"I went up close, and I did'nt speak One word, but I gave her on her cheek The softest bit of a little kiss, Just in a whisper, and then said this; 'Grandmother dear it's time for tea.' "She opened her eyes and looked at me, And said: 'Why, Pet, I have just now dreamed Of a little angel who came, and seemed To kiss me lovingly on my face.' She pointed right at the very place. "I never told her 'twas only me; I took her hand and we went to tea." SYDNEY DAYRE in St. Nicholas. [Illustration] [Illustration] COLD--BITTER COLD. It was dreadfully cold, it snowed, and was getting quite dark, for it was evening--yes, the last evening of the year. Amid the cold and the darkness, a little girl, with bare head and naked feet, was roaming through the streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers, when she left home, but that was not of much use, for they were very large slippers; so large, indeed, that they had hitherto been used by her mother; besides, the little creature lost them as she hurried across the street, to avoid two carriages, that were driving at a fearful rate. One of the slippers was not to be found, and the other was pounced upon by a boy, who ran away with it, saying that it would serve for a cradle when he should have children of his own. So the little girl went along, with her little bare feet, that were red and blue with cold. She carried a number of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day, and nobody had even given her a penny. She crept along, shivering with cold and hunger, a perfect picture of misery--poor little thing! The snowflakes covered her long, flaxen hair, which hung in pretty curls round her throat; but she heeded them not. Lights were streaming from all the windows, and there was a savory smell of roast goose; for it was St. Sylvester's evening. She now sat down, cowering in a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected beyond the other. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she felt colder than ever; yet she dared not return home, for she had not sold a match, and could not bring back a penny. Her father would certainly beat her; and it was cold enough at home, besides,--for they had only the roof above them, and the wind came howling through it, though the largest holes had been stopped with straw and rags. Her little hands were nearly frozen with cold. Alas! a single match might do her some good, if she might only draw one out of the bundle, and rub it against the wall, and warm her fingers.