But one day he took very sick, And though I went for the doctor quick, And 'fore the doctor came, dear dad was dead. I was a little chap then,-only four; And sister, she was only born The day Dad died-that very morn; Poor Mammy grieved as if her heart had broke When the neighbors told her of that awful stroke. She couldn't keep the store then, so 'twas sold, The landlord wanted his rent,-wouldn't wait you know, Poor Mammy worked at anything she could get. So eight years passed; dear Mammy kept up well; I was old enough then to see the lay o' the land, And to help her and sister I would do my very best. I began by running errands, and only quit And now I'm called the best in the line. Dear Mammy's getting better every day, And she sha'n't work so hard again, I say. There sir, that's done! How do you like the shine? A dollar-don't want no change? All mine? Oh, thank you, sir! Now Mammy'll have a treat, Good-bye, sir! God is good to me and mine, Black your boots?—Come, have a patent leather shine! THE LITTLE DAGO GIRL.-ROBERT C. V. MEYERS.* Written expressly for this Collection. Her little violin The little Dago girl played drearily, With false notes here and there, For she shivered, and she thought of Italy. She had played all day, alas! And night was near, and cold the winds that swept, For the Padre, ere she turned Her fingers had grown numb, But she had not quite the sum The Padre would demand and so she played While bitter winds her ragged garments swayed. There were hundreds passing by, And she must make up the dollar, or else go With blows on back and head, For the Padre had a heavy hand, you know. So she played her song of home, Passing hand would throw a cent or two, And the sun there, and the free And happy childish life that there she knew. Through the sharp electric light Brighter still the fever of his thought; Of the passion to be rich, And he saw the way to riches that he sought. *Author of the popular recitation, "Jamie," in No. 23, also, "If I should Die To-night," "Our C'lumbus," "The Sentinel of Metz," "Eunice," "The Masque," &c., in previous Numbers of this Series. There was money, not his own, Be foremost among men, And enjoy what earth could give, without a care. He would do it-now-this night! He clasped his two hands tight He would do it!-none would know, for none could know! He felt no bitter cold, For the fever in him rolled Like lava in the crater's fiery flow. So he came along the street, The echo of his feet Griding in with thousand others, and he laughed When care he'd have no more, And the sparkling cup of pleasure he had quaffed. The street was gone, the hurrying crowds, and all; Green lane he called his home, And peace was there and many a song bird's call. His heart was full of love, And standing in a humble cottage-door Was a woman, and she sang, As up the lane he sprang, His mother, who grew old, and was no more; She sang the song of home, The song of "Home, sweet home, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!" With love grown more than wise, And her voice was old, but sang of "Home, sweet Home." He cried out "Mother!"-there In the crowded thoroughfare; And something wet his cheek like a tear. Then be heard a violin, And he saw a little thin Tired, dark-eyed foreign child standing near. He was in the street again, But he trembled, and the fever was all gone. Sparkling, jingling coin, and more than one. That night he asked for strength, Under her shawl so thin, To the Padre sped the Dago girl with glee; And a crust, and then went up To her bed to dream of home and-Italy. WOMAN.-ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. Give us that grand word "woman" once again, One's a term Full of fine force-strong, beautiful and firm, One suggests The mother, wife, and sister; one the dame Whose costly robe, mayhap, gave her that name. One word upon its own strength leans and rests; The other minces, tiptoe. Who would be The "perfect woman" must grow brave of heart Give the first place, then, to the nobler phrase, And leave the lesser word for lesser praise. MR. EISSELDORF AND THE WATER PIPE 66 Hans, dot vater bipe giffs no vater alretty, und you vos petter sent oop dot blumber to vix id vonce more." This remark was addressed to a highly respected German citizen as he sat in front of his cosy grate. He received the announcement with evident disfavor. "Vot! Dot vater pipe again? I vas shoost congratulatin' meinself dot de ice vagon comes no more, und dot new hat vos paid for, und dot Christmas vas a long vays ahead-und now von off dose blumbers! Mein gracious, Gretel en! I got no money for blumbers. I vixes id myself. Joe!" addressing his ten-year-old son, "vere vos dot leak?" Then Joe proceeded to explain that the leak was under the house, where the stout frame of his worthy ancestor could hardly go. "Neffer mind, neffer mind. You gets me some bipe und a monkey wrench, und I save dot blumber's bill. So the next day Joe got the pipe and the monkey wrench, and his father, having divested himself of all surplus garments, entered the hole, pulling the pipe after him. It was a tight squeeze, and after lying on his back to convenience his position, he proceeded to discover the leak. Very little water was now coming from it, as he had taken the precaution to turn off the tap. He hadn't turned it quite tight enough and yelled; 66 Turn off de vater." "All righdt, fader," replied Joe. Joe didn't know his right hand from his left, nor the philosophy of screws, and turned it on. The old gentleman's mouth was under the leak. He was wedged in. He sputtered and swore and swore and sputtered, but his wild yells to Joe were muffled by the sound of deluging water and Joe was intent on a dogfight across the way, as he sat on an empty nail keg and chewed gum. He looked over his shoulder and saw the old man with |