Poor Little Joe

I-roii TOT eves wi.le open. Joey, Fur ro'.rmi;ht jon nmipm groat rol1 No. a ilernedMiíialietter. li.n't you lakenointVest? JValtl ïlovrem, Joo -I knowYi you'd IJkc 'm- AmïtUem -.mimpüou? Ajh't Uiem Wt(h t Teare iny boj '.' Wqfï tli.in tur, Joey ? TIn ro-iioor littlc Joe '.- don't ory ! rwu kippin' pnt winder, Wbfire 11 ban;ï-up lady ROt, All nrv onnut ■ lot of lmnura - ' ]eh om' climliin' from a pot; Every bimh had fiowcra on it- I're'tty? Mebbenotl Oh, no! ■Tih yon coiilrt a neen Vm srowin', It Was öich a Btxuinin' Bbow. V.'oíl, I thoaght oí jo-j, coor fallw, Lyin' bere io Btok nd weah, Nevcr knowin' any comfort, And 1 puts on lotH o' iihodk. " Mlusttl," p.iys I, " 1! yo plcoxe, uram, Could I ix roa foi i roM ? l'or iny littlc broth(T, uiinBiis, Ncvc'r mi dB, I BUpiO80.:' Thon 1 told h r nll aïiont yon- Bow I briiiRCd you ïijv- iKXir Joe! (lAokiB' orneo folk to do It.) Sicb a' imp yon a, you kaow- Till y r Rol tljnt wlnl tumble, .Tis't is I had broke vi r in (Hard v(rrl. toe) to eWH er llvin' Blackin' loots f or houcst tin. How (hot tuniblc t-ripplcd of yon, Ho' you roiiMn't hyper inucli - -Vt Et ï,;iii rei ivheo I BOa you Fur the lirpt tim? with yer crutoh. " Dut," I says, "he'8 laid ip now, mum, Tcars to wcflki-it rvcry day ; Joe, slie up and went to r.uttiii'- That'a tho liow of this bokay. Py ! H Booms to mo, oio feller, Vou is quite yeraelf to-nifiht; Kind o" eliirk - it's br-en a fítrtnit Henee ver eyes lias bees Bp lu-i(,rl)4 Botter : " Wefl. l'm glad to heür it ! Yes, thcy'rc mifíhty pretty. Joe. Siue'.lin' o'f 'em'i toade yon happy? WeH, I thought it would, yon kuow ! Nevor bco tlia country, did you ? Flowers growin' everywhere Sonic time when you're better, Jooy, Mehbe kin take you thore. l'lmvera lo hpaven ! 'M- I s"poae BO; Dunno much about it, though ; Aiü't an fly as wot I luight be On them topicp, littlo Joe. Dt I're heerd it hmted nomowlicrea Tliat in hcavcii'B Rodeu frates Things is everlaBtin' eheerf ul - B'lieve thal's wot the Bible atetes, LikewiBC, thero folk don't 0t Lnngry ; So good peoplc, wen they die, Finds themsolves well flxod forever- Joe, my boy, wot ails ytr eyes ? rhought thoy lookctl a littlo eing'ler. h, no ! linn't yon have no fear; Heaven wan mado fur wuch a you ík - ■ Joe, wot maken you look so queer? Here - wake np ! Oh, don't look tliat way ! Joe ! My boy ! Hold np your head ! Hore's ver ílowerfl - you dropped 'oui, Jooy, Oh, iñyCiod. can Joe be dead? - A'íic York Oraphic.