Papa's Letter

I was sitting in tlic study, Writing letters, when I heard : (1 Vlease, dear mamma, Bridget told me Mamma musn't bc 'isturbed. II But I'se tired oí the kitty ; Want some ozzer fing to do. Wrlttog letters, in 'on, mamma ? Tan't I write a letter, too?" " Not now, darling. Mamma's busy. Kun and play with. kitty uow." " No, no, mamma. Me write letter. Tan if 'ou will show mo how." I would paint my darling's portrait As bis sweet cycs scarchcd ray face - Hair of gold and cyos of azure, Form of childish, witching graco. But the eager face was elouded Ae I slowly ebook my bcad, Till I said : " ril make a letter Of yon, darling boy, instead." So I puted back the tresnes From bis foreheatl high and white, And a stamp in sport I pasted 'Mid its waves of golden ligbt, Then I said: " Now, little letter, Go away and bear good nows !" And I Buülod as down the Btaireaso Olattccod loud tüe fittle bIioch. Lcavïng me, the darling hnrried Down to lïridgct, in oio glco. " MammaV writing Iota of letters. I'so a letter. Bridget, see !" No one bcard the little prattlor, As once more he climbed tbe etair, lïeached bis littlo ciip and tippet, Standing on tbc entry cbair. No one board tho front door open, No one eaw the solden hair As il floated oVr bia shoulders On tbe crisp October air. Down the Ktrret tho baby bastened, ..g Till he reacbed tho office door. " I'bc a letter, Mr. Postman, Is tbero room for any more? " 'Canse tlis letler's doiu' to papa. Papa livcs with God, 'on know. Mamma sent me for a letter. Does 'on link that I tan f;o ?" But the clerk in wonder answored : u Not to-day, my little man." " Den I'H find auozzer oflice ; 'Cause I nniat go if I tan." Fam the clerk would have detained bim ; But the pleading face was gone, And tbe littlo feet were haetening, Uy the buey urowd swept on. Suddenly the crowd was parietJ, People ficd to left and right, As a pair of maddened hornon At that moment dasbed in sigbt. No one saw the baby figure, No one saw the golden hair, Till a voice of frightencd eweetness Rang out on tbe autunin air. Twas too late ! A moment ouly Stood tbe beauteous visión thcre ; Tben tbe little face lay lifeless, Covered o'er with golden hair. Eeverent tbey raiscd my darling, Brushed away the curls of gold, I Saw the stamp upon tbc forebead, Growing now so icy cold. Not a mark the face disfigurcd, Showing where a hoof had trod ; But the bttle Ufe was endcd- M Papa's letter" was inth God.