This was Nell's idea of heaven,-just a bit of what she'd heard, With a little bit invented, and a little bit inferred;

But her brother lay and listened, and he seemed to understand, For he closed his eyes, and murmured he could see the Promised Land.

"Yes," he whispered, "I can see it - I can see it, sister Nell, Oh, the children look so happy, and they're all so strong and

well;

I can see them there with Jesus, he is playing with them too; Let us run away and join them, if there's room for me and you."

She was eight, this little maiden, and her life had all been spent In the alley and the garret, where they starved to pay the rent; Where a drunken father's curses and a drunken mother's blows Drove her forth into the gutter from the day's dawn to its close.

But she knew enough, this outcast, just to tell the sinking boy, "You must die before you 're able all these blessings to enjoy. You must die," she whispered, "Billy, and I am not even ill, But I'll come to you, dear brother, yes, I promise you I will.

"You are dying, little brother, you are dying, oh, so fast!
I heard father say to mother that he knew you could n't last.
They will put you in a coffin, then you 'll wake and be up there,
While I'm left alone to suffer in this garret bleak and bare."

"Yes, I know it," answered Billy. "Ah, but, sister, I don't mind;
Gentle Jesus will not beat me-he's not cruel or unkind;
But I can't help thinking, Nelly, I would like to take away
Something, sister, that you gave me, I might look at every day.

"In the summer, you remember how the Mission took us out To the great, green, lovely meadow, where we played and ran about;

And the van that took us halted by a sweet white patch of land, Where the fine red blossoms grew, dear, half as big as mother's hand.

"Nell, I asked the kind, good teacher, what they called such flowers as those,

And he told me, I remember, that the pretty name was 'rose.'
I have never seen them since, dear, - how I wish that I had one!
Just to keep, and think of you, Nell, when I'm up beyond the

sun.

Not a word said little Nelly; but at night, when Billy slept, On she flung her scanty garments, down the creaking stairs she crept;

Through the silent streets of London she ran nimbly as a fawn, Running on and running ever, till the night had changed to dawn

When the foggy sun had risen, and the mist had cleared away, All around her, wrapped in snow-drift, there the open country

lay;

She was tired, her limbs were frozen, and the roads had cut her feet,

But there came no flowery gardens her keen, hungry eyes to meet.

She had traced the road by asking; she had learnt the way to go; She had found the famous meadow - it was wrapped in cruel

snow;

Not a buttercup or daisy, not a single verdant blade,

Showed its head above its prison. Then she knelt her down and prayed.

With her eyes upcast to heaven, down she sank upon the ground, And she prayed to God to tell her where the roses might be

found.

Then the cold blast numbed her senses, and her sight grew strangely dim,

And a sudden, awful tremor seemed to rack her every limb.

"Oh, a rose!" she moaned, "good Jesus, just a rose to take to Bill!"

Even as she prayed, a chariot came thundering down the hill; And a lady sat there toying with a red rose, rare and sweet; As she passed she flung it from her, and it fell at Nelly's feet.

Just a word her lord had spoken caused her ladyship to fret,
And the rose had been his present, so she flung it in a pet;
But the poor, half-blinded Nelly thought it fallen from the skies,
And she murmured, "Thank you, Saviour," as she clasped the
dainty prize.

Lo! that night from out the alley did a child's soul pass away
From dirt and sin and misery, to where God's children play.
Lo! that night a wild, fierce snow-storm burst in fury o'er the
land,

And at morn they found Nell, frozen, with the red rose in her hand.

Billy's dead and gone to glory-so is Billy's sister Nell;
Am I bold, to say this happened in the land where angels dwell:
That the children met in heaven, after all their earthly woes,
And that Nelly kissed her brother, saying, "Billy, here's your
rose"?

TOLD AT THE TAVERN.

I CAN see you're a gentleman; time has been
Though you would n't think it to look at me, dressed
In these beggarly rags, and bloated with gin ·
I held my head as high as the best.

-

Reduced? I should say so! Stand a treat
I'm shaky, you see, and dead for a drink
And then, if you 've time, I'll tell you, complete,
A tale that 'll quicken your blood, as I think.

