One clung fancifully to her gown, and this she passionately brushed away.

Heinrich leaned far over the iron railing to take a closer look at her. The eyes, for all their brightness, had a tired, careworn expression, and his little heart went out to her. He remembered having seen mütterchen look that way, but what cause could this radiant being, sparkling with jewels, possibly have to be sad? That was a matter for wiser and older brains

than his.

Just then a tall man stepped beside her. She drew herself up rather proudly, and flung back her head, which she had allowed to drop a little. A few whispered words, and both had swept

into the circle of dancers.

The newsboy strained his eyes after her, tried to distinguish her from the rest of the assemblage. None else had further attraction for him. Oh, if he might only be permitted to see her once again!

The music suddenly ceased, the musicians withdrew, and in a short time the dance-hall was empty. Heinrich could hear the clatter of dishes and the buzz of conversation floating from an adjoining room.

And then his heart gave a triumphant leap. Slowly, with head erect, walked his queen with the dark eyes and red cheeks into the deserted room. Her eyes, if possible, were more fiery, and her cheeks still redder. She paused in the center, right beneath the huge crystal chandelier, and with a quick gesture tore from her the scarlet roses which lay clustered at her bosom. Without casting one glance at the superb flowers at her feet, she approached a low couch near the window where Heinrich. had first seen her. A long time she stood before it, her lithe young figure strained to its utmost height, then, without a moment's warning, fell on her knees, burying her face in its silken folds, before Heinrich's horrified eyes.

She, the beautiful, whom he had endowed with more than human power-crying! His heart bled for her. He must help her, and that at once, but first it was necessary to realize the cause of her grief. He had seen few people in tears in his little life. All had been so happy, until the past year! The lights in the hall had grown dimmer, and it was with difficulty that he discerned her dark form, still immovable, before the couch. In an adjoining room he happened to spy a waiter, walking

swiftly past, balancing a tray heaped with dainties. Yet so had his sympathies been played upon, that the sight aroused no pang in the hungry little fellow. But it gave him an idea which quickly developed to a certainty. He understood now why the personification of loveliness was shedding tears, alone in the deserted hall. Had he not that same winter, seen the dear mütterchen do the same thing, when she had not thought any one near? The time she had had hardly a morsel of food for three days? Those other wicked people had denied her admittance, while they feasted and made merry. Hunger. How he longed to kiss her, and comfort her, as he had done to mütterchen.

Well, at any rate, she should suffer no longer. He squeezed one numb hand into a shabby little pocket and drew out a dime, given him as a Christmas gift by some kindly gentleman. He had intended for mütterchen, but customers had been generous to her this last week, and she was in no such urgent need.

Casting a last lingering glance at the beautiful girl, he resolutely slipped from his perch. How bleak everything looked. He felt stiff and sore from his cramped position of the last half hour, yet he did not think of that. He must find a grocery shop and that quickly. He knew from experience what it meant to suffer hunger, when every moment seemed hours long. As he passed the entrance of the mansion, bent on his errand of mercy, a violent slamming of the storm-doors caused him to look up, and to see the figure of a man tramping down the frosty steps with angry strides. As the light fell on his face, Heinrich with a start recognized him as the person who had been her companion during the latter part of the evening. Here was a chance not to be missed. This grand gentleman would certainly have better means to assist her than he himself. In a moment he had addressed him, but the man, deep in his own thoughts, hurriedly moved on. Heinrich timidly put a detaining hand on the stranger's coat-sleeve.

"She is so hungry," he said piteously.
"Hungry,-here." He tossed him a coin.

"O no, sir, not me, the lady, sir, who is so beautiful."

"Are you mad, fellow? Leave me, I say."

Heinrich caught his breath. One more appeal for aid he must make for her sake.

"Ah, help her, sir--she is alone and crying."

The other paused, and the lad, making sure of this opportunity, eagerly, though with tremulous tones, besought him to follow to a certain window. The earnestness of the little fellow, mingled with a feeling of curiosity, induced the man to do as he was asked.

"There, is it not as I have said?" Heinrich pointed excitedly, fixing his bright eyes on his companion's face, which had grown very pale at the sight of the prostrate form and the heaving shoulders. For a moment neither spoke. The man stared in an incredulous manner at the sight disclosed to him, as if doubting his very senses.

