། "ACROSS THE LOT." Do you remember, when we came from school Saucily calling backward, o'er my shoulder, Away I danced, and you, though left alone, There with a bunch of flowers would I stand, Or fresh-plucked apples, with their ripeness blushing, Just brought from where the hillside spring was gushing, Now, aren't you glad that I am home the first?" I am dying, sister start not! Well I know God's mighty love o'er my weak will prevailing And as of old, sweet sister, I will stand, Until you come, beside the heavenly portal, I only have gone home “ across the lot." C. S. It may be glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century; But better far it is to speak One simple word, which now and then Shall waken their free nature in the weak And friendless sons of men; To write some earnest verse or line, Which, seeking not the praise of art, Shall make clear faith and manhood shine In the untutored heart. He who doth this, in verse or prose, But surely shall be crowned at last with those Who live and speak for aye. LOWELL. PART XI. With a Story to Tell. LITTLE PHIL. "MAKE me a headboard, mister, smooth and painted. You see, Our ma she died last winter, and sister and Jack and me Last Sunday could hardly find her, so many new graves about, And Bud cried out, 'We've lost her,' when Jack gave a little shout. We have worked and saved all winter-been hungry, sometimes I own But we hid this much from father, under the old door-stone: But up in the garret we whisper, and have a good time to cry, To work and read to love her, till we go to her up there. Let the board be white, like mothe (the small chin quivered here, And the lad coughed something under and conquered a rebel tear). Here is all we could keep from father, a dollar and thirty cents The rest he's got for coal and flour, and partly to pay the rents. Blushing the while all over, and dropping the honest eyes: "What is the price of headboards, with writing, and handsome size?" "Three dollars!" A young roe wounded just falls with a moan; and he, With a face like the ghost of his mother, sank down on his tattered knee. "Three dollars! and we shall lose her; next winter the rain and the snow But the boss had his arms about him, and cuddled the head of tow Close up to the great heart's shelter, and womanly tears fell fast "Dear boy, you shall never lose her; oh, cling to your sacred past! Come to-morrow, and bring your sister and Jack, and the board shall be The best that this shop can furnish; then come here and live with me." When the orphans loaded their treasure on the rugged old cart next day, The surprise of a footboard varnish, with all that their love could say; And "Edith St. John, Our Mother,” — Baby Jack gave his little shout, And Bud, like a mountain daisy, went dancing her doll about; But Phil grew white, and trembled, and close to the boss he crept; Kissing him like a woman, shivered, and laughed, and wept. "Do you think, my benefactor, in heaven that she 'll be glad?' "Not as glad as you are, Philip — but finish this job, my lad.” MRS. HELEN RICH. BILLY'S ROSE. BILLY's dead and gone to glory—so is Billy's sister Nell; In that vile and filthy alley, long ago, one winter's day, Many a tale of elf and fairy did she tell the dying child, Till his eyes lost half their anguish, and her worn, wan features smiled, Tales herself had heard haphazard, caught amid the Babel roar, Then she felt his wasted fingers tighten feebly as she told He would be a white-frocked angel, with a gold thing on his head. Then she told some garbled story of a kind-eyed Saviour's love; How he'd built for little children great big playgrounds up above, Where they sang, and played at hop-scotch and at horses all the day, And where beadles and policemen never frightened them away. |