I have referred to the Francis Scott Key School in Baltimore, and you will be interested to hear more about this rare phenomenon—a beautiful building, animated by a beautiful spirit, and located in a city slum. “Locust Point” is out in the shipping district, and the school overlooks the harbor and the old Fort McHenry; it is named after the author of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” who composed the song close to this spot. A few years ago the people of Locust Point had the usual old wooden fire-trap for their children; it burned down, and then came a struggle with the politicians for a better school. The neighborhood is a Catholic stronghold, and the priests wanted the building in an inaccessible place; it had a library, and the priests do not wish Catholic children to have too easy access to modern books. They would have had their way, if it had not been for one rich woman of Baltimore, who has made herself a kind of godmother to the schools. Meet Mrs. William Bauernschmidt, daughter-in-law of a well-known Baltimore brewer lately deceased. This lady got her education in Baltimore politics in a somewhat amusing way. A quiet, mild-mannered young daughter-in-law, she used to sit in a corner of the library of the old brewer’s home and do her knitting, while the men of the family talked business. As the brewery business was all mixed up with politics, the daughter-in-law came to know a great many secrets. She explained: “The men paid no more attention to me than if I were a dormouse; so now, when I come to deal with Baltimore politicians, I tell them, ‘I know every filling you’ve got in your teeth!’” This, you perceive, is not refined language; not the sort that was used by ladies during my boyhood in Baltimore! “But,” said Mrs. Bauernschmidt, “there’s no use talking ‘up-town talk’ to them. I use their own language.” She told me about one of these potentates—I forget his name, but his nickname is “Sunny”—and said Mrs. Bauernschmidt: “I know whose man you are every day; you belong on Monday to the gas company, and Tuesday to the street railways, and on Wednesday you belong to the breweries. I want you to know that I always know when our day comes round!”