But, it may be said, white men have prospered elsewhere without the aid of the Chinese, why not in California? No doubt they can prosper here, but only as a new and lower level for American labor is found. Prices must fall, and the work must be steadier and harder than now it is apt to be. You see, perhaps, a good side to this in the frugality and industry to which it will compel our children; but my expectation is, that when this discipline begins to make us sore, when the real facts are forced upon men’s vision, then these provisions of our new Constitution will, by common consent, become inoperative, and Chinese labor or its equivalent will be welcomed back again. I venture such predictions, but whether they prove true or not, this thing is certain, the Chinese still _are here_; and while they remain our work remains. If the time is short, so much the more urgent must we be in pressing upon their attention the Gospel of Christ. If the enmity against them rises with its opportunity and crowds them to the wall, so much the more must they hear from us the voice of Christian kindliness, commending to them Him who was the friend of publicans and sinners. If they are to be driven back to their own land, we must be the more earnest to let them know——not by our words only, but by our deeds rather——that it is not Christianity but the lack of Christianity that has exiled them; and we must see to it that as many as possible go to be self-sustaining missionaries, telling the story of redeeming love. * * * * * CHILDREN’S PAGE. DEAR LITTLE ONES: I know you would all like to hear about a sweet little girl who moved a big, big mountain out of my way a few days ago. “How did she do it?” “Was it a real mountain?” “Who was she? and, and ——” If you all keep asking questions, how can I get a chance to answer them? And then you don’t begin at the right end with your questions. Who was she? ought to have been the first, and it’s the very last. Never mind, we will take them backwards. Let’s see how many there are. There are three, counting either way. Now if you all sit as still as nine little white mice all in a row, I’ll answer every question. First, who is she? Her name is Clarissa Smith, and she is as black as a little blackbird, and has to look just as the wee birdies do to our dear Father in Heaven for her daily bread. I am sorry to say that she is not pretty to look at, but it’s a fact. Her clothing is old and ragged, she has no shoes and no hat, though the round basket she carries on her head, peddling berries or vegetables, makes a broad enough one, for that matter. Now for question number two, Was it a real mountain?