untry sincerely, he must love his back yard, and what he
really loves he will care for. It does him no credit to have the flag
floating above a home that proclaims his shiftlessness. His feeling for
sanitation, attractiveness, and right conditions as touching his own
home surroundings will expand until it includes his neighborhood, his
county, his State, and his entire country.

=A typical patriot.=--A typical patriot is the busy, intelligent,
frugal, cultured housewife whose home is her kingdom and who uses her
powers to make that kingdom glorious. She regrets neither the time nor
the effort that is required to make her home clean, artistic, and
comfortable. She places upon it the stamp of her character, industry,
and good taste. She supplies it with things that delight the senses and
point the way to culture. To such a home the crude and the bizarre are a
profanation. She administers her home as a sacred trust in the interests
of her family and never for exhibition purposes. Her home is an
expression of herself, and her children will carry into life the
standards that she inculcates through the agency of the home. Life is
better for the family and for the community because her home is what it
is, and, in consequence, her patriotism is far-reaching in its
influence. If all homes were such as this, our country would be
exploited as representing the highest plane of civilization the world
has yet attained. The vitalized teacher is constantly striving to have
this standard of home and home life become the standard of her pupils.

=Mulberry Bend.=--In striking contrast with this home are conditions in
Mulberry Bend, New York, as described by a writer thoroughly conversant
with conditions as they were until recently--conditions, however, now
much bettered: "These alleys, running from nowhere to nowhere, alongside
cellars where the light never enters and where nothing can live but
beast-men and beast-women and rats; behind foul rookeries where skulk
the murderer and the abandoned tramp; beside hideous plague-spots where
the stench is overpowering--Bottle Alley, where the rag-pickers pile
their bags of stinking stuff, and the Whyo Roost where evil-visaged
beings prowl about, hunting for prey; dozens of alleys winding in and
out and intersecting, so that the beast may slay his prey, and hide in
the jungle, and be safe; these foul alleys--who shall picture them, or
explore their depths, or describe their wretchedness and their