And the tramps was singing' and hollerin' out
As only tramps can do.

I'd sot me down in a weary mood,

Sick of their oaths and lies,

When the missis come in an' pray'd em all

To try and stop their noise.

For their was a poor young stranger gal
A dyin' just over their head,

An' they wanted to keep her quiet, poor soul,
And coax her boy to bed.

"For God's sake, missis," I whisper'd hoarse,
"Show me this woman that's ill;

For I think I know her of old, yer see,
Both her and her little Will."

"Come and see her, an' welcome," she said,
"For p'raps before she goes,

It might be a comfort, like, to her,
To see a face she knows."

Yes, it was her; the poor wrong'd gal,
Once pure, and bonny, and blessed,—
With a far-off look in her great blue eyes,
Soon to close in their last long rest.

A woman was bathing her aching head,
Another walked to and fro,

Hushing the boy, who knew me agin,
And began to laugh and crow.

She looked up then, and saw me, and smiled-
Such a weariful smile and drear;

And her white lips mutter'd the old, old cry,
66 'Oh, mother! Oh, mother, dear!

"Poor soul !"-'twas the missis as whisper'd the words"That's how she's been all through;

She thinks o' naught but her mother and boy;

But I dunno what we can do.

"When the parson ask'd her name, she sobbed, 'I've no name now to own;

You see what I am, sir, a sinful girl,
That looks to Christ alone.""

I fell on my knees afore them all,
By the side of her dyin' bed;

And it seemed as if words was given me,
And this was what I said:

"My lass, I don't ask you who you are,
So you needn't tremble and start;
It's enough for me that you're lyin' here,
And that you and your boy must part.
"Will you trust your pretty boy to me?
Ah, you shudder—and well you may;
But I, too, had a dear mother once,
Who taught me how to pray.

"And I'll shield him, aye, as a mother would,
From sorrow, and sin, and strife;
And the honest bread I earn for the boy
Shall sweeten and bless my life.

"So, if you can trust your boy to me,

Only make me a sign."

She smiled, an' tried to give me her hand,
And I knew that the boy was mine.

She died next day, with a perfect trust
In Him who alone can save;

And I carried her orphan boy in my arms
To his mother's parish grave.

The parson offer'd to take the boy;
He said as my heart was kind;

But mine was hardly the sort o' life
For a child to be consigned.

But I said, "Look here, sir, I'm bad, no doubt,
Low, lazy, and drunken, and wild;

But I mean, please God, to begin afresh,
For the sake o' this little child."

So I took the boy, and I went my way
And I tried, and I kept my word;

And in teaching them baby lips to pray,
My own poor heart was stirr❜d.

I got a place as a hostler fust,

At Grantham, in Linkunsheer,

And I just work'd on till I'd saved enough
To buy this horgan here.

We're shy o' the reg'lar lodgin' cribs,
And in decent houses lie;

And I'm savin' a trifle, don't yer see,
To 'prentice him by and by.

And so we jogs on, my Willie and I,
I carries the horgan and plays,
And the pennies fall fast in his little hat,
While the women fondle and praise.

There! I must ha' tired you out, I'm 'fraid,

With my wearisome yarn and drawl;

Come, Will, we must be off, my lad,

So good night, gentlemen all!

NORA MURPHY AND THE SPIRITS.

HENRY HATTON.

From "Secrets of Conjuring," in Scribner's Monthly. Miss Honora Murphy, a young female engaged in the honorable and praiseworthy occupation of general housework merely to dispel ennui, not hearing in some time from the "bye at home" to whom she was engaged to be "marrid," was advised by the "gerrl next doore " to consult the spirits. Miss Murphy objected at first on the ground that she had "taken her 'Father Matchew,' seventeen year afore in her parish church at home, an' niver drunk sperrits," but finally concluded to follow the advice. The result I shall give as detailed by her to her friend:

"How kem I by the black eye? Well, dear, I'll tell yer. Afther what yer wur tellin' me, I niver closed me eyes. The nixt marnin' I ast Maggie Harnahan, the upstairs

gerrl, where was herself. 'In her boodoore,' sez Maggie, an' up I goes to her.

"What's wantin', Nora?' sez she.

"I've jist heerd as how me cousin's very sick,' sez İ, 'an' I'm that frettin', I mus' go an' see her.'

“Fitter fur yer to go ter yer wurruk,' sez she, lookin' mighty crass, an' she the lazy hulks as niver does a turn from mornin' till night.

"Well, dear, I niver takes sass from anny av 'em, so I ups an' tould her, 'Sorra taste av wurk I'll do the day, an' av yer don't like it, yer can fin' some wan else,' an I flounced mesel' out av the boodoore.

"Well, I wint to me room ter dress mesel', an' whin I got on me sale-shkin sack, I thought av me poor ould mother-may the hivins be her bed!-could only see me, how kilt she'd be intoirely. Whin I was dressed I wint down-stairs an' out the front doore, an' I tell yer I slammed it well after me.

"Well, me dear, whin I got ter the majum's, a big chap wid long hair and a baird like a billy-goat kem inter the room. Sez he:

"Do yer want ter see the majum?'

"'I do,' sez I.

"Two dollars,' sez he.

"For what?' sez I.

"For the sayants,' sez he.

"Faix, it's no aunts I want ter see,' sez I, 'but Luke Corrigan's own self.' Well, me dear, wid that he gev a laugh ye'd think'd riz the roof.

."Is he yer husban'?' sez he.

"It's mighty 'quisitive ye are,' sez I, 'but he's not me husban', av yer want ter know, but I want ter larn av it's alive or dead he is, which the Lord forbid!'

"Yer jist in the nick er time,' sez he.

"Faix, Ould Nick's here all the time, I'm thinkin', from what I hear,' sez I.

"Well, ter make a long story short, I ped me two dolars, an' wint into another room, an' if ye'd guess from now till Aisther, ye'd never think what the majum was. As I'm standin' here, 'twas nothin' but a woman!

bet, I was a'most spacheless.

I was that

“Be sated, madam,' sez she, p'intin' to a chair, an' I seed at waist that she was a very shuperior sort o' person. 'Be sated,' sez she. 'Yer mus' jine the circle.'

"Faix, I'll ate a thriangle, av yer wish,' sez I.

"Yer mus' be very quite,' sez she. An' so I sot down along a lot av other folks at a table.

666 First, I'll sing a him,' sez the majum, 'an' thin do all yees jine in the chorus.'

Yer mus' axcuse me, ma'am,' sez I. 'I niver could sing, but rather than spile the divarshun o' the company, av any wan'll whistle, I'll dance as purty a jig as ye'll see from here to Bal'nasloe, though it's mesel' as sez it.'

"Two young whipper-snappers begin ter laugh, but the luk I gev 'em soon shut them up.

"Jist then, the big chap as had me two dollars kem into the room an' turned down the lights; in a minit the majum, shtickin' her face close to me own, whispers:

"The sperrits is about-I kin feel 'em!'

"Thrue for you, ma'am,' sez I, 'fur I kin smell 'em!' "Hush, the influence is an me,' sez the majum. 'I kin see the lion an' the lamb lying down together.”

"Begorra! It's like a wild beastess show,' sez I.

"Will yer be quite ?' sez an ould chap nex' ter me. 'I hev a question to ax.'

"Ax yer question,' sez I, 'an' I'll ax mine. I ped me two dollars, an' I'll not be put down.'

"Plaze be quite,' sez the majum, 'or the sperrits 'll lave.'

"Jist then came a rap on the table.

"Is that the sperrit of Luke Corrigan? sez the majum.