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You have my advice!" The priest strode on,
And silence ensued, as one by one

They passed through a deep defile, which wound
Through the lonely hills-and the solemn profound
Of the silence was broken alone by the cranch
Of their hurried tread on some withered branch.
The sallow man followed the priest so fast,

That the setting sun their one shadow cast.

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Why press," said the priest," so close to me?"

The follower answered convulsively,

As, gasping and pale, through the hollow he hurried,

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"Tis here, close by, poor Frank is buried—”

What Frank?" said the priest-"What Frank?" cried the

other;

Why, he whom I slew-your brother-your brother."

"Great God!” cried the priest-" in thine own good time,
Thou liftest the veil from the hidden crime.
Within the confessional, dastard-the seal
Was set on my lips, which might never reveal
What there was spoken-but now the sun,
The daylight hears what thine arm hath done,
And now, under heaven, my arm shall bring
Thy felon neck to the hempen string!"

Pale was the murderer, and paler the priest-
O destiny!--rich indeed was thy feast
In that awful hour!--The victim stood
His own accuser;-the pastor good,
Freed from the chain of silence, spoke;

No more the confessional's terrible yoke

Made him run, neck and neck, with a murderer in peace,

And the villain's life had run out its lease.

The jail, the trial, conviction came,

And honor was given to the poor priest's name,

Who held, for years, the secret dread

Of a murderer living--a brother dead,

And still, by the rule of his church compelled,

The awful mystery in silence held,

Till the murderer himself did the secret broach-
A triumph to justice and Father Roach.

AN ANGEL IN A SALOON.

One afternoon in the month of June, 1870, a lady in deep mourning, followed by a little child, entered one of the fashionable saloons in the city of N- —. The writer happened to be passing at the time, and prompted by curiosity, fol

lowed her in, to see what would ensue. Stepping up to the bar, and addressing the proprietor, who happened to be present, she said:

"Sir, can you assist me? I have no home, no friends, and am not able to work."

He glanced at her and

look of curiosity and pity.

then at the child, with a mingled Evidently he was much surprised to see a woman in such a place begging, but without asking any questions gave her some change, and turning to those present, he said:

'Gentlemen, here is a lady in distress. Can't some of you help her a little ?"

They cheerfully acceded to the request, and soon a purse of two dollars was made up, and put in her hand.

"Madam," said the gentleman, who gave her the money, "why do you come to a saloon? It isn't a proper place for a lady, and why are you driven to such a step?"

"Sir," said the lady, "I know it isn't a proper place for a lady to be in, and you ask me why I am driven to such a step. I will tell you in one short word," pointing to a bottle behind the counter, labelled whiskey, "that is what brought me here-whiskey!

"I was once happy and surrounded with all the luxuries that wealth could procure, with a fond, indulgent husband. But in an evil hour he was tempted, and not possessing the will to resist the temptation, fell, and in one short year my dream of happiness was over, my home was forever desolate, and the kind husband, and the wealth that some called mine lost; lost, never to return, and all by the accursed wine cup. "You see before you only the wreck of my former self, homeless and friendless, with nothing left me in this world but this little child," and weeping bitterly, she affectionately caressed the golden curls that shaded a face of exquisite loveliness. Regaining her composure, and turning to the proprietor of the saloon, she continued:

"Sir, the reason why I occasionally enter a place like this is to implore those who deal in the deadly poison to desist, to stop a business that spreads desolation, ruin, poverty, and starvation. Think one moment of your own loved ones, and then imagine them in the situation I am in. I appeal to

your better nature, I appeal to your heart,-for I know you possess a kind one,-to retire from a business so ruinous to your patrons.

"Did you know the money you take across the bar is the same as taking the bread out of the mouths of the famished wives and children of your customers? That it strips the clothing from their backs, deprives them of all the comforts of this life and throws unhappiness, misery, crime, and desolation in their once happy homes? Oh! sir, I implore, beseech, and pray you to retire from a business you blush to own you are engaged in before your fellow-men, and enter one that will not only be profitable to yourself but your fellow-creatures also. You will excuse me if I have spoken too plainly, but I could not help it when I thought of the misery, the unhappiness, and the suffering it has caused me." Madam, I am not offended," he answered in a voice husky with emotion, "but I thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have said."

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"Mamma," said the little child, who meantime had been spoken to by some of the gentlemen present, taking hold of her mother's hand, "these gentlemen wish me to sing 'Little Bessie' for them. Shall I do so?"

