Word That You Have Said."]

A little, worn-out doll some child had had, Looking, like its surroundings, rough and sad, And dressed in rags and pinched and famine-faced, But bearing still some marks of girlish taste; A gaunt, gray kitten, showing every sign That it was on the last life of its nine, Though trying hard to feel quite sleek and fat, And not a very care-worn, desolate cat; A man, so grieved my heart can see him now, With frightful sorrow printed on his brow;

A rough, wood coffin stood there near the bed, Looking uneasy even for the dead; A little, pallid face I saw therein-- A niceish-looking child she must have been, As sweet as ever need to feed a glance, If she had only had one-half a chance. But still, she woke a thought I could not smother-- "That child was murdered in some way or other."

And my opinion didn't seem much amiss When the man spoke up, something like to this:

All this, above the shoulder, I could see, Of an old preacher who had come with me-- A man who, 'mongst those garrets, earns, they say, A house and lot in heaven every day.