I was a countryman born, brought up on a farm
(It fell to my share when the old man died),
Got married at twenty, and little of harm

Was prophesied then of me and my bride.

Things ran along smooth, and money came in,
And my acres increased as the years went by,
And nothing of sorrow, or care, or sin,

Came thither to trouble my wife and I.

We'd been married, I guess, a dozen of years,
When our only child, a girl, was born."
A husband yourself? You'll pardon my tears,
For the birth at night there was death at morn.

The girl grew up was the village queen,
Reigning by right of her violet eyes,

Of her cheek's rich bloom, and marvellous sheen
Of the goldenest ringlets under the skies.

Poetical? Ay; but she was a saint,

And her pure, pale brow forever appears
When I tell the tale; and the old-time plaint
Stirs itself to a language of tears.

What gold could buy she had only to ask;
She was all I had, and should I be mean?
To humor her whims was an envious task;
I'd have sold my soul for my golden-haired queen.

The love I lavished she paid tenfold;
I was all to her as she all to me;
No angel in heaven of gentler mould,
Or tenderer, lovinger heart than she.

But-your pardon again - her girlhood's prime -
Well, the child had no mother, knew nought of sin
This bunch in my throat! - please spare me a dime
To wash it down with a tumbler of gin.

In her beautiful prime the tempter came;
Through such as he the angels fell;

He had wealth of words, and mien, and a name―
Ah, he bore the title of "Gentleman " well!

He made long prayers, to be seen of men;
Sinners he urged from the wrath to come:

He met my innocent girl- and then
Let's mix that gin with a trifle of rum!

You know it all? Yes, the tale is old,

And worn to shreds by poets and priests;
But it's little you know of the heart I hold -
Of its bitter, blasted, Dead Sea feasts.

Did she die? Of course! To fall was death;
Could she live dishonored, forsaken, hetrayed?
He? Somewhere, I suppose, his scented breath
Lifts eloquent prayers to Him who inade.

Remorse? Ay, ay; to the utmost stret-l!
Repentance? Don't pray, sir, trifle with me;
I could curse whoever would plead for a wretch
So lost to honor and manhood as he !

And so, as you see, I took to drink;

Can you stand another? I'm in your dept:
A pitiful tale? I should rather think!
And true as God's own gospel, you bet.

THEC F HAVENS.

RETRIBUTION.

HERE, you, policeman, just step inside;
See this young woman here -

Only just died.

Facts in the case look to be
Somewhat peculiar ;

Cause of death as you see,

Stabbed in the side.

Me and Maud Myrtle was standing right here,
Takin' a drink;

In come a loafer, chock full o' beer,

Leading a little child sweet as a pink;
Not more 'n three years old, pretty and bright,
Such little chaps as him 's good for the sight.
First thing we knowed the villain was rarin',
An' cursin', and swearin',

To make the child drink.

Maud was the nearest by,
Sprung at him with a cry,
Dashed the glass down!
Glared the brute's evil eye,
Wicked his frown.
Quick as the lightning's gleam
Flashed out the villain's knife;
Maud gave one gurgling scream
As the steel reached her life-
Tore through her tender side.
So the girl died!

Some says its doubtful if hanging's played out,
It don't suit me to admit of a doubt.

Think I'm wanted! Do you, though?
Well, let's go.

DAVID L. PROUDFIT.

Daily Graphic.

(Peleg Arkwright.)

ONLY JOE.

THIS grave were ye meanin', stranger? Oh, there's nobody much lies here;

It's only poor Joe, a dazed lad― been dead now better 'n a year. He was nobody's child, this Joe, sir - orphaned the hour of his

birth,

And simple and dazed all his life, yet the harmlessest cretur on earth.

Some say that he died broken-hearted; but that is all nonsense, you know,

For a body could never do that as were simple and dazed like Joe.

But I'll tell you the story, stranger, an' then you can readily see How easy for some folks to fancy a thing that never could be.

Do you see that grave over yonder? Well, the minister's daughter lies there;

She were a regular beauty, an' as good as she were fair.
She 'd a nod an' a kind word for Joe, sir, whenever she passed

him by;

But bless ye, that were nothin' - she could n't hurt even a fly.