In a dark alley in the great city of New York, a small, ragged boy might
be seen. He appeared to be about twelve years old, and had a careworn
expression on his countenance. The cold air seemed to have no pity as
it pierced through his ragged clothes, and made the flesh beneath blue
and almost frozen.
[Illustration: "I am dying now, because I feel so queer; and I can hardly
see you. I can kinder see the angels holding out their hands for me to
come to that beautiful place they call heaven."]
This poor boy had once a happy home. His parents died a year before, and
left him without money or friends. He was compelled to face the cold,
cruel world with but a few cents in his pocket. He tried to earn his
living by selling newspapers and other such things. This day everything
seemed to go against him, and in despair he threw himself down in the
dark alley, with his papers by his side. A few boys gathered around the
poor lad, and asked in a kind way (for a street Arab): "Say, Johnny, why
don't you go to the lodges?" (The lodge was a place where almost all the
boys stayed at night, costing but a few cents.) But the poor little lad
could only murmur that he could not stir, and called the boys about him,
saying: "I am dying now, because I feel so queer: and I can hardly see
you. Gather around me closer boys. I cannot talk so loud. I can kinder
see the angels holding out their hands for me to come to that beautiful
place called heaven. Goodbye, boys. I am to meet father and mother."
And, with these last words on his lips, the poor lad died.
Next morning the passers-by saw a sight that would soften the most
hardened heart. There, lying on the cold stone, with his head against
the hard wall, and his eyes staring upward, was the poor little frozen
newsboy. He was taken to the chapel near by, and was interred by kind
hands. And those who performed this act will never forget the poor
forsaken lad.
--_Golden Dawn_