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waxen form in her arms, "It's no use fretting about it," he paused-there was an uncomfortable lump in his throat, and he had to cough again to get it down. "The poor little creature's gone,—there's no help for it. The next world's a better place than this, you know! There, there! Don't take on so about it,"-this as Liz shuddered and sighed, a sigh of such complete despair that it went straight to his honest soul and showed him how futile were his efforts at consolation. But he had his duty to attend to, and he went on in firmer tones, "Now, like a good woman, you will just move off from here and go home. If I leave you here by yourself a bit, will you promise me to go straight home? I mustn't find you here when I come back on this beat, d'ye understand?" Liz nodded. "That's right," he resumed cheerily, "I'll give you just ten minutes; you just go straight home."

And with a "Good night," uttered in accents meant to be comforting, he turned away and paced on, his measured tread echoing on the silence at first loudly, then fainter and fainter, till it altogether died away, as his bulky figure disappeared in the distance. Left to herself, Liz rose from her crouching posture; rocking the dead child in her arms she smiled. "Go straight home!" she murmured half aloud, "Home, sweet home! Yes, baby; yes, my darling, we will go home together!" And creeping cautiously along in the shadows she

reached a flight of the broad stone steps leading down to the river. She descended them one by one; the black water lapped against them heavily, heavily; the tide was full up. She paused; a sonorous, deep-toned, iron voice rang through the air with reverberating solemn melody. It was the great bell of St. Paul's, tolling midnight, the Old Year was dead. "Straight home!" she repeated with a beautiful expectant look in her wild, weary eyes. "My little darling! Yes, we are both tired, we will go home! Home, sweet home! We will go!"

Kissing the cold face of the baby corpse she held, she threw herself forward; there followed a sullen, deep splash-a slight struggle—and all was over! The water lapped against the steps heavily, heavily as before; the policeman passed once more, and saw to his satisfaction that the coast was clear; through the dark veil of the sky one star looked out and twinkled for a brief instant, then disappeared again. A clash and clamour of bells startled the brooding night;-here and there a window was opened, and figures appeared in balconies to listen. They were ringing in the New Year, the festival of hope, the birthday of the world! But what were New Years to her, who with white upturned face and arms that embraced an infant in the tenacious grip of death, went drifting, drifting, solemnly down the dark river, unseen, unpitied of all those who awoke to new hopes and aspirations on that first morning of another life

probation! Liz had gone―gone to make her peace with God, perhaps through the aid of her "Hired Baby"the little sinless soul she had so fondly cherished, gone to that sweetest "Home" we dream of and pray for, where the lost and bewildered wanderers on this earth shall find true welcome and rest from grief and exile— gone to that fair, far Glory-World where reigns the Divine Master whose words still ring above the tumult of ages: "See that ye despise not one of these little ones, for I say unto you that their Angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven."

THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS.

A DREAM OR A DELUSION?

It was in the Louvre that I first saw her--or rather her picture. Greuze painted her so I was told; but the name of the artist scarcely affected me-I was absorbed in the woman herself, who looked at me from the dumb canvas with that still smile on her face, and that burning cluster of carnations clasped to her breast. I felt that I knew her. Moreover, there was a strange attraction in her eyes that held mine fascinated. It was as though she said "Stay till I have told thee all!" A faint blush tinged her cheek,-one loose tress of fair hair fell caressingly on her half-uncovered bosom. And, surely, was I dreaming?—or did I smell the odour of carnations on the air? I started from my reverie,—a slight tremor shook my nerves. I turned to go. An artist carrying a large easel and painting materials just then approached, and placing himself opposite the picture, began to copy it. I watched him at work for a few moments-his strokes were firm, and his eye

accurate; but I knew, without waiting to observe his further progress, that there was an indefinable something in that pictured face that he with all his skill would never be able to delineate as Greuze had doneif Greuze indeed were the painter, of which I did not

then, and do not now, feel sure. I walked slowly away.

On the threshold of the room I looked back. Yes! there it was that fleeting, strange, appealing expression that seemed mutely to call to me; that half-wild yet sweet smile that had a world of unuttered pathos in it. A kind of misgiving troubled me a presentiment of evil that I could not understand,-and, vexed with myself for my own foolish imaginings, I hastened down the broad staircase that led from the picture galleries, and began to make my way out through that noble hall of ancient sculpture in which stands the defiantly beautiful Apollo Belvedere and the world-famous Artemis. The sun shone brilliantly; numbers of people were passing and repassing. Suddenly my heart gave a violent throb, and I stopped short in my walk, amazed and incredulous. Who was that seated on the bench close to the Artemis, reading? Who, if not "the Lady with the Carnations," clad in white, her head slightly bent, and her hand clasping a bunch of her own symbolic flowers! Nervously I approached her. As my steps echoed on the marble pavement she looked up; her gray-green eyes met mine in that slow wistful smile that was so indescribably sad.

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