to give shape to his life. Alternately as a student and teacher, he followed a course of study which prepared him for the pursuit of medical science, and at the same time laid the foundation of those solid successes whose nature he did not then contemplate. For three years he taught in the private school of Rev. John C. Nash, in Pittsfield, and there had his first and best experience in the disciplining of boys.  Subsequently he read medicine in Pittsfield with the late Dr. H. H. Childs and Dr. Lee, and took his medical degree at the Berkshire Medical College in 1841.  The first six years of his practice were spent in Huntington, Mass.; and the last six years at South Hadley, where he had the medical supervision of Holyoke Seminary, and enjoyed the privilege of ministering to Mary Lyon* during the closing year.

      *Founder of the Mount Holyoak Female Seminary and one of the noble women of the age. "In the course of her life as a teacher,"" says a recent biographer, "Miss Lyon instructed more than three thousand pupils, all of whom bore, more or less, the impress of her character."

of her life. In 1843 he married;  his wife a daughter of the late Dr. Stickney of Huntington, has proved such a helpmate as few men are blessed with. They have one child, a son, Lawton S. Brooks, now assistant physician of the Juvenile Asylum.       When Massachusetts established her system of State Alms Houses, Dr. Brooks was appointed to the superintendence of the institution at Monson, and then entered upon the genuine mission of his life.  This was in 1853, and here he remained for a period of five years, Manifesting rare aptitude to the delicate and difficult task of organizing and administering that institution. Dr. Brooks originated its system of classification of paupers, separating the young from the old where it did not part parent and child, and giving to curable lunatics the advantages of cheery scenery and surroundings, while the dissolute were placed in something more like work-houses. During his administration, and through his influence, the State Farm School or Reformatory for Juveniles, connected with the Alms House department, was organized. For years he labored here with admirable results, until or near the year 1858, when he assumed his present important position.       Theophilus had told me something of the Doctor during that day,  but I needed only to look and listen to feel sure that for once the right man was in the right place.       About sundown we heard a fluttering as though a flock of soft-winged birds were settling in the hall.       "What is that?"       The girls are going to bed," was the answer. "In a moment we may look into their dormitory.

It was but a step from the family parlor. Miss Sanford and I went in. The flock had indeed settled; all the children were saying their prayers. I noticed that several of them made the sign of the cross as the rose.

      The great room contained more than a hundred snowy cots, everyone of which in a moment had an occupant.

       "In winter some of our girls have a curious way of arranging their bedding for the night, " said the matron; "they call it "making a nest;" would you like to see it?"

       "Of course I would."

       Soon two girls, giggling very much, and very proud at being asked to "show the lady,' were very busily converting their beds to nests. It is a curious process. They shake the mattress and shove the straw about until a hollow is formed just large enough for the body. In this, with the covers twirled about them, they curl themselves for sleeping.

       "How funny! Where did you learn to do that?" I asked one of the girls.  Her face sobered in an instant as with a show of bashfulness she declined to answer. Then it flashed upon me -- though they did not tell it -- how the lesson may have come Through bitter cold nights --- a heap of straw in the corner a few dirty rags to wind about the shivering little body!  Well, they could laugh now, as with clean straw and soft, sweet covers, they showed the lady.  That was something.

        How the wide-awake eyes turned to us from every pillow!  What half-suppresses titters ran through the room! In all probability the little creatures would have liked nothing better than a game of romps, or at least a pillow fight.  All the windows were open, letting in the pleasant summer breeze and the ruddy remnants of the sunset.

     "How can they go to sleep?" said I, "it is so early."

      "But you forget their long day," answered my guide; "they rise almost at daylight."

      We stayed for some time, lingering at the various bedsides, bending to speak to the children, and listening to what they had to say.  One brown-eyed little girl pulled my face down close to whisper: "My mother hasn't been to see me at all. She's gone way out of where we used to be, and I don't know where to think she is." Poor little thing! lonely there among a hundred. She seemed comforted when I told her the Doctor maybe would find out and tell her; said in a brighter way, "I know it;" and added; "Won't you look at me when you sit up there in the chapel to-morrow? I'm just three seats in front of Mr. Appley's desk."  I whispered   

A Reunion in the West made from a photograph.

      "Yes," kissed the little rosy face, that was just as sweet as the last royal baby's, and passed on to speak with the other girls, asking questions, but not always about their mothers. I was afraid to do that. Meanwhile the children were softly bidding each other "goodnight!" or slyly reaching to clasp hands from one bed to another.

      All at once, as if blowing a candle, the matron made a signal, and out went the voices. You could hear a pin fall. "Now, children," she said kindly, "it is time for us to leave. If you wish you may chant before you go to sleep."

     Instantly every pair of hands was crossed, every child lay motionless. We moved toward the door and listened. It was beautiful. More than a hundred childish voices chanting the Lord's Prayer! As the last notes of the "Amen" died away, we could just distinguish the children's forms.  A fresh breeze came stealing in through the windows, the last faint flush fading from the sky, and night closed softly and tenderly on them.

      A few hours later, when Theoph was conversing with the Doctor, somebody from the girls' dormitory asked if we would "like to come for a moment."

      When we went in -- Theoph and I. There lay the children, sleeping in the moonlight! I can not describe the picture. It is a vision fo young eyelids beautiful with peace; of plump little cheeks pressed against conscious pillows; of white arms thrown carelessly over restful heads; of tumbled hair catching sudden lights, or of golden wealth tossed back rippling into the shadows. "Angels of little children!"  exclaimed Theoph, under his breath. He was thinking of little Nell.

      Moonlight never before had seemed to me so wonderful, so divine. It came in like mother-love, with its proud lights and tender shadows, making the plainest beautiful.

      Not homeless wanderers now, nor idle vagrants, nor cruel-born babies hunted into ways of sin -- but happy children far off in dream land, taking with them the holy, helpful lessons of the day!

      We went back to the parlor. Our host was resting, half asleep. "He's tired," said Theoph, stepping softly.

      Tired I should think so. With all its present rewards, his must be a hard life -- to work on bravely hour after hour, fighting with difficulties, thrusting aside weariness and discouragement, keeping up active enthusiasm in one steady line of philanthropic work, day in and day out, year after year, from early manhood to three score ---

       Ah, Well!  God Knows.

       Dr. Brooks and his noble co-workers  -- the founders, directors, and laborers of this and kindred institutions, allwho are faithful to their charge, have the one joy -- inasmuch as they have done it unto the least, they have done it also unto HIm.