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Eddie’s Question.
« OTHER. Trill the angels find me?”
Asked a little prattling boy,
As he sported gaily round her
In his happy childish joy :
“ Oft you’re told me, dearest mother,
How they hover near my bed,
tNy? Kindly watching o’er my slumbers,
» Guarding ev’ry path I tread.
"Will they come as morn-light flushes
All the east with rosy ray,
Or like those who down the ladder
Came where sleeping Jacob lay ?
Should a storm-cloud darkly lower,
Can they find me, mother dear?
Will they whisper words of comfort
E’en to little children here?
•• Peradventure as eve’s shadows
Gather round our earthly ball,
They will leave their star-lit pathway
And your little Eddie call —
Telling of their home in heaven,
Fields, and flowers, and fruit, so fair;
Os yon green and beauteous Eden,
Where no deep, dark graves appear.’
Yes, they found him in the darkness
Os a cold and wintry night,
As the sleet and snow-flakes pattered
’Gainst the window-pane so bright.
Noiselessly they crossed the threshold
Os the chamber where he lay,
Stamping on his marble features
Their cold signet, cold as clay.
Tenderly the mother soothed him,
Striving to suppress her fears,
Lest he with his quick perception
Might detect her falling tears.
Agonized she bowed beside him,
Softly stroked his shining hair:
“ Tell me, dearest Eddie, tell me.
Do you now the angels fear?”
“ Fear the bright-winged angels, mother?”
Asked her darling, dying boy :
"Soon I’ll hear them sweetly singing
* Words of welcome, words of joy,”
Quickly was his question answered —
As God’s messengers, they came
Gently to release his spirit,
Washed from earthly sin and shame.
Softly did their airy footsteps
Linger round his dying bod ;
Gently did their wings infold him.
As his blood-bought spirit fled.
And they’ll come again with Jesus
At the resurrection morn,
To redeem his mortal body,
Then for life eternal born.
Southern Presbyterian.
Dust and Girls,
Eda was allowed to go to Sabbath
school, her first time, a few Sundays since,
and there learned that she was made of
dust. Little Eda’s mind was fully im
pressed with the importance of the great
truth, and she asked many unanswerable
questions on the subject. One morning,
she was intently watching her mother
sweeping, as if to learn how herself; say
ing not a word, her eyes rested on the
little heap of dirt accumulated by her mo
ther’s broom. Just as the dirt was to be
swept into the street, the little philoso
pher burst forth with,
“ Ma, ma, why don’t you save the dust
to make some more little girls ?”
—
Avoid temptation, through fear that
you may not withstand it.
BURKE’S WEEKLY.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
ELLEN HUNTER:
A STORY OF THE WAR.
DEDICATED TO THE CHILDREN OP’ TIIE SOUTH BY ONE
WHO HAS BEEN AN EYE-WITNESS TO THEIR
SORROWS AND THEIR SUFFERINGS.
BY BYRD LYTTLE, OF VIRGINIA.
CHAPTER VII.
K A T E MORSON’S VISIT.
\ jTjEN was very much
: disappointed at not hear
anY news from Har
ry. She did not like to
say anything to her father, as she
saw that he was as anxious and jfls
L much worried as she was. She
i soon went up stairs, but when she
* | reached her own little room, she
could not help crying.
The next morning, just after she had
sent the children off to school, and seen
that her mother had her breakfast, as
she was standing looking out of the win
dow, she saw Kate Morson running up
the front steps, as if she was in a great
hurry. Ellen went out to meet her, but
before she could say a word, Kate said:
“Now, Ellen, don’t say you cannot go,
because you will have to.”
“Go where, Kate?” asked Ellen.
“I have come for you to go down the
street with me. There is something I
am going to show you, and besides I have
ever so much to talk to you about.”
Ellen said she would go and ask her
mother if she could spare her, and if she
could, she would go with Kate with pleas
ure. When Ellen reached her mother’s
room she found her sitting up eating her
breakfast. As soon as she heard Ellen’s
request she said :
“I wish, Ellen, you could stay at home
sometimes. Every day you go otf to tin
hospital and leave me here sick and alone,
and now you are going to some other
place, and there is no telling when you
will be at home again.”
“Very well, mother,” said Ellen, “I
will not go if you do not wish me to.”
Then, as she was leaving the room, she
said: “ I thought you liked me to go to
the hospital, mother.”
“So I do, Ellen ; I am very glad when
you can do anything to help our poor
sick soldiers, but I do think you might
stay with me the rest of the day.”
Ellen was sorry she could not go with
Kate, for it had been a long time since
she had taken a walk for pleasure, and
then Kate was so full of fun that they
always had a nice time when they were
together. But she knew that her mother
was sick and nervous, and being anxious
about the boys made her much worse, so
she tued to make the best of it, and told
Kate she could not leave home until it
was time to go to the hospital.
“ I wish you would stay with me, Kate ”
said Ellen, “we can sit up stairs in moth
er’s room until it is time to go, and then
we can walk down the street together.”
“Very well,” said Kate, “ anything for
a quiet life. Just so you go down town
with me I am satisfied.”
The two girls waited until Mrs. Hunter
rung the bell for the servant to take away
her breakfast things, and then they went
up stairs. Mrs. Hunter was very glad to
see Kate, for she was always so bright
and cheerful.
“What news have you to-day, Kate?”
she asked, after the children were seated.
Kate laughed and said:
“ I really do believe, Mrs. Hunter, that
you think I am a walking 1 Dispatch;'
you always ask me for the news as soon
as you see me.”
“ I never hear anything that is going
on,” said Mrs. Hunter, “except when I
see you. Ellen never hears anything.”
“ I expect it is because I do net go out
as much as Kate,” said Ellen.
“ I suppose that must be the reason,
my dear,” said Mrs. Hunter, “but it
seems to me you do not care to hear any
news.”
“ I am afraid,” said Ellen, “ that I shall
hear bad news. £ No news is good news,’
you know, mother.”
“ Don’t you believe that, Mrs. Hunter,
said Kate. “It is a great deal better to
hear we have whipped the Yankees than
not to know we are even fighting them.
I try to find out all I can ; when I hear
bad news, I think it is a mistake, and
when I hear good news, I think it is ‘all
right.’ When I was on my way here
this morning, I met an old darkey who
looked so very happy I thought he must
have heard some good news, so I said,
‘ Uncle, have you heard any news ?’
“ ‘Dat I is, dat I is, my little mistis,’ he
said, ‘7 aint gwine to tell no lies bout it,
some ob dese niggers tries to make out
dey’s sorry when dc Yankees is whipped,
but dis nigger aint.’
“ ‘But, uncle,’ said I, ‘what is the m ’u
You have not told me that yet.’
“ ‘Why, mistis, deres been a fight down
in Norf Carlin a, and dc Richmond Blues
is done whipped de Yankees out and out
I know’d my young massa would do it, e
he jes had a chance.’ ”
“ I wish you could have seen how u
looked, Mrs. Hunter,” said Kate, “when
he told me about his ‘young massa, * UK