u at it, I'll spank you good." Then,
after a pause, "Well what else did he say?"

FAREWELL.

Farewell, sweetheart, and again farewell;
To day we part, and who can tell
If we shall e'er again
Meet, and with clasped hands
Renew our vows of love, and forget
The sad, dull pain.

Dear heart, 'tis bitter thus to lose thee
And think mayhap, you will forget me;
And yet, I thrill
As I remember long and happy days
Fraught with sweet love and pleasant memories
That linger still

You go to loved ones who will smile
And clasp you in their arms, and all the while
I stay and moan
For you, my love, my heart and strive
To gather up life's dull, gray thread
And walk alone.

Aye, with you love the red and gold
Goes from my life, and leaves it cold
And dull and bare,
Why should I strive to live and learn
And smile and jest, and daily try
You from my heart to tare?

Nay, sweetheart, rather would I lie
Me down, and sleep for aye; or fly
To regions far
Where cruel Fate is not and lovers live
Nor feel the grim, cold hand of Destiny
Their way to bar.

I murmur not, dear love, I only say
Again farewell. God bless the day
On which we met,
And bless you too, my love, and be with you
In sorrow or in happiness, nor let you
E'er me forget.

LITTLE MISS SOPHIE.

When Miss Sophie knew consciousness again, the long, faint, swelling
notes of the organ were dying away in distant echoes through the great
arches of the silent church, and she was alone, crouching in a little,
forsaken, black heap at the altar of the Virgin. The twinkling tapers
seemed to smile pityingly upon her, the beneficent smile of the
white-robed Madonna seemed to whisper comfort. A long gust of chill air
swept up the aisles, and Miss Sophie shivered, not from cold, but from
nervousness.

But darkness was falling, and soon the lights would be lowered, and the
great, massive doors would be closed, so gathering her thin little cape
about her frail shoulders, Miss Sophie hurried out, and along the
brilliant noisy streets home.

It was a wretched, lonely little room, where the cracks let the
boisterous wind whistle through, and the smoky, grimy walls looked
cheerless and unhomelike. A miserable little room in a miserable little
cottage in one of the squalid streets of the Third District that nature
and the city fathers seemed to have forgotten.

As