"Where is thy brother?" Every sight and sound Will mind thee of the lost.

I saw a man

Deal death unto his brother. Drop by drop
The poison was distilled for cursed gold;
And in the wine cup's ruddy glow sat death,
Invisible to that poor, trembling slave.

He seized the cup, he drank the poison down,
Rushed forth into the streets,—home had he none,-
Staggered and fell and miserably died.

They buried him-ah! little recks it where
His bloated form was given to the worms.
No stone marked that neglected, lonely spot;
No mourner sorrowing at evening came
To pray by that unhallowed mound; no hand
Planted sweet flowers above his place of rest.
Years passed, and weeds and tangled briers grew
Above that sunken grave, and men forgot
Who slept there.

Once had he friends,

A happy home was his, and love was his.
His Mary loved him, and around him played
His smiling children. Oh, a dream of joy

Were those unclouded years, and, more than all,
He had an interest in the world above.

The big "Old Bible" lay upon the stand,

And he was wont to read its sacred page

And then to pray: "Our Father, bless the poor
And save the tempted from the tempter's art;
Save us from sin and let us ever be

United in thy love, and may we meet,

When life's last scenes are o'er, around the throne."

Thus prayed he, thus lived he. Years passed,

And o'er the sunshine of that happy home,

A cloud came from the pit; the fatal bolt

Fell from that cloud. The towering tree
Was shivered by the lightning's vengeful stroke,
And laid its coronal of glory low.

A happy home was ruined; want and woe
Played with his children, and the joy of youth
Left their sweet faces no more to return.
His Mary's face grew pale and paler still,

Her eyes were dimmed with weeping, and her soul
Went out through those blue portals. Mary died

And yet he wept not. At the demon's call
He drowned his sorrow in the maddening bowl,
And when they buried her from sight, he sank
In drunken stupor by her new-made grave!
His friend was gone-he never had another,
And the world shrank from him, all save one,
And he still plied the bowl with deadly drugs
And bade him drink, forget his God, and die!
He died!

Cain! Cain! where is thy brother now?
Lives he still-if dead, still where is he?
Where? In heaven? Go read the sacred page:

"No drunkard ever shall inherit there."

Who sent him to the pit? Who dragged him down?
Who bound him hand and foot? Who smiled and smiled
While yet the hellish work went on? Who grasped

His gold-his health-his life-his hope-his all?
Who saw his Mary fade and die? Who saw
His beggared children wandering in the streets?
Speak-coward-if thou hast a tongue,

Tell why with hellish art you slew A MAN.

"Where is my brother?

Am I my brother's keeper?"

Ah, man! A deeper mark is on your brow
Than that of Cain. Accursed was the name
Of him who slew a righteous man, whose soul
Was ripe for heaven; thrice accursed he
Whose art malignant sinks a soul to hell.

SALLY.-ROBERT C. V. MEYERS.*

Written expressly for this Collection.

Down in Coomer's Alley

Lives my little Sally,

Mid all the shame and misery she's like a ray of light.
Years back she lost her mother,

So she takes care of her brother

And her father whom she often leads home late at night.

*Author of "Jamie," "Brother Ben" Gabe's Christmas Eve," "Eunice," "The Masque," "Granddad's Polka,'' &c.—found in other Numbers of this Series. Also, "The Day before the Wedding," "Did you ever see a Ghost," "The Top Landing," and other Comedies and Farces, in the Dramatic Supplements.

Somehow in Coomer's Alley

They all look up to Sally,

The men don't swear so hard when she is seen coming by, And the women stop their brawling

And ugly names a-calling,

When Sally comes with pleasant words, a smile in each blue

eye.

She works from morn to even,

From seven o'clock to seven,

She sews for a rich firm that gives just a beggar's hire,
But somehow Sally's penny

Goes thrice as far as any

In Coomer's Alley, and complaint will ne'er her neighbors tire.

"Tis pretty hard in winter

When frost begins to splinter

The hard mud in the alley, and hands are numb and blue, And often Sally's sewing

Trembles while she's blowing

Her warm breath on her fingers that most refuse to do.

In winter when her father

And her brother are most bother,

When work is slack, and beer is not, and they have too much trust,

Sometimes meat is not plenty,

And coal is rather scanty,

But Sally goes on smiling and her needle knows no rust.

Though she'll hide her father from me

When he comes home rather rummy,

And she'll say he's not so well to-day; her brother, when he's bad,

She'll say is weak, like many,

But God'll make him strong, if any

Strength there be in man, for now he's nothing but a lad.

But in spring when all the heaven

Is bright-say just 'bout seven,

When work is done and sparrows chirp up in the ruined eaves, I go to Coomer's Alley

To fetch my little Sally

To take a walk along the streets where there are trees with

leaves.

She comes forth smiling sweetly,
Her frock and hat made neatly,

A little flower in her hand I bought along the way,

And we walk and talk and chatter,

And I hear her feet's soft patter,

And I feel her arm touch mine as on we go at fall of day.

She likes the scent of clover

That comes from fields clear over

The great tall city houses from far, far

away, And she'll say, "It must be pretty

In the country. What a pity

All the poor folks are not here to smell the smell of hay." Then we walk the streets of riches,

And pick out houses-which is

Mine, which hers, what we would do if we should live like that

Sally'd give her brother

A brand new coat, another

Not so good, to work in; her father a new hat.

"And what'd you give me, Sally?"

I ask "all Coomer's Alley?"

She turns her blue eyes on me. "I could not give," says she, "More than I have already,

All that I have, my Teddy;

Although all that I have to give, is only just poor me."
And then we go home slowly

To Coomer's Alley lowly.

When my wages raise a little we'll be married then-
But we wait, both hopeful, Sally

Stitching in Coomer's Alley,

And I, the young ship-joiner, the happiest of men.

INDEPENDENCE BELL. JULY 4, 1776.

When the Declaration of Independence was adopted by Congress, the event was announced by ringing the old State-House bell, which bore the inscription "Proclaim liberty throughout the land, to all the inhabitants thereof!" The old bellman stationed his little grandson at the door of the hall, to await the instructions of the door-keeper when to ring. At the word, the young patriot rushed out, and clapping his hands, shouted:-"Ring! RING! RING!"

There was a tumult in the city

In the quaint old Quaker town,
And the streets were rife with people
Pacing restless up and down,—

NUMBER TWO.

People gathering at the corners,
Where they whispered each to each,
And the sweat stood on their temples
With the earnestness of speech.
As the bleak Atlantic currents

Lash the wild Newfoundland shore,
So they beat against the State-House,
So they surged against the door;
And the mingling of their voices
Made a harmony profound,
Till the quiet street of Chestnut
Was all turbulent with sound.

"Will they do it?"

"Dare they do it?"

"Who is speaking?” "What of Adams? "

What's the news?" "What of Sherman?"

Oh, God grant they wont refuse!"

"Make some way there!" "Let me nearer!”

"I am stifling!" "Stifle, then!

When a nation's life's at hazard,

We've no time to think of men!"

So they surged against the State House,
While all solemnly inside

Sat the "Continental Congress,"

Truth and reason for their guide.

O'er a simple scroll debating,

Which, though simple it might be,
Yet should shake the cliffs of England
With the thunders of the free.

Far aloft in that high steeple
Sat the bellman, old and gray;

He was weary of the tyrant

And his iron-sceptered sway,
So he sat, with one hand ready
On the clapper of the bell,

When his eye could catch the signal,
The long-expected news, to tell.

See! See! The dense crowd quivers
Through all its lengthy line,
As the boy beside the portal

Hastens forth to give the sign!
With his little hands uplifted,
Breezes dallying with his hair,