Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling, All are turning, all the day, and we with all. And all day, the iron wheels are droning,

And sometimes we could pray, 'O, ye wheels' (breaking out in a mad moaning),

'Stop! be silent for to-day!'"

Ay! be silent! Let them hear each other breathing

For a moment, mouth to mouth!

Let them touch each other's hands in a fresh wreathing

Of their tender human youth!

Let them feel that this cold, metallic motion Is not all the life God fashions or reveals. Let them prove their living souls against the notion

That they live in you, or under you, O wheels!

Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,
Grinding life down from its mark;

And the children's souls, which God is calling sun-ward,

Spin on blindly in the dark.

Now tell the poor young children, O my brothers,

To look up to Him and pray;

So the blessed One who blesseth all the others, Will bless them another day.

They answer: "Who is God that He should hear us,

While the rushing of the iron wheel is stirred? When we sob aloud, the human creatures near

us

Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word. And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)

Strangers speaking at the door.

Is it likely God, with angels singing round him,

Hears our weeping any more?

"Two words, indeed, of praying we remember, And at midnight's hour of harm,

'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, We say softly for a charm.

We know no other words, except 'Our Father.'

And we think that, in some pause of angels' song,

God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,

And hold both within His right hand which

is strong. 'Our Father!' If He heard us He would surely

(For they call Him good and mild) Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely,

'Come and rest with me, my child.'

"But no!" say the children, weeping faster, "He is speechless as a stone;

And they tell us of His image is the master Who commands us to work on.

Go to!" say the children,—“ up in Heaven, Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find;

Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving,—

We look up for God, but tears have made us blind."

Do you hear the children weeping, and disproving,

O my brothers, what ye preach? For God's possible is taught by his world's loving,

And the children doubt of each.

And well may the children weep before you! They are weary ere they run;

They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory

Which is brighter than the sun. They know the grief of man, without his wisdom;

They sink in man's despair, without its

calm;

Are slaves without the liberty in Christdom, Are martyrs by the pang without the palm; Are worn, as if with age, yet unretrievingly

The harvest of its memories cannot reap; Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly. Let them weep! let them weep!

They look up with their pale and sunken faces,

And their look is dread to see, For they mind you of their angels in high places,

With eyes turned on Deity! "How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation,

Will you stand, to move the world, on a

child's heart?

Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, And tread onward to your throne amid the mart!

Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper,
And your purple shows your path!
But the child's sob in the silence curses
deeper

Than the strong man in his wrath.”

for her mother was very ill at home, and the money received from the sale of the fruit, perhaps, would be enough to bring the doctor and help.

Only a few oranges were left in Tessa's basket, when a lovely looking American lady came out of the church. In her hand was a great bunch of the violets of Parma. Their delicious odor filled the atmosphere around her; but not sweeter were they than the lady's beautiful face, and violet eyes, which rested, full of compassion, upon the child, the moment her ear caught the pleading Italian words, which, in English, would be: "Sweet lady! dear lady! buy my oranges of Sicily! and let me go home to my mother, and the good God will bless you forever!"

the church. It is yet early. But, come; I will go with you."

The child's large eyes were lifted up in astonishment to the lady's face. A smile of gratitude, that seemed almost breaking into a sob, parted her lips. The joy of thus suddenly finding a friend, and the grief for her mother, struggled for mastery in her little bosom. She started up, crying, "Gracias signora carissima!" and quickly followed the lady down the steps of the church, her little, bare feet making a soft pit-a-pat, like far-away echoes to the other's steps, as they soon turned into a very narrow and silent street. Then Tessa told her pitiful story; how her father was lost in the cruel sea, when out in his fishing-boat, during a wild storm; how

her mother made and mended nets for their support, and the little girl never wanted bread-and sometimes, on festa days, had a bunch of grapesuntil a week ago, when her mother was stricken down by a cruel fever, and could work no more. Then her Uncle Cola, who himself was very poor, had bought some oranges, and given them to her to sell. With the money they brought, Tessa got more oranges; "and sometimes, Signora mia," she said, pitifully, "I sell enough to give us bread. But yesterday I was hungry! oh, so hungry! and my poor mother grew so white,- -so white

Great tears started to Tessa's eyes. With tender compassion the lady stooped down, and kissed her, saying, "Don't cry, little one; you shall never be hungry again, if I can help it."

It was now sunset-the glorious Italian sunset. Tessa and her new friend hurried on, and were soon in a very narrow, mean street, which ran down to the Bay of Naples. One of the miserable homes stood a little back, and into this one Tessa and her new friend entered. The next moment they stood at the bed-side of the dying mother.

Yes, dying! Her fading eyes, which were fixed with pathetic yearning upon the door, brightened for a moment as Tessa flew into the feeble arms stretched out to her. A prayer of thanksgiving fell from the mother's lips, as the child, in a few

rapid words, explained why the Signora was there. Then some tearful, broken sentences passed between the mother and Tessa's friend,-piteous words of farewell on one side, earnest, loving promises on the other. But what peace and comfort those earnest, loving assurances brought to the mother's heart! for her little one was to be taken by the Signora to that far-off, glorious, free America, where plenty ever reigned! She was to be loved and cared for as if she were the Signora's own child. In the mother's dying moments was this promise given and received. And not a moment too soon, for a little while after, with a grateful look, and a feeble pressure of the lady's hand, the Italian mother went into everlasting rest.

Little broken-hearted Tessa! She had to be taken by force from her dead mother's side; and for many days she refused to be comforted. "Oh! madre mia! madre mia!" was her incessant wail. But God is very merciful. He softens grief as time goes on; and by and by little Tessa began to smile, and put her soft arms around the neck of her new mamma, and soon she could say "mother," and "I love you," and many other English words.

And this is the story, so far, of little Tessa, whose picture you have here. Who knows but some day you may meet the pretty little Italian girl with her adopted American mother?

the sloopyacht Flirt

and the sloopyacht "Sadie," both of New York, and the two owners

made the park-policeman judge. Quite a number of young people had met to see the race. There was also a crowd of little fellows out with their sloops and schooners.

The start was magnificent. Both yachts got away under full sail, with every man on board holding on hard, and the water pouring into the lee scuppers.

Hello! There's quite a fleet of boats coming down before the wind, right across the course! And here comes a squall! The owner of the "Sadie" wished he had not set his flying-jib.

Ah! ah! oh!! The squall has struck a fore-andaft schooner, and over she goes on her beam-ends!

"Put out your boats!" cry the boys.

"O-o-o-h!" cry the girls, in the most sympa

Ah! The "Sadie" has changed her course, and gone to the rescue.

It was the smartest nautical feat ever seen in Cen

tral Park. The "Sadie " had a low bowsprit, and she rushed at the schooner and actually put her bowsprit under the back-stay, and lifted the masts out of water. The schooner righted at once, amid the cheers of all the crews, while the "Sadie " fell off before the wind and started once more. "Flirt" meantime dashed ahead and won the race. Here you see her coming in, all hands cheering. 'But the judge looked very sober.

The

When the "Sadie " came in, he gave her the prize for the noble manner in which she had gone to the rescue of the ship-wrecked schooner. Humanity," said he, with a wise nod of the head, "is better than winning a boat-race."

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