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Howbeit, she was loved, and she deserved
“Why, Don,” said she, her voice as sweet as thought
OLD FRIENDS.-B. J. M'DERMOTT. Twas on a cold and frosty night when snow and hail fast
fell, Ind winter's chilling, wailing winds swept over hill and
dell; When people who had happy homes to blazing hearthstones
hied, And the wretched, houseless outcast in the bare street, frozen,
died, That an aged, sightless beggar trudged along a country road, With a face by sorrow furrowed and back bent with life's
load. His tattered cap and ragged coat did many patches show, And his wretched shoes, all cut and torn, let in the rain and Before him walked the faithful dog that always led the way. And was the only guide and friend he'd known for many a
Who often, too, by clever tricks would food and lodging win, The while his master played upon his treasured violin, Suddenly the mastiff stopped and slowly turned around, And sunk down by his master's feet upon the frozen ground. The blind man bent in pity o'er his faithful friend in woe, And said, “Ah, Jack, you're tired; well, we'll rest awhile, To an inn where we'll get meat and drink, and place to lay
our heads; A warm spot by the fire will do, we will not ask for beds. " What could I do without you? What would my dark life
be, If your bright eyes I did not have to choose my path for me. You have, like true and faithful friend, for me ill usage
borne, And often got the savage kicks that spoke the landlord's I'll ne'er forget how e'en when sick you would not duty
shirk, Though many years ago, old friend, you were too old to
work. Why don't you lick my hand, old boy; how strange you
are to me. Your paw is stiff, your heart is still. Oh, God! it cannot be That you have died and left me~no, no, you are not dead. God sees my bruised and bleeding heart, he sees my old He would not leave me here alone in the turmoil and the
strife; He knows I could not bear alone the heavy weight of life.” He threw himself upon the corpse that now was stiff and
cold ; Such grief and sorrow as he felt can ne'er by pen be told. With fatal aim this time grim death had sent his fatal dart, He was too weak to stand the blow; it broke his poor old
heart. For when, next morning, sunshine fell upon their snowy bed, A traveler passing by the spot found dog and master dead.
OH N0,-OF COURSE NOT.-JOSEPI Bert Smiley.
They were friends, not a bit sentimental,
Or silly or spoony, not they ;
In a straightforward, business-like way;
They were friends, and that only ;--for pleasure,
And for study and mutual good;
And 'twas perfectly well understood.
As gossips delight to pursue,
To decide what 'twas best they should do;
And discussing the question some more.
That their paths must lie further apart;
And they cared not for Cupid's frail dart;
For they cared naught about it, they said.
Then they fell in love heels over head.
AT THE STAGE DOOR.*-JAMES CLARENCE IIARVEY.
The curtain had fallen, the lights were dim,
The rain came down with a steady pour;
Peered through the panes of the old stage door. “I'm getting too old to be drenched like that,”
He muttered and turning, met, face to face,
Like a mighty power, had filled the place.
And she laid her hand on his silver hair;
For that is my carriage, standing there."
And holding the door, but she would not stir
To ride in a kerridge with such as her.”
“I've something important I wish to say, •From “Lines and Rhymes," by permission of the Author.
And I can't stand here in the draught, you know.
I can tell you much better while on the way.”
Thanking her gratefully, o'er and o'er,
A story, concerning that old stage door,
This very night, and a friendless child
Dreading her walk, in a night so wild.
But you gave her a nickel to take the car,
Ye can pay me back, ef ye ever star.'
And I pay you back, as my heart demands,
As she emptied her purse in his trembling hands "And if ever you're needy and want a friend,
You know where to come, for your little mite
To gain the success you have seen to-night.”
And the gas-light shone on him, standing there;
While his thin lips murmured a fervent prayer.
And he said: “She gives all this to me?
God bless her! God bless all such as she!”
A MOTHER'S TINDER FALIN'S.*
S. JENNIE SMITH. So poor Mrs. Mulligan's gone, rist her sowl! It's a tremingus clamity for the neighborhood, Mrs. Jones, but the poor
dear is betther off out of this wicked wurruld. I'd say that if it was mesilf, indade I would, and you know that for the truth, sure as my name's Biddy Reilly.
*Written expressly for this Collection. “Mrs. Murphy's Recipe for Cako, Mary Ann's Escape " &c., in other Numbers, are by the same author.