They all joined in the request, and placing her in a chair, she sang in a sweet childish voice, the following beautiful song:

"Out in the gloomy night, sadly I roam,

I have no mother dear, no pleasant home;
Nobody cares for me, no one would cry
Even if poor little Bessie should die.

Weary and tired I've been wandering all day,
Asking for work, but I'm too small, they say;
On the damp ground I must now lay my head;
Father's a drunkard and mother is dead.

"We were so happy till father drank rum,
Then all our sorrow and trouble begun;
Mother grew pale and wept every day,
Baby and I were too hungry to play;
Slowly they faded till one summer night
Found their dead faces all silent and white;
Then with big tears slowly dropping I said,
'Father's a drunkard and mother is dead.'
"Oh! if the temperance men only could find
Poor, wretched father and talk very kind;

If they would stop him from drinking, then
I should be so very happy again.

Is it too late, temperance men? Please try,
Or poor little Bessie must soon starve and die!
All day long I've been begging for bread,-
Father's a drunkard and mother is dead."

The game of billiards was left unfinished, the cards thrown aside, and the unemptied glass remained on the counter; all had pressed near, some with pity-beaming eyes, entranced with the musical voice and beauty of the child, who seemed better fitted to be with angels above than in such a place.

The scene I shall never forget to my dying day, and the sweet cadence of her musical voice still rings in my ears, and every word of the song as it dropped from her lips sank deep into the hearts of those gathered around her.

With her golden hair falling carelessly around her little shoulders, and looking so trustingly and confidingly upon the gentlemen around her, her beautiful eyes illuminated with a light that seemed not of this earth, she formed a picture of purity and innocence worthy the genius of a poet or painter.

At the close of the song many were weeping; men who had not shed a tear for years, now wept like children. One young man who had resisted with scorn the pleadings of a loving mother and the entreaties of friends to strive to lead a better life, to desist from a course that was wasting his fortune, and ruining his health, now approached the child, and taking both hands in his, while tears streamed down his cheeks, exclaimed with deep emotion:

"God bless you, my little angel! You have saved me from ruin and disgrace, from poverty and a drunkard's grave. If there are angels on earth, you are one! God bless you! God bless you!" and putting a bill into the hands of the mother, said, "Please accept this trifle as a token of my regard and esteem, for your little girl has done me a kindness I can never repay; and remember, whenever you are in want, you will find in me a true friend," at the same time giving her his name and address.

Taking her child by the hand she turned to go, but pausing at the door said:

"God bless you, gentlemen! Accept the heartfelt thanks of a poor, friendless woman for the kindness and courtesy you have shown her." Before any one could reply she was gone.

A silence of several minutes ensued, which was broken by the proprietor, who exclaimed:

"Gentlemen, that lady was right, and I have sold my last glass of whiskey; if any one of you want more you will have to go elsewhere."

"And I have drank my last glass of whiskey," said a young man who had long been given up as utterly beyond the reach of those who had a deep interest in his welfare, as sunk too low ever to reform.

- Western Temperance Herald.

MR. SCHMIDT'S MISTAKE.-CHAS, F. ADAMS.

I geeps me von leedle schtore town Proadway, und does a pooty goot peesnis, bud I ton't got mooch gapital to vork mit, so I finds id hard vork to get me all der gredits vot I vould like. Last veek I hear aboud some goots dot a barty vas going to sell pooty sheap, und so I writes dot man if he vould gife me der refusal of dose goots for a gouple a days. He gafe me der refusal-dot is, he sait I gouldn't haf dem— but he sait he vould gall on me und see mine sthore and den if mine schtanding in peesnis vas goot berhaps ve might do somedings togedder. Vell, I vas behint mine gounter yesderday ven a shentleman gomes in und dakes me py der hant und say: "Mr. Schmidt, I pelieve." I say, "yaw," und den I dinks to mineself, dis vas de man vot has dose goots to sell, und I musd dry to make some goot imbression mit him so ve gould do some peesnis. "Dis vas goot schtore," he says looking aroundt, "bud you ton't got a pooty pig schstock already." I vas avraid to let him know dot I only hat 'bout a tousand tollars voort off goots in der blace, so I says: "You ton't vould dink I hat more as dree tousand tollars in dis leedle schtore, aind id?" He says: "You ton't tole me! Vos dot bossible?" I says: "Yaw." I meant dot id vas bossible, dough id vasn't so, vor I vas like Shorge Vashingtons ven he cut town der "olt elm," on Poston Gommons

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