thus in time to bless the union of the young
people, and take a share in the general joy.

A GRACIOUS DEED.

In an humble room in one of the poorest streets in London, Pierre, a
faithful French boy, sat humming by the bedside of his sick mother.
There was no bread in the closet, and for the whole day he had not
tasted food. Yet he sat humming to keep up his spirits. Still at
times he thought of his loneliness and hunger, and he could scarcely
keep the tears from his eyes, for he knew that nothing would be so
grateful to his poor mother as a good, sweet orange, and yet he had not
a penny in the world.

The little song he was singing was his own; one he had composed, both
air and words--for the child was a genius.

He went to the window, and looking out, he saw a man putting up a great
bill with yellow letters announcing that Mme. Malibran would sing that
night in public.

"Oh, if I could only go," thought little Pierre; and then pausing a
moment he clasped his hands, his eyes lighting with new hope. Running
to the little stand, he smoothed his yellow curls, and taking from a
little box some old stained paper, gave one eager glance at his mother,
who slept, and ran speedily from the house.

"Who did you say was waiting for me?" said madame to her servant. "I
am already worn with company."

"It's only a very pretty little boy with yellow curls, who said if he
can just see you he is sure you will not be sorry, and he will not keep
you a moment."

"Oh, well, let him come," said the beautiful singer, with a smile. "I
can never refuse children."

Little Pierre came in, his hat under his arm, and in his hand a little
roll of paper. With manliness unusual for a child he walked straight
to the lady and, bowing, said: "I came to see you because my mother is
very sick, and we are too poor to get food and medicine. I thought,
perhaps, that if you would sing my little song at some of your grand
concerts, maybe some publisher would buy it for a small sum and so I
could get food and medicine for my mother."

The beautiful woman arose from her seat. Very tall and stately she
was. She took the roll from his hand and lightly hummed the air.

"Did you compose it?" she asked; "you a child! And the words? Would
you like to come to my concert?" she asked.

"Oh, yes!" and the boy's eyes grew bright with happiness; "but I
couldn't leave my mother."

"I will send somebody to take care of your mother for the eve