Then one, God bless her woman's heart! the loveliest woman there, Stepped down the aisle with stately tread, and calm and steadfast air; With gentle voice, and tender eyes distilling heaven's own dew, She whispered to the shrinking girl, "I've room, my friend, for you." I think earth's sorest sinners need a judge less stern than they Who wear their ermine clasped across a breast of common clay! I think heaven's loveliest angels come among us circling down, To bear the cruel earthly cross, and then regain the crown. Alas! alas! for paltry pride arrayed in rich attire, And woe is me for priestly praise which is our heart's desire! Would we could seek, like pilgrims gray, beside that sunlit sea, The simple faith that lit the shores of sacred Galilee! Sometimes it seems that ages past our souls have sojourned here; But God's great angel guards the gate and stands beside the bier; For when some mystic touch awakes the chords of memory, His awful hand holds down the note, and clasps the quivering key. Bend low, bend low the lofty brow and bring the sack-cloth gown; Throw dust and ashes on our heads, and through the sinful town; I think the green earth grows more gray, beneath its golden sun, Because the good God sits in heaven, and sees such evil done. --_Edward Renaud._ YIK KEE. After father died some ten years ago, I found, that for three years we had been living on credit. I was eighteen, strong and well, but did not know how to work. In the little back room of the New York tenement house (by the way, the landlady seized my clothes for our rent) I considered my future. I had inherited a great faith in relatives, from my father, so I wrote to seven. I received six polite notes, telling me to go to work, and the following letter: JONESBORO, COLORADO--JACKSON'S RANCH. Dear Nell.--I'm your cousin Jack. Your father once give me money to come out West. I've took up land, got a comfortable home, no style or frills, but good folks to live with and healthy grub. I've got the best wife you ever see and seven fine youngsters. The city ain't no place for a friendless girl. Wife wants you to come. She'll be a mother to you. Come right off. I'll meet you at Denver. Jack. Inclosed was a check sufficient to defray expenses; so I started. Denver was then only a large town and the depot a barn-like structure. I got out of the cars and stood bewildered among all the emigrants and their bundles. Some one touched me on the shoulder--a roughly-dressed, broad-shouldered man with long, blonde beard and big blue eyes. "Are you Nell?" he said. "Yes; and you're Cousin Jack."