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A. No, no! We only thought he was.
Q. Well, I never heard any thing like this. Sometxxt$ was dead. Somebody was buried. Now, where was tht mystery?
A. Ah, that's just it! That's it exactly! You see we were twins,—defunct and I; and we got mixed in the bathtub when we were only two weeks old, and one of us was drowned. But we didn't know which. Some think it was Bill; some think it was me.
Q. Well, that is remarkable. What do you think? A. Goodness knows I I would give whole worlds to know. This solemn, this awful mystery has cast a gloom over my whole life. But I will tell you a secret now, which I never have revealed to any creature before. One of us had a peculiar mark, a large mole on the back of his left hand; that was me. That child was the one that was drowned.
Q. Very well, then, I don't see that there is any mystery about it, after all.
A. You don't; Well, J do. Anyway, I don't see how they could ever have been such a blundering lot as to go and bury the wrong child. But, 'sh! don't mention it where the family can hear of it. Heaven knows they have heartbreaking troubles enough without adding this.
Q. Well, I believe I have got material enough for the present; and I am very much obliged to you for the pains you have taken. But I was a good deal interested in that account of Aaron Burr's funeral. Would you mind telling me what particular circumstance it was that made you think Burr was such a remarkable man?
A. Oh, it was a mere trifle! Xot one man in fifty would have noticed it at all. When the sermon was over, and the procession all ready to start for the cemetery, and the body ail arranged nice in the hearse, he said he wanted to take a last look at the scenery; and so he got up, and rode with the drieer.
Then the young man reverently withdrew. He was very pleasant company; and I was sorry to see him go.
Kind o' chirk—it's been a fortnit
Better t Well, I'm glad to hear it!
Smellin' of em's made you happy t
Well, I thought it would, you know!
Never see the country, did you?
Flowers growin' everywhere!
Mebbe I kin take you there.
Dunno much about it, though;
Ou them topics, little Joe.
But I've heard it hinted somewherea
That in heaven's golden gates
B'lieve that's wot the Bible states.
So good people, when they dies,
Joe, my boy, wot ails yer eyes?
Thought they looked a little sing'ler.
Oh, no! Don't you have no fear;
Joe, wot makes you look so queer?
Joe! My boy! Hold up yer head!
Oh, my God, can Joe be dead t
THE SISTER OF CHARITY.—Gerald Griffin.
She once was a lady of honor and wealth,
And passed from her home, with the joy of a bride,
Lost ever to fashion—to vanity lost,
Those feet that to music could gracefully move,
Now bear her alone on the mission of love;
Those hands that once dangled the perfume and gem
Are tending the helpless, or lifted for them;
That voice that once echoed the song of the vain,
Now whispers relief to the bosom of pain;
And the hair that was shining with diamond and pea*\,
Is wet with the tears of the penitent girl.
Her down-bed—a pallet; her trinkets—a bead;
Yet not to the service of heart and of mind,
Are the cares of that heaven-minded virgm confined,
Like him whom she loves, to the mansions of grief
She hastes with the tidings of joy and relief.
She strengthens the weary—she comforts the weak,
And soft is her voice in tec s:,r of Cue sick;
Where want and affliction on mortals attend,
The Sister of Charity there is a IrienA
Unshrinking where pestilence scatters his breath,
She put from her
the trappings of pride,