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 fireplace, 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 were 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 nigh...

LETTICE TAKING HOME THE WORK.

Early in the morning, before it was light, and while the twilight gleamed through the curtainless windows, Lettice was up, dressing herself by the aid of the light which gleamed from the street lamp into the window. She combed her hair with modest neatness, then opened the draw with much precaution, lest she should disturb poor Myra, who still slumbered on the hard mattress--drew out a shawl and began to fold it as if to put it on.Alas!" said Lettice, "this will not do--it is threadbare, timeworn, and has given way in two places." She turned it, and unfolded it, but it would not do. It was so shabby that she was actually ashamed to be seen with it in the street. She put it aside, and took the liberty of borrowing Myra's, who was now asleep. She knew Myra would be awful cold when she got up, and would need it. But 

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