carriage, and instantly killed.

Now Nell was indeed destitute; no money, and no friends but her rough
neighbors. But these, though rough, were not hard-hearted; they would
have given her money, but they had none themselves, except what they
earned or stole each day. So they told her, if she wanted her aunt
buried properly, she must go out at night and sing, in which way she
would very likely earn enough, as people would pity so young a child.

So that night poor little Nell set out on her work of love. She walked
till she reached the broad streets and handsome houses that form the
London which the world knows. Here she sang. In the clear silent night
the childish voice rang out, and the hour and the stillness made its
wistful tones sound wild and weird. Up one street and down another the
little figure went singing, while its heart seemed breaking. A strange
excitement bore her up, and she felt no fatigue.

Her pathetic appeal was not in vain; it seemed to touch the hearts, and,
what is more difficult, the pockets, of all who heard her. When midnight
came, she thought of stopping only because most of the houses had closed
for the night, and there was little more to be obtained. So she took her
last stand in front of a fine old house in Kensington Square, in whose
windows lights were still burning. It was the home of Barech, the great
musician. As the tones of Nell's voice broke on the stillness of the
night, he paused in the work he was doing, and after a moment rose and
threw open the window. With amazement he saw the little childish figure
standing in the light of the street lamp, and while his artist's ear
drank in the wonderful tones with delight, his fatherly heart filled
with pity for the desolate child. When Nell ceased, he called to her,
and descending, opened the door and took her in.

From that moment Nell was no longer destitute, no longer friendless. In
Barech she had found a friend who never deserted her. Captivated by her
voice, he took the little waif into his heart and home, and thenceforth
she was protected, cared for, and educated. And he was amply rewarded
when, in after-years, the fame of Helen Barech spread over England. No
one then ever dreamed that the great singer began her career years ago,
one dark night, under the stars, a little outcast singing for money to
bury her dead.

"HE'S MY FRIEND."--A TRUE STORY.

BY AUNT FANNY.

Charley was the son of a young, rich, and beautiful wido