LIFE. O Life, how slight! A little sweet, A brief delight, And then— we meet! 0 Life, how vain I A little spite, A little paiu, And then—good-night 1 —[Charles G. D. Roberts, in Independent A WHITE ONE. The air was thick with stoam and im pregnated with the smell of soap, and the temperature was by no ineuns low, more especially as the sun was stream ing in through the uncurtuiaed windows. But the laundry girls were used to these inconveniences and thought nothing of them. '1 hey chattered continuously over their work, not because they were happy or because they had anything particular to say, but because they had no concep tion of the dignity of silenco. Tho con versation was, perhaps, not of the most edifying description, and tho language employed wus forcible, garnished by slang, and not free from superfluous ex fletives, for theso girls wero not of the ighest type. There wus a curious taw driness or rather gaudiness about their, for the most part, ragged dresses; they had big, heavy fringes, which tho stoum had taken out of curl, so that in nearly every instance they straggled into the bold eyes beneath thorn; their faces,too, wero in a striking contrast to their hands in the matter of cleanliness, for it was not compulsory to put them in tho water in order to earn a livelihood; but they were better in this respect than they would bo nearer the ond of the week, for to-dny was only Tuesday. Tho only exception to the universal untidiness was manifested in the person of one whom tho girls called 'Liza (tho i boing pronounced as if it was the diph thong ai). This 'Liza, the preliminary "e" of whose numo was invariubly dropped by her acquaintainces, was a hunchback, and her faco. though it pos sessed tho merit of cleanliness, was al most repulsively ugly. Tho complexion was sallow, tho mouth badly shaped, tho eyebrows obtrusivoly dark and heavy; very sad wero tho eyes beneath them, had there been any one to note their' wistful look, but 'Liza did not encourago scrutiny, and, indeod, tho brown oyes were not romarkablo in themselves, und woro moreover half hidden by tho droop ing lids, from which she glanced in a sideways, half-sinister inunner. 'Liza was not very populur among her compan ions, partly because she chose to be ex clusive, and partly because she could on occasions say unpleasantly sharp things. But there was one person wliom she loved, and that wus Miss Callcnder. By and by the ringing of a bell cre ated a diversion among the workers. Almost simultaneously eight pairs of red, soapy arms were drawn out of the wash-tubs, eight pairs of red, crinkled hands were wiped on somo portion of convenient apparul, and eight pairs of ill-shod foet tramped into an adjoining room. At a table in this room stood a young lady, very sweet in appearance and pret tily dressed. She nodded in a friendly way to the girls, and shook hands witli each one as they passed. She hud their interest at heart, and mado it her duty to come two or throe times a week and pro vide them with dinner. This dinner con sisted usually, as on this occasion, of a plate of soup and a large slice of pud. aing, for which thoy paid a penny; a sec ond helping of either could he hud for a farthing, so the payment was merely nominal; but the girls were exempt from the feeling that thoy wore the recipients of charity. The coppers were "dabbed" down on the tablo in a little pile, and Miss Cullen der ladled out the soup, which was quickly and noisily consumed. Tho young lady watched the other women, smiling. Per fectly dainty herself, their roughness did not seem to repel her. "Girls," she said presently, in her quiet, clear voice, "I am going to give a party in tho Mission Hall. WiU you come?" There was a chorus of delighted assont, accompanied hy a general clattering of spoons on the almost empty plates. "Lor, Miss; what sort of a party might it ho, now?" "Oh, friendly," said Miss Callondor. '•Music, and plenty to eat, and—you may bring your sweethearts." This caused a prolonged giggling. "Might wo bring more than one?" iy 3uired l'olly Hluines, who enjoyed the istinction of being tho prettiest of the girls. Miss Callondor shook her head disap- I provingly. "You oughtn't to have more than one," she said, smiling. "Oh! as for that, Miss, I don't want any, I'm sure; but there, the more you draws off, the moro they comes on. That's how it is with men, and that's why them as don't want 'cm, uhvays has the most admirers." And Polly, conscious of a fascinating retrousse nose and a dimpled chin, tossed her head in tho air. Whoroupon all tho girls, not to bo out done, and by no means roticent on tho subject of their love attain, fell to talk ing about them, finding tho topic emi nently congenial, and treating it in a manner which displayed no inoro vulgar ity of heart than is concealed by certain ladies. Miss Cullender rather encour aged than chocked them; she liked them to bo perfectly natural boforo her, and was glad of anything which gavo her an insight into their lives and characters. I wo there wore who kept silence; one a little newly married woman, to whom love was too sacred for common speech: and Liza. Iho pudding she had begun to attack < seemed to stick in 'Liza's throat, and she ' bad grout difficulty in gulping it down, ' tor the other hunger of which Bho was often conscious, the hunger of tho heart, flow so assorted itself as to make her ob livious of bodily needs. Something there was, too, of bitterness in her mind as she listened to the talk of those others. Per haps 1 oily s words did more to cause it than anything else; " Them us don't want em always has the most admirers." Looking up, she suddenly met tho eyes of this girl. To her morbid imagination they expressed pity, perhaps scorn. She crimsoned. 1 here was a momentary lull, so that they all board her when sho said in a pe culiarly loud, harsh defiant voico: "Mine isn't livin'; mine isn't." "Yours? Did you have a sweetheart once?"' asked tho married woman, not un gently, though thro was tho slightest perceptible accent on the pronoun. "And why not?" asked 'Liza, and her voice was louder than before. "It isn't only pretty girls us has people caring f r 'em. There's other things besides looks." "Of course there are, dear," said Miss Callendcr, soothingly, for 'Liza's eyes flashed ominously. "Goodness is worth much more to n man." "What WHS his name, 'Liza?" asked Polly Blaines. I 'oily WHS conceited, and Liza, hypers sensitive, scented patronage. "I ain't going to tell yer," she said. Then, with switt contradiction, "his first name was Charlie." "Was he handsome?" asked Polly, pinching her neighbor under the table, so that the latter, a high-colored, coarse looking girl, gave a littlo squeak. "I never see anybody bettor looking," said 'Liza, with promptitude, "lie wasn't any of your pink, dolly men." (Polly's favored suitor happened to be fair.) lie was dark and his nose was straight, like a gentleman's, and his tooth was white, and" ('Liza warmed to her sub- ( ject) "he used to wear a red silk tie,with a pin in it And." she wont ou, "ho always gave mo lots of presents —lots, and he loved me so, as ho couldn't bear me out of his sight. Oh," she cried excitedly, "ho did love me, and we was so happy, keepin' company, and he was a-goin' to marry mo " Sho paused abruptly. Indeed, her shrill voice had got almost beyond her control. "What did he die of?" asked one of the girls, with genuine compassion in her tones. 'Liza looked at her—gasped hesitated a moment—then rose und pushed buck her chair. "That don't matter to no one," she said, in a hurd voice that yet had a catch iu it. "He's dead, and that's enough; and you needn't any of you over talk to me about him. So there!" And sho went back into tho laundry. There was a moment's silenco. Miss Cullender sat looking thoughtful; then she rose and followed 'Liza into tho next room, closing tho door. The other girls regarded one another with some surpriso. 'Liza was usually silent and wus consid ered moroso, but her affliction had made them kind to her in their rough way, though sho was certainly not a favorite among them. But now that they real ized that sho had a