[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER VOL. VIII.—NO. 365. DECEMBER 25, 1886. PRICE ONE PENNY.] WHERE HEAVEN BEGINS. BY RUTH LAMB. Not at the gates of pearl or streets of gold, Not with the endless day or songs of praise; In meeting those above we loved below, Or echoing back their new, exultant lays. Not in the thought of tears for ever dried, Of pain, want, weariness and sorrow fled; Or in the thought that nothing there can part Those loved and lost ones whom we call “Our dead.” So vast our heritage, we claim all these, For Jesus bought them, made our title clear; Yet, blessed thought! for heaven we need not want— Our Lord is with us, and our heaven is here. No night, no fear, if Christ within us dwell; Above where Jesus reigns can be no night. Heaven here with Jesus, and His hand shall lead O’er Death’s dark threshold into life and light. [Illustration: “ABOVE WHERE JESUS REIGNS CAN BE NO NIGHT.”] _All rights reserved._] THE SHEPHERD’S FAIRY. A PASTORALE. BY DARLEY DALE, Author of “Fair Katherine,” etc. CHAPTER XII. John Shelley’s White Ram was a great success; up to Friday everything had gone well; the puddings and cakes had been pronounced excellent, the beer first rate; and though there had been no stint, John had kept his word, and no one had as yet been any the worse for it. The tent, too, was voted a great improvement on a close kitchen, and there, when supper was over, the men sat smoking and singing their sheep-shearing songs, while Jack and Fairy listened outside, Jack having hitherto resisted all his father’s invitations to sup with the other shearers, in which Fairy, knowing his feelings, assisted him, and, to please her, John did not press it. On Friday evening, when Jack and the other shearers came back earlier than usual, it was found that Charlie had forgotten to bring home a lamb that was ailing and required nursing, so, as John Shelley could not be spared from the supper, and Charlie by no means inclined to go, Jack, tired as he was, set off to fetch it. While he was gone, the last of the series of suppers went on in the tent, and was over and the singing begun before he returned. Fairy wandered out into the field to listen to the men’s voices as they sang their favourite song.[1] “Here the rosebuds in June and the violets are blowing, The small birds they warble from every green bough; Here’s the pink and the lily, And the daffydowndilly To adorn and perfume the sweet meadows in June. ’Tis all before the plough the fat oxen go slow, But the lads and the lasses to the sheep-shearing go.