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Then, forgetful of any presence, he stretched out his arms. toward her and Heinrich heard him murmur, passionately— "I, I was in the wrong. I have made her suffer,-my old stubbornness and pride. Will she forgive me ?" In an instant he had dashed away and up the steps, rung the bell violently, disappeared within, and Heinrich saw him no more.

With a satisfied feeling he turned away. The fair one need be hungry no longer. All would be well now. He certainly had done right, to have left things in the hands of the rich gentleman. And now he must hurry to mütterchen. She would be waiting up for him, the dear tender mütterchen, and would be happy to hear of all the wonderful people, and of the splendor he had witnessed. She would rejoice to know of the kindness he had done, for the Christ-child helps those who help others.

The wind, weary with useless strife, had calmed, and the thick white flakes fell softly upon him, as he hurried towards home, little dreaming of the cheer and happiness he was to meet with there, for on the Christmas eve during his absence. his mother's prophecy had been fulfilled. The Christ-child had helped those whose thoughts had been for others.

Yet Heinrich's fireside was not the only scene of good-fortune and blessedness. On a low couch, in a dimly lighted ball room, sat a girl with dark tender eyes to whom a man was making explanations in the whispered accents of love. But the little German newsboy, to whom they owed this reconciliation, was far from the thoughts of both.

ELSA MAYER,

SKETCHES

A DREAM

Isles clustering in an azure sea,
Soft woods and cities fair,
And purple mountains shining far,
Clear skies and fragrant air.

White marble quarries, and the vines,
A green and silent plain,

A lonely pillar rising there,
A tomb or sacred fane.

A mellow tint, that gleaming lies
O'er all the pensive land,

A peerless sparkle on the waves,
A slumber on the strand.

So shines the picture of my dream
When lies my soul at peace —

Am I not gazing far away

Upon thy clime, fair Greece?

MARY FRANCES HARDY.

Narji was a little hunch-shouldered idol of red soapstone. He had a benevolent, dome-shaped forehead with a few interroga

tory lines in it. His eyes, which had laugh wrinkles Narji at their corners, were large and set deep under arching brows. His long ears, pouchy cheeks, broad nose and thick lips were not fashioned according to the Greek pattern of beauty. A generous beard swept down his breast to the waist of his flowing robes. His untiring right hand always grasped a staff wound with black vines, while in his left hand he held, pressed close to his body, a pomegranate. Imperishable vines and flowers grew beneath his feet.

Once Narji lived in the land of the down-beating sun, in a

little hut at the foot of a rubber tree. His owner, as long as his affairs prospered, treated him with great respect; but one day the man came home very angry because his mule had dropped dead on the way back from the big city. He threw Narji out of the doorway, in hopes that bad luck would go, too. Narji turned a somersault, and striking his head on the ground, lay flat in the dust.

The next day he was picked up by a man in a striped suit and mottled necktie. The man was possessed of a red face and an

aggressive nose.

"Just the thing," he remarked cheerfully. "Will ship it off to-morrow with the rest of the batch. Know a good thing when I see it." This man always expressed himself with a business-like scarcity of "I's".

Daylight was suddenly obliterated for Narji, who bumped around in darkness for an hour. At last he was rudely lifted up and put down hard upon a table. He hugged his pomegranate closer and tried to look around, an attempt which is always a distinct failure when your head, neck and body are all of one straight piece; so Narji had to content himself with looking out of the corners of his eyes. Such an array of beings of his kind he had never seen before. Facing him was a hideous two-headed god, who sat stiffly on a green throne, regarding the new-comer with contempt. One god with a sugar-loaf head and massy black locks clustered below his bald crown looked hungrily at the pomegranate. Narji clutched it tighter.

The next morning every one was wrapped round and round in tight cloths and suffocated in straw. A long, dark night set in. It was by no means a restful one. First it was jolt, jolt, jolt, then rumble, rattle and roar. There followed a period of terrible tossing and turning, which made Narji feel uncomfortable. More rumble and roar, more jolting; finally there was a cracking and splitting and-daylight again.

Narji was in a London store on High Holburn, although he did not know it until the friendly little brass candle-stick with the butterfly handle told him so. She stood in front of him in the show-window, and had seen a good deal of the world that rushed by. The god with the mussy black locks and the scornful one were all that Narji could see out of the corner of his eyes, but he never paid any attention to them, for he always looked at the little candlestick.