A CHILD'S TEAR.-T. TEIGNMOUTH SHORE.

My home-yes, it's bright and clean, sir,
And I'll tell how it came to pass;
It wasn't my work or doing at all-
It's all due to that little lass.

I was going straight down to hell, sir,
And all through the curse of the drink;
How I treated poor Mary, my wife, sir,
God knows I can't bear to think.

I didn't know as I loved her

Till the wild dark night she died,
When I found her lying so cold and still,
And that new-born child by her side.

The little lass, she has grown, sir--
Last June she was eight years old;
And what she has been to me, sir,
Can never on earth be told.

When a kid, there was no one to mind her
But a woman as lived next door;
And she being given to drink, too,
Let her roll one day on the floor.

And ever since, the poor creatur'

Has been lame with a crooked knee;
So I'd often lift her up in my arms
To take her about with me.

For I really loved the poor mite, sir,

And her sweet little eyes of blue

Was as blue and as bright as her mother's wor
And they looked me through and through.

One night I was off to the "public ”—

I'd been drinking already, 'twas late

And I took little May to carry her,

But I couldn't walk quite straight.

"Oh, daddy, don't go!" she whispered,
But I quickened my drunken pace,
And I said, "Not another word, young un,
Or I'll give you a slap in the face."

I was brutal, sir-I know it;
But the devil was in me then,

97

And when he gets hold of us with the drink
We are only brutes-not men.

And the little lass, she wor quiet,

But I felt a hot tear fall;

And it seemed to burn right into my hand,
Though she wiped it off with her shawl.
Straight into my soul it entered-

It melted my hardened heart;

So I said, "I'll go home, lassie,'

And that night I made a new start.
Now, every morning and evening,
I kneel, and with heart sincere

I bless my God for saving a soul
By the touch of a little one's tear.

A NEWSBOY'S FUNERAL.

It was one of the solemn days along the alley, for another newsboy had died. He had not been a prominent member of the "push" and had earned no title. If he had achieved distinction in any way he might have been called "Rubber Nick," "Hot Foot," or "Sleep Out."

They had known him as Freddie. He had been accustomed to stand in line rather meekly and endure more than his share of the pushing and scuffling. His bundle of papers was never very large, and, as he wasn't tall enough to talk loudly and "boss" around, he was never properly respected in the alley until he died. Then a heavy grief settled on the colony, and "Bootsy" Thompson went about with a wrinkled brow and was ready to chastise any youngster who seemed to be cheerful.

It was suddenly remembered that Freddie had always been "on the square," that he never went camping on another "kid's" corner, and some recalled the affecting circumstance that he dropped in his last "nick" to help buy flowers when "Tanny" was killed by the cable car. They had seen him around only the week before, and it was within the last two days they had heard that he was very sick.

When a newsboy dies his comrades hold a meeting. Instead of imitating the conspicuous example of their elders and passing resolutions, they go down into their pockets and make up a fund.

They held the meeting at 3.30 in the afternoon. After the spokesman had announced the news of Freddie's death, he said that every "kid" would be expected to "come down." Then the hats were passed and there was a steady jingle of red and white coin. A committee to count up reported that seven dollars and thirteen cents had been contributed, at which some of the thoughtless ones were inclined to yell, forgetting that the occasion was one of sorrow. Overcoat," "Hawky" and "Cocoanut Charley" were appointed to buy the floral tribute and take it to Freddie's home.

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Next morning the three members of the committee and a large box wrapped in white paper came into the office of the man who was regarded as the supreme authority of the newsboy army. He was the court of last resort in all "scraps," and a good man to be "next to." So they brought the tribute around to show it to him.

He untied the string and lifted the lid. Within the box was a huge cluster of pink roses with waxen petals and wire stems, wreathed about by stiff handpainted leaves. "Why, these are artificial flowers," said he, and he began to laugh.

The committee was silent Then "Hawky" spoke up: cause dey was cheaper, but wouldn' know de difference. enough."

and apparently offended. "We got fake flowers bede're all right and de kid We t'ought dey was purty

"What makes this peculiar smell?" was then asked, The flowers gave out a rank alcoholic odor.

"Dat's perfumery. Fake flowers aint got no smell, so we sprinkled a little perfumery on."

If the man at the desk had followed his inclination he would have roared with laughter. But he had too much feeling.

"That's very nice, boys," said he, replacing the lid. Freddie's mother will be glad that you remembered him. That's right; you give her the money that's left. Don't sprinkle any more cologne on the flowers. They have enough now." Then he followed them to the window and smiled to see them trot happily away.

"After all," he said, "it doesn't make any difference." In the afternoon when the alley delegation saw the hearse drive away from the little house the waxen flowers with the wire stems lay on top of the coffin.

O'FLAHERTY AND JOHN STUBBS.-SAM WALTER FOSS
By permission of the Author.

A man of wondrous clarity
Of utterance was O'Flaherty,
He said just what he had to say
With great oracularity;

It might not be grammatical,
But oh! it was emphatical,
For he was always dead cock-sure
Decided and dogmatical:

And very full of speech
He was,

Of thoughts beyond our reach
He was;

He talked with great velocity,
Was full of great pomposity,
Of language and verbosity-
He was
Indeed!

There was no similarity

Twixt John Stubbs and O'Flaherty;
O'Flaherty was full of words,

But Stubbs he spoke with rarity;
John Stubbs had no sagacity
In speech, and no loquacity,
For talk and phraseology

John Stubbs had no capacity.
A still, dumb sort of chump
He was,

A quiet sort of gump

He was;

But Stubbs he loved O'Flaherty
With love of wondrous rarity,
With most stupendous charity,
He did-
Yes, sir!

And I must state O'Flaherty
He cherished thoughts of charity
For Stubbs, although between the two
There was a great disparity;

No incompatability

Could generate hostility

Between O'Flaherty and Stubbs
There reigned a long tranquility;
Their love it was so great

They wouldn't,

They could not separate,

They couldn't.

Through great dissimilarity
Did Stubbs and did O'Flaherty
Keep mutual popularity,
They did,
Oh, yes!

For Stubbs unostentatiously
Would sit and drink voraciously
O'Flaherty's verbosity,

He poured out so loquaciously;
His speech he would not spurn it, he
Would sit in taciturnity.

Yes, while O'Flaherty held forth,

He'd sit to all eternity.

And so while one sat still,
He did,

The other spake his fill,

He did.

And thus grew up affection mellow,

Between this dumb and talking fellow

Betwen this gump and tongue propellor,

There did

That's all.

THE CHIEF MOURNER.-FRANCIS S. SMITH.

'Twas eve-a glorious eve!

The bright stars sparkled in the expanse above, Like jewels in a kingly garb of blue,