and say no more. of the Child Christ;-a feast, the sacred meaning of which was unknown to Liz; she only recognised it as a sort of large and somewhat dull bank-holiday, when all London devoted itself to church-going and the eating of roast beef and plum-pudding. The whole thing was incomprehensible to her mind, but even her sad countenance was brighter than usual on Christmas Eve, and she felt almost gay, for had she not, by means of a little extra starvation on her own part, been able to buy a wondrous gold and crimson worsted bird suspended from an elastic string, a bird which bobbed up and down to command in the most lively and artistic manner, and had not her hired baby actually laughed at the clumsy toy,-laughed an elfish and weird little laugh, the first it had ever indulged in? And Liz had laughed too, for pure gladness in the child's mirth, and the worsted bird became a sort of uncouth charm to make them both merry.

And Christmas came-the birthday

But after Christmas had come and gone, and the melancholy days, the last beatings of the failing pulse of the Old Year throbbed slowly and heavily away, the baby took upon its wan visage a strange expression;the expression of worn-out and suffering age. Its blue eyes grew more solemnly speculative and dreamy, and after a while it seemed to lose all taste for the petty things of this world, and the low desires of mere humanity. It

lay very quiet in Liz's arms; it never cried, and was no longer fretful, and it seemed to listen with a sort of mild approval to the tones of her voice as they rang out in the dreary streets through which, by day and night, she patiently wandered. By and bye the worsted bird, too, fell out of favour; it jumped and glittered in vain; the baby surveyed it with an unmoved air of superior wisdom-just as if it had suddenly found out what real birds were like, and was not to be deceived into accepting so poor an imitation of Nature. Liz grew uneasy, but she had no one in whom to confide her fears. She had been very regular in her payments to Mother Mawks, and that irate lady, kept in order by her bull-dog of a husband, had been of late very contented to let her have the child without further interference. Liz knew well enough that no one in the miserable alley where she dwelt would care whether the baby were ill or not. They would tell her "The more sickly the better for your trade." Besides, she was jealous--she could not endure the idea of anyone touching or tending it but herself. Children were often ailing, she thought, and if left to themselves without doctors' stuff they recovered sometimes more quickly than they had sickened. Thus soothing her inward tremors as best she might, she took more care than ever of her frail charge, stinting herself that she might nourish it, though the baby seemed to care less and

less for mundane necessities, and only submitted to be fed, as it were, under patient and silent protest.

Liz had

And so the sands in Time's hour-glass ran slowly but surely away, and it was New Year's Eve. wandered about all day singing her little repertoire of ballads in the teeth of a cruel, snow-laden wind;-so cruel, that people, otherwise charitably disposed, had shut close their doors and windows, and had not even heard her voice. Thus the last span of the Old Year had proved most unprofitable and dreary: she had gained no more than sixpence; how could she return with only that humble amount to face Mother Mawks and her vituperative fury? Her throat ached,—she was very tired, and as the night darkened from pale to deep and starless shadows, she strolled mechanically from the Strand to the Embankment, and after walking some little distance she sat down in a corner close to Cleopatra's Needle-that mocking obelisk that has looked upon the decay of empires, itself impassive, and that still appears to say, "Pass on, ye puny generations! I, a mere carven block of stone shall outlive you all." For the first time in all her experience the child in her arms seemed a heavy burden. She put aside her shawl and surveyed it tenderly; it was fast asleep, a small, peaceful smile on its thin, quiet face. Thoroughly worn out herself, she leaned her head against the damp stone wall behind her, and clasping the infant tightly to her The Hired Baby, etc. 3

breast, she also slept the heavy dreamless sleep of utter fatigue and physical exhaustion. The solemn night moved on, a night of black vapours; the pageant of the Old Year's death-bed was unbrightened by so much as a single star. None of the hurrying passersby perceived the weary woman where she slept in that obscure corner, and for a long while she rested there undisturbed. Suddenly a vivid glare of light dazzled her eyes; she started to her feet half asleep, but still instinctively retaining the infant in her close embrace. A dark form, buttoned to the throat, and holding a brilliant bull-eye's lantern stood before her.

"Come now," said this personage, "this won't do! Move on!"

Liz smiled, faintly and apologetically.

"All right!" she answered striving to speak cheerfully, and raising her eyes to the policeman's goodnatured countenance. "I didn't mean to fall asleep here. I don't know how I came to do it. I must go home of course."

"Of course!" said the policeman, somewhat mollified by her evident humility, and touched in spite of himself by the pathos of her eyes. Then turning his lamp more fully upon her, he continued, "Is that a baby you've got there?”

"Yes," said Liz half proudly, half tenderly. "Poor little dear, it's been ailing sadly-but I think it's better

now than it was," and encouraged by his friendly tone, she opened the folds of her shawl to show him her one treasure. The bull's eye came into still closer requisition, as the kindly guardian of the peace peered inquiringly at the tiny bundle. He had scarcely looked when he started back with an exclamation:

"God bless my soul!" he cried, "it's dead!"

"Dead!" shrieked Liz. "Oh, no, no! Not dead! Don't say so, oh don't, don't say so! Oh, you can't mean it! Oh, for God's love say you didn't mean it! It can't be dead, not really dead, no, no, indeed! Oh, baby! baby! you are not dead, my pet, my angel, not dead, oh no!"

And breathless, frantic with fear, she felt the little thing's hands and feet and face, kissed it wildly, and called it by a thousand endearing names;-in vain-in vain! Its tiny body was already stiff and rigid; it had been a corpse more than two hours.

The policeman coughed, and brushed his thick gauntlet glove across his eyes. He was an emissary of the law, but he had a heart. He thought of his brighteyed wife at home, and of the soft-cheeked, cuddling little creature that clung to her bosom and crowed with rapture whenever he came near.

"Look here," he said very gently, laying one hand on the woman's shoulder as she crouched shivering against the wall, staring piteously at the motionless