Captain E. Moss of the Transvaal tells the following story of the monkeys who work for him in the mines: "I have twenty-four monkeys," said he, "employed about my mines. They do the work of seven able-bodied men. In many instances they lend valuable aid where a man is useless. They gather up the small pieces of quartz that would be passed unnoticed by the workingmen, and pile them up in little heaps that can easily be gathered up in a shovel and thrown into a mill. They work just as they please, sometimes going down into the mines when they have cleared up all the débris on the outside. They live and work together without quarreling any more than men do. They are quite methodical in their habits, and go to work and finish up in the same manner as human beings would do under similar circumstances. It is very interesting to watch them at their labor, and see how carefully they look after every detail of the work they attempt. They clean up about the mines, follow the wheelbarrows and carts used in mining and pick up everything that falls off on the way."--_Tit Bits._ A PLEA FOR THE TREES. ANNE WAKELY JACKSON. Much has been written, and more has been said, in regard to the "prevention of cruelty to children," and the "prevention of cruelty to animals;" but has anyone ever urged upon the public the prevention of cruelty to _trees_? It is time someone did, for people nowadays seem to have no regard whatever for a tree's feelings, but saw and hack a limb off here or there at any season of the year the notion happens to seize them, and leave the poor thing maimed and disfigured, and perhaps pouring out its life-blood from the ugly wound. If you are insensible to the beauty, the blessing and benignity of trees, there is no use in appealing to you. But surely you are not! Surely you can call to mind some old tree that brings up memories of the past, and appeals to you with almost human tenderness! Then, for the sake of these old, tried, and well-beloved friends, look with compassion upon all trees, and discourage those who would spoil and disfigure them. Have you ever thought how sad a tree must feel when it is transplanted from the forest to the city or town? How it must miss its tall and stalwart companions the shy woodland birds, and the flowers that spring up around it each year! The parting from them all is bad enough, but there is worse to come. It little dreams of the hideous and deforming "trimming" that will begin as soon as it commences to spread its tiny branches! Poor little tree! I wonder it does not die of grief and pain! Doubtless, it sighs and sobs out its longing for the old free home, in the ears of the passing wind, though we are too dull to understand its murmuring voice. If the wind is in a good humor, he caresses it gently, and tries to comfort it; but sometimes he is angry, and then he shakes the poor tree fiercely. But it loves him always, whether he is gentle or rough.