“What confounded book is that you’re always reading?” The slant eyes filled with tears as a hurt voice replied: “This mine Bible, my Christ book; my passport in this book; this no _confound_ book, this mine dear Bible!” “Your passport!” and the thin voice really had the semblance of a laugh it. “What kind of a passport, pray!” “Listen: ‘There is no other name under Heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved. The blood of Jesus Christ his son cleanseth us from all sin,’”‒here Ching was interrupted: “Does it say _all_ sin, boy? look sharp, now!” “Yes, master; all sin.” “Let me see.” A faint ray of light was admitted while the poor weak eyes scanned the page; yes, it was there, sure enough. Then the sick man, roused to momentary energy, asked questions‒a few that night, more the next day, until by degrees he learned all the story of poor Ching’s conversion; his eager desire for learning, and as he read the Bible more and more to his now willing listener, a new light and hope dawned for the sick man. We cannot take space to tell minutely how Ching cried and rejoiced when one day Mr. Fairfax had a lawyer come and so arrange his will as to handsomely endow the college, also giving Ching‒faithful boy that he was‒a “chance;” but this was not the best of it. Ching prayed so hard, and was so skillful in his wonderful ministrations at the sick man’s bedside, and the calming, soothing influence of his passport, his “Christ book,” was so blessed, that, after all, the naturally strong physical nature of the man asserted itself, to the amazement and gratitude of the physicians, and Philip Fairfax lived to be the almoner of his own bounties. And now Ching Ling’s pointed fingers hold a pen powerful for good among his countrymen, and Philip Fairfax is one of the chief benefactors of the blessed institution whose inmates dearly love the kind Christian gentleman, spending so much of his time and money in their interest, while always in the breast pocket of his coat is a little dark book, the very counterpart of Ching’s, containing also the rich man’s passport in time to come, “to mansions in the skies.” * * * * * RECEIPTS FOR FEBRUARY, 1882. * * * * * MAINE, $885.25.