"WORTH," and then upon "BEAUTY."

"Worth!" cried the ladies--"Beauty!" exclaimed the Mayor. "Wonderful,
wonderful!"

"Take up the hat," said the child, and turning to the Mayor--"Ah! tell
him, sir, that what Worth and Beauty give to Valour in distress is not
alms but tribute."

The words were little better than a hack claptrap; but the sweet voice
glided through the assembly, and found its way into every heart.

"Is it so?" asked the old soldier, as his hand hoveringly passed above
the coins. "Upon my honour it is, sir!" said the Mayor, with serious
emphasis. The audience thought it the best speech he had ever made in
his life, and cheered him till the roof rang again. "Oh! bread, bread,
for you, darling!" cried the veteran, bowing his head over the child, and
taking out his cross and kissing it with passion; "and the badge of
honour still for me!"

While the audience was in the full depth of its emotion, and generous
tears in many an eye, Waife seized his moment, dropped the actor, and
stepped forth to the front as the man--simple, quiet, earnest man--artless
man!

"This is no mimic scene, ladies and gentlemen. It is a tale in real life
that stands out before you. I am here to appeal to those hearts that are
not vainly open to human sorrows. I plead for what I have represented.
True, that the man who needs your aid is not one of that soldiery which
devastated Europe. But he has fought in battles as severe, and been left