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“Never knowd nothink, sir.”
“ Not so much as one short prayer? ”

“ No, sir. Nothink at all. Mr. Chadbands he wos a prayin' wunst at Mr. Sangshy's, and I heerd him, but he sounded as if he wos speakin' to hisself, and not to me. He prayed a lot but I could n't make out nothink on it. Different times there wos other genlmen come down Tom-allAlone's a prayin', but they all mostly sed as the t' other wuns prayed wrong, and all mostly sounded to be a talking to theirselves, or a passing blame on the t’ others, and not a talkin' to us. We never knowd nothink. I never knowd what it wos all about."

It takes him a long time to say this; and few but an experienced and attentive listener could hear, or, hearing, understand him. After a short relapse into sleep or stupor, he makes, of a sudden, a strong effort to get out of bed.

• Stay, Jo, stay! What now?

“ It 's time for me to go to that there berryin-ground, sir," he returns,fwith a wild look.

“ Lie down, and tell me. What burying-ground, Jo?”

“Where they laid him as wos wery good to me; wery good to me indeed, he wos. It 's time fur me to go down to that there berryin-ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. I wants to go there and be berried. He used fur to say to me, 'I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he ses. I wants to tell him that I am as poor as him now, and have come there to be laid along with him.”

“ By and by, Jo. By and by.”

“Ah! Pr’aps they would n't do it if I wos to go myself. But will you promise to have me took there, sir, and have me laid along with him?"

“I will, indeed.”

“ Thank'ee, sir! Thank'ee, sir! They'll have to get the key of the gate alore they can take me in, for it 's allus locked. And there's a step there, as I used fur to clean with my broom. It 's turned wery dark, sir: Is there any light a comin'?"

“It is coming fast Jo."

Fast. The cart is shaken all to pieces, and the rugged road is very near its end.

“Jo, my poor fellow!"
“ I hear you, sir, in the dark, but I'm a gropin',-a gropin',
-let me catch hold of your hand.”

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“ Jo, can you say what I say?” “I'll say anythink as you say, sir, for I knows it 's good.” “OUR FATHER.” “Our Father!-yes, that's wery good, sir.” 66 WHICH ART IN HEAVEN.” “ Art in Heaven-is the light a comin', sir?” " It is close at hand. HALLOWED BE THY NAME!" “ Hallowed be—thy-name!" The light is come upon the dark benighted way. Dead!

Dead, your Majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, Right Reverends and Wrong Reverends of every order. Dead, men and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts. And dying thus around us every day!

CHARLES DICKENS,

THE VOLUNTEER’S WIFE.

“AN' sure I was tould to come to your Honor,

To see if ye'd write a few words to me Pat. He's gone

for a soldier, is Misther O'Connor, Wid a sthripe on his arm and a band on his hat.

“ An' what’ll ye tell him? It ought to be aisy

For sich as yer Honor to spake wid the pen, Jist say I'm all right, and that Mavoorneen Daisy

(The baby, yer Honor,) is betther again.

“For when he went off it's so sick was the childer

She niver held up her blue eyes to his face; And when I'd be cryin' he'd look but the wilder,

An' say, Would you wish for the counthry's disgrace?'

“So he left her in danger, and me sorely gratin',

To follow the flag wid an Irishman's joy ;0, it's often I drame of the big drums a batin',

An' a bullet gone straight to the heart of me boy.

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An’ say

will he send me a bit of his money, For the rint an' the docther's bill due in a wake;Well, surely, there's tears on yer eye-lashes, honey!

Ah, faith, I've no right with such freedom to spake.

“You've overmuch trifling, I'll not give ye trouble,

I'll find some one willin'- O, what can it be? What's that in the newspaper

folded

up

double? Yer Honor, don't hide it, but rade it to me.

“What, Patrick O'Connor! No, no, 't is some other!

Dead! dead! no, not him! 'Tis a wake scarce gone by: Dead! dead! why, the kiss on the cheek of his mother,

It has n't had time yet, yer Honor to dry. “ Don't tell me ! It's not him! O God, am I crazy?

Shot dead! O for love of sweet Heaven, say no. o, what 'll I do in the world wid poor Daisy!

I O, how will I live, an' 0, where will I go! 6. The room is so dark, I'm not seein' yer Honor,

I think I'll go home” And a sob thick and dry Came sharp from the bosom of Mary O'Connor,

But never a tear-drop welled up

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to her eye.

M. A. DENNISON.

OUR FOLKS.

“Hı! Harry Holly! Halt,—and tell

A fellow just a thing or two;
You've had a furlough, been to see

How all the folks in Jersey do.
It's months ago since I was there,-

I, and a bullet from Fair Oaks;
When you were home,- old comrade, say,

Did you see any of our folks?
“You did? Shake hands, — 0, ain't I glad;

For if I do look grim and rough,
I've got some feelin'-

People think
A soldier's heart is mighty tough;
But, Harry, when the bullets fly,

And hot saltpetre flames and smokes,
While whole battalions lie afield,

One's apt to think about his folks.

“ And so you saw them - when? and where?

The old man - is he hearty yet? And mother - does she fade at all?

Or does she seem to pine and fret For me? And Sis? — has she

grown

tall? And did you see her friend That Annie Moss

(How this pipe chokes!) Where did you see her?— tell me, Hal,

A lot of news about our folks.

you know

“ You saw them in the church — yet say;

It's likely, for they 're always there. Not Sunday? no? A funeral? Who?

Who, Harry? how you shake and stare! All well, you say, and all were out;

What ails you, Hal? Is this a hoax?
Why don't

you
tell

me,
What is the matter with our folks ?

like a man,

“I said all well, old comrade, true; I

say all well, for He knows best Who takes the young ones in his arms,

Before the sun goes to the west.
The axe-man Death deals right and left,

And flowers fall as well as oaks;

And so

Fair Annie blooms no more! And that's the matter with your folks.

“See, this long curl was kept for you;

And this white blossom from her breast; And here — your sister Bessie wrote

A letter, telling all the rest.
Bear up, old friend.”

Nobody speaks;
Only the old camp raven croaks,
And soldiers whisper:

“Boys, be still; There's some bad news from Grainger's folks.”

He turns his back the only foe

That ever saw it-on this grief,

And, as men will, keeps down the tears

Kind Nature sends to Woe's relief.
Then answers he:

" Ah, Hal, I 'll try;
But in my throat there's something chokes,
Because, you see, I've thought so long

To count her in among our folks.

“I s'pose she must be happy now,

But still I will keep thinking too,
I could have kept all trouble off,

By being tender, kind, and true.
But maybe not.

She 's safe up there,
And when the Hand deals other strokes,
She 'll stand by Heaven's gate, I know,

And wait to welcome in our folks.”

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ETHEL LYNN.

THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER.

THREE students were traveling over the Rhine;
They stopped when they came to the landlady's sign;
“Good landlady, have you good beer and wine?
And where is that dear little daughter of thine?'

“My beer and wine are fresh and clear;
My daughter she lies on the cold death-bier!"
And when to the chamber they made their way,
There, dead, in a coal-black shrine, she lay.

The first he drew near, and the veil gently raised,
And on her pale face he mournfully gazed:
“Ah! wert thou but living yet,” he said,
" I'd love thee from this time forth, fair maid!”
The second he slowly put back the shroud,
And turned him away and wept aloud:
“ Ah! that thou liest in the cold death-bier!
Alas! I have loved thee for many a year!”

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