Mrs. Gladstone gives the girls who are in service an annual treat every summer down at the Convalescent Home at Woodsford. About a year ago a party of them enjoyed luncheon and tea on the lawn there, under the shadow of a rare kind of sycamore which their hostess had brought in a flower-pot, as a little seedling, from an old tree which spreads its ample branches close to her orphanage at Hawarden. Mrs. Gladstone told the girls that, when she planted it, she never thought to live so long as to see it large enough to shelter a party of forty in the shadow of its foliage. Such works of beneficence as have just been sketched are only a few of those forming a crown of honor and glory for the head of the great Premier's wife. She was in that early band who began penitentiary work at Clewer before it took shape under Mrs. Monsel's management. That must have been soon after her marriage. To that early time, too, belong the beginnings of the House of Charity for distressed persons in London, which is carried on at Soho, and rejoices in its forty-sixth annual report. This is to help persons a little higher than the working-class, who have fallen into temporary distress from sickness or other vicissitudes. As for the deeds of private kindness, it can truly be said that Mrs. Gladstone has sown them on all sides, and it is characteristic of that noble woman's nature that she is loyal to the last to those who need her help, even if it be for a lifetime. A BOYS' REPUBLIC. THE STORY OF CAMP CHOCORUA. BY ALFRED BALCH. There is an island in Big Asquam Lake, New Hampshire, lying almost under the shadow of Mount Chocorua, and on it there are many buildings, rough but weather-tight; paths which have been carefully built to grade; a boat-yard, with ways leading to the water; a long wharf projecting out toward a swimming raft which is floating where there is depth for diving; a sea wall of heavy stone, against which the ice is powerless. Down by the water's edge, and squatting on a wooden stage within easy reach, a group of boys are washing dishes. From time to time one of them, who while working as hard as any, keeps his eye on the others, gives a short order which is instantly obeyed. Other boys are sitting on the porch, polishing lantern and lamps, while yet others are sweeping up the litter which disfigures the open space. There are buildings to the right and left, there are canvas canoes and boats floating near the wharf, and a great flat boat--somewhat rudely made--is moored in front of the sea wall. With each group of boys is a young man, busily employed in the same work, but it is noticeable that he gives no orders.