ning, and
there is a crown with which you may go and get food and medicine. Here
is also one of my tickets. Come to-night; that will admit you to a
seat near me."

Almost beside himself with joy, Pierre bought some oranges, and many a
little luxury besides, and carried them home to the poor invalid,
telling her, not without tears, of his good fortune.

When evening came and Pierre was admitted to the concert hall he felt
that never in his life had he been in such a place. The music, the
myriad lights, the beauty, the flashing of diamonds and rustling of
silk, bewildered his eyes and brain.

At last she came, and the child sat with his glance riveted on her
glorious face. Could he believe that the grand lady, all blazing with
jewels, and whom everybody seemed to worship, would really sing his
little song?

Breathlessly he waited--the band, the whole band, struck up a plaintive
little melody. He knew it, and clasped his hands for joy. And oh, how
she sang it! It was so simple, so mournful. Many a bright eye dimmed
with tears, and naught could be heard but the touching words of that
little song.

Pierre walked home as if moving on air. What cared he for money now?
The greatest singer in all Europe had sung his little song, and
thousands had wept at his grief.

The next day he was frightened at a visit from Madame Malibran. She
laid her hands on his yellow curls, and talking to the sick woman said:
"Your little boy, madame, has brought you a fortune. I was offered
this morning, by the best publisher in London, 300 pounds for his
little song, and after he has realized a certain amount from the sale,
little Pierre, here, is to share the profits. Madame, thank God that
your son has a gift from heaven."

The noble-hearted singer and the poor woman wept together. As to
Pierre, always mindful of Him who watches over the tired and tempted,
he knelt down by his mother's bedside and offered a simple but eloquent
prayer, asking God's blessing on the kind lady who had deigned to
notice their affliction.

The memory of that prayer made the singer more tender-hearted, and she,
who was the idol of England's nobility, went about doing good. And in
her early, happy death, he who stood beside her bed and smoothed her
pillow and lightened her last moments by his undying affection, was
little Pierre of former days, now rich, accomplished, and the most
talented composer of his day.

TOM.

BY REV. C. H. MEAD.