they are glittering yet.
Oh, are we not taught by each beautiful ray
To mourn not earth's fair things, though passing away;
For though youth of its beauty and brightness be riven,
All that withers on earth blooms more sweetly in heaven.
Look up," said the father, "look up to the skies,
Hope sits on the wings of those beautiful dyes."

LETTICE AND MYRA.

A SCENE IN LONDON.

My young readers may have heard about the poor people in London. The
following story is a specimen of the hardships of many young girls in
that famous city.

"Two young women occupied one small room of about ten feet by eight.
They were left orphans, and were obliged to take care of themselves.
Many of the articles of furniture left them had been disposed of to
supply the calls of urgent want. In the room was an old four post
bedstead, with curtains almost worn out, one mattress with two small
pillows, a bolster that was almost flat, three old blankets and cotton
sheets, of coarse description, three rush-bottom chairs, an old claw
table, a chest of draws with a few battered band-boxes on the top of it,
a miserable bit of carpet before the fire-place, a wooden box for coals,
a little tin fender and an old poker. What there was, however, was kept
clean, the floor and yellow paint was clean, and the washing tub which
sat in one corner of the room.

"It was a bitter cold night, the wind blew and shook the window, when a
young girl of about eighteen sat by the tallow candle, which burned in a
tin candlestick, at 12 o'clock at night, finishing a piece of work with
the needle which she was to return next morning. Her name was Lettice
Arnold. She was naturally of a cheerful, hopeful temper, and though
work and disappointment had faded the bright colors of hope, still hope
buoyed up her spirits.

"Her sister Myra was delicate, and lay on the mattress on that night,
tossing about with suffering, unable to rest. At last Lettice says to
her:--

"'Poor Myra, can't you get to sleep?'

"'It is so cold,' was the reply; 'and when will you have done and come
to bed?'

"'One quarter of an hour more, Myra, and I shall have finished my work,
and then I will throw my clothes over your feet, and I hope you will be
a little warmer.'

"Myra sighed, and lifted up her head, and leaning upon her arm watched
the progress of her sister as she plied the needle to her work.

"'How slowly,' said Myra, 'you do get along. It is one o'cloc