Over a number of the pathways in Central Park arbors are thrown, the vine-covered roofs of which shade a group of seats and a bit of surface, yielding the pedestrian the opportunity of taking a double rest, that of body and eye. As the millenium draws near this comfortable idea will be brought into town, and planted where accessible along our sidewalks.

It is one of the things which belongs to an unselfish era, the approach of which we sometimes wish was not placed so far away in the future.

During that happy period, I presume our street roadways will have become grassy lawns, for the off-foot travel will all be above or below the surface; and the horse, poor abused beast, will be a sleek and well-fed managerie pet.

Then, too, the Good Book tells us the mountains are to be brought low and the valleys filled, which tempts one almost to suppose that town nor country will be so distinct from each other as to be separately distinguished, but both will be merged the one into the other.

Meanwhile much may be done for the townsmen, a large crowd, who are tied by misfortune or the unhappy combination of too numerous a family with too small a purse, to a sweltering existence in a brick-lined summer atmosphere, by the coming Society for the Amelioration of the Miseries of a Forced Summer's Sojourn in the City.

The work on hand for this society is large and important, and its speedy advent is desired and anxiously looked for.