air. As he sat there, strains of exquisite music, and the sounds of
dancing, floated out into the night. The little fellow clasped his
hands in ecstacy and listened. He had never heard such melody, and it
made his heart ache to think how poor and mean was his own minstrelsy
compared with that with which his ears were now ravished. The wind blew
fierce and keen down the grand street, whirling the snow about in
blinding clouds, but the boy neither saw nor heard the strife of the
elements. He heard only the exquisite melody that came floating out to
him from the warm, luxurious mansion, and which grew sweeter and richer
every moment. The cold, hard street became more and more indistinct to
him, and he sat very still with his hands clasped, and his eyes closed.

The ball ended towards the small hours of the morning, and the clatter
of carriages dashing up to the door of the mansion, gave the signal to
the guests that it was time to depart. No one had seen the odd-looking
bundle that lay on the street steps, half buried in the snow, and which
might have lain there until the morning had not some one stumbled over
it in descending to the carriages. With a half curse, one of the men
stooped down to examine the strange object, and found that the bundle
of rags and filth contained the unconscious form of a child. The harp,
which lay beside him, told his story. He was one of the little outcasts
of the streets. Scorning to handle such an object, the man touched him
with his foot to arouse him, thinking he had fallen asleep. Alas! it
was the eternal sleep.


A SAD STORY.

Mr. Nathan D. Urner, from whose interesting paper in _Packard's
Monthly_ we have already quoted, draws the following touching picture