A Boy's Last Hymn in a Garret.
A FRIEND of mine, seeking for objects of charity, got into the upper room of a tenement house. It was vacant. He saw a ladder pushed through the ceiling. Thinking that perhaps some poor creature had crept up there, he climbed the ladder, drew himself through the hole, and found himself under the rafters. There was no light but that which came through a bull's eye in place of a tile. Soon he saw a heap of chips and shavings, and on them a boy about ten years old.335 “Boy, what are you doing here?” “Hush ! don't tell anybody, please, sir.” “What are you doing here?” “Hush ! please don't tell anybody, sir; I'm a-hiding.” “What are you hiding from?” “Don't tell anybody, please, sir.” “Please, sir, mother's dead.” “Hush ! don't tell him, don't tell him ! but look here !” He turned himself on his face, and through the rags of his jacket and shirt my friend saw that the boy's flesh was bruised and his skin broken. “Why, my boy, who beat you like that?” “What did he beat you like that for?” “Father got drunk, sir, and beat me 'cos I wouldn't steal.” “Yes, sir ; I was a street thief once.” “And why don't you steal any more ?” “Please, sir, I went to the mission school, and they told me there of God, and of Heaven, and of Jesus ; and they taught me, 'Thou shalt not steal,' and I'll never steal again if my father kills me for it. But please, sir, don't tell him.” “My boy you must not stay here ; you'll die. Now you wait patiently here for a little time ; I'm going away to see a lady. We will get a better place for you than this.” “Thank you sir ; but please, sir, would you like to hear me sing a little hymn ?” Bruised, battered, forlorn, friendless, motherless, hiding away from an infuriated father, he had a little hymn to sing. “Yes, I will hear you sing your little hymn.” He raised himself on his elbow and then sang :— “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child ;
Pity my simplicity;
Suffer me to come to thee.
Fain I would to thee be brought,
Gracious Lord, forbid it not;
In the kingdom of thy grace,
Give a little child a place.” “That's the little hymn, sir; good-bye.” The gentleman went away, came back again in less than two hours, and climbed the ladder. There were the chips, and there were the shavings, and there was the boy, with one hand by his side and the other tucked into his bosom underneath the little ragged shirt-dead.-London Christian.