1st. Sunday-school book, papers and slate pencil to Mr. B., who came twelve miles. To preacher D., bundle of clothing for himself and family. 2d, sent soap to H. family, who camped under a tree after traveling 200 miles; they were wet, weary and hungry. Again, sent rice to Mrs. G., thread and cloth for children’s clothes to Mrs. B., the same to Mrs. L., one of whom walked eight miles, the other twelve, to attend the woman’s school; lesson papers, Sunday-school papers and cards to three young people who walked eight miles to reach the mission. Lesson to Mrs. A. in button-hole making, thread for practice, cards to H. children, and lesson to Cora. Supper cooked and given to a family of six tired, hungry people, the most wretched I have seen, also a night’s lodging in our church. Coat, shirt and decent grave clothes to B. Land given to three women, two of whom walked eight and the other twelve miles. The friends who have so generously responded to Miss Wilson’s needs will see by this report how she has by their gifts been able to meet the urgent necessities of these poor suffering people. Miss Wilson lives with her helper, who was a pupil at Hampton Institute for a time, in a small cottage “shaded from the intense heat by trees, and furnished with a good well of water, worth more than a gold mine,” surrounded by the cottages of her people, and so enabled to bring to bear upon them the influence of a Christian home. Boxes and barrels sent during the month of July: From Auxiliary in Plainville, Conn., clothing valued $25.70 ” Highland, Ill., to Miss Wilson, Baxter Springs, Kansas, one box valued 48.70 ” Philips Church, South Boston, Ladies’ Benevolent Society to Miss Wilson, box valued 55.31 To Home Missionaries at the West, box valued 132.19 Receipts of Woman’s Home Missionary Association from June 27 to July 25, 1881: From auxiliaries $360.50 ” life members 80.00 ” donations 165.95 ” annual members 4.00 ——————— $610.45 * * * * * CHILDREN’S PAGE. * * * * * PAULPHEMIA’S MA. “Oh! who is dat a comin’? Don’t you grieve for me. De Lord don’t want you to grieve for me. ’Tis ole Father Gable (Gabriel),” etc., etc. Over and over again sounded the weird melody, mingling with the strains of martial music that floated from the barracks opposite. Paulphemia seemed to appreciate better her own melody, with its accompaniment of heels knocking against the gate-post on which she sat, than the patriotic “Rally round the flag, boys,” of the musicians.