I went to her room and found her;
She sat on the floor, poor soul!

Two burning streaks on her death-pale cheeks,
And eyes that were gleeds of coal.

And now she would shriek and shudder,
And now she would laugh aloud,

And now for a while, with an awful smile,
She'd sew at a little shroud.

Dear Lord, through the day and darkness, Dear Lord, through the endless night, I sat by her side, while she shrieked and cried, And I thought it would ne'er be light. And still, through the blackness thronging With shapes that was dread to see, My shuddering cry to the God on high Went up for my girl and me.

At last through the winder, morning
Came glimmering, cold and pale;
And, faint but clear, to my straining ear
Was carried a feeble wail.

I went to the door in wonder,
And there, in the dawning day,
All swaddled and bound in a bundle round,
A sweet little baby lay.

It lay on the frosty doorstep,
A pert little two months' child;
Dumfounded and slow, I raised it so,
And it looked in my face and smiled.
And so as I kissed and loved it,
I grajuly growed aware

As the Father in bliss had sent us this,
The answer to wrestling prayer.

In wonder and joy and worship,
With tears that were soft and blest,
I carried the mite, and, still and white,
I laid it on Mary's breast.

I didn't know how she'd take it,

So goes on an artful tack;

"The little 'un cried for her mother's side. And the hangels has sent her back!"

My God! I shall ne'er forget it,
Though spared for a hundred years-
The soft delight on her features white,
The rush of her blissful tears.

The eyes that was hard and vacant
Grew wonderful soft and mild,

As she cries, "Come rest on your mammy's breast, My own little hangel child."

And so from that hour, my darling
Grew happy and strong and well;
And the joy that I felt as to God I knelt
Is what I can noways tell.

There's parties as sneers and tells you
There's nothing but clouds up there:
There's a God I know,
And a Father that heareth prayer."

I answers 'em so,

66

And what if my Mary fancies
The babe is a child of light-

Our own little dear sent back to us here ?-
And mayn't she be somewheres right?
Here, Mary, my Darling, Mary!

A friend has come into town;
Don't mind her nose nor changing her clo'es,
But bring us the hangel down.

Langbridge, in "The Voice Magazine."

NAUGHTY GIRL.

I don't 'spect folks think I look so very purty in this dress. I don't think I do neither. This is 'bout the worstest dress I dot, but if it is the worstest dress I dot, it's lots better than Mary Lee's Sunday

dress. But then my pa's lots richer'n hern. My pa's dot so much money he could gist throw it away if he wanted to-but he don't want to, and I don't blame him much neither, so I don't.

Some people say I kin speak so nice, but I don't think I kin. I'm going to speak a wee teeny little bit, and let you see how I spoke my piece for my ma's preachers t'huther day. Now this is going to be the way what I spoke my piece.

(Make several bows, forget, and begin again. Make gestures in imitation of a child.)

"I love to see a little dog,

And pat him on the head,

So prettily he wags his tail
Whenever he is fed.

"Some little dogs are very good
And very useful too,
And do you know that they will do
What they are bid to do?"

Don't 'spect you think that's such very good speakin'. Tain't. That's about the very worstest speakin' I kin speak. I kin speak lots better than that, for a man told me I could speak as good as Mary Sanderson. He said that when I spoke my piece what I got the medal on, over here in this big red brick school house. Mary Sanderson speaks in New York, and pa says I kin go and hear her speak some day if I don't die too soon. Do you all know her? Now this is my medal piece.

"My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrim's pride,
From every mountain side

Let freedom ring.

"My native country thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love.

I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above.”

Now that's fine speakin'.

I was walking down the street the other day and I was sayin' to myself I don't believe I have such very good sense anyhow-I was gist thinkin' that—and I heard some one talkin' about me, so I went back to hear what they was sayin'. And what do you think I heard them say? They says that's the very purtiest little girl in this town-and they meant me. T’ain't so neither, so it 'taint. I think I'm the very ugliest girl in this whole town.

My ma's a Methodist, and when Conference comes you ought to see the big preachers what comes to our house. They come and stay nearly a week, and goodness! how much they do eat. One of them--the very biggest one too--took me on his knee and said I was a daisy. I gist jumped off of his knee and said, Who do you think you are talkin' 'bout anyway? Why, you ole crank, if you don't watch out we'll fire you out bodily. You bets you, I skeered him purty bad. He never said a nuther word to me, you bets you. He's dead now, and I'm so glad.

I bet you don't know Sim. He's my beau. We have to hide behind the rose-bush every night and hear my sister Jane and her beau sparkin' in the hammock, so we kin take items. Then when we git big, if Sim forgets, I'll know how. Oh, we've got sparkin' down to a purty fine point.

Well, I guess I'll go and get on my new dress, and let you see it. This is 'bout the worstest dress I dot, but I could have lots better ones if I wanted 'em, but I don't wan't want 'em. I've got sense enough not to want things I can't git.

That's all I have to tell you so I guess I'll go.

Good-bye.

[Arranged on hearing Miss Lucia Griffin recite "The Naughty Girl."]

THE WAY TO SLEEPTOWN.

The town of Sleeptown is not far

In Timbuctoo or China,

For it's right near by in Blinkton county,
In the state of Drowsylina;

It's just beyond the Thingumbob hills,
Not far from Nodville Center,

But you must be drawn thro' the Valley of Yawn,
Or the town you cannot enter,

And this is the way,

They say, they say,

That baby goes to Sleeptown!

He starts from the city of Odearme,
Through Boohoo street he totters,
Until he comes to Dontery Corners

By the shore of the Sleeping Waters;
Then he comes to the Johnny-Jump-Up hills,
And the nodding Toddlebom mountains,

And straight does he go thro' the Vale of Heigho,
And drinks from the Drowsy Fountains.

And this is the way,

They say, they say,

That baby goes to Sleeptown!

By Twilight Path thro' the Nightcap Hills
The little feet must toddle,

Thro' the dewy gloom of Flyaway Forest,
By the drowsy peaks of Noddle;

And never a sound does baby hear,

For not a leaf does quiver,

From the Little Dream Gap in the Hills of Nap To the Snoozequehanna River.