by his mother's bedside, and uttered 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 even 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 by her bed, and smoothed her pillow, and
lightened her last moments by his undying affection, was the little Pierre
of former days--now rich, accomplished, and the most talented composer of
the day.

All honour to those great hearts who, from their high stations, send down
bounty to the widow and to the fatherless child.

* * * * *

THE KISS.
He kissed me--and I knew 'twas wrong,
For he was neither kith nor kin;
Need one do penance very long
For such a tiny little sin?

He pressed my hand--that was not right;
Why will men have such wicked ways?
It was not for a moment quite,
But in it there were days and days!

There's mischief in the moon, I know;
I'm positive I saw her wink
When I requested him to go;
I meant it, too--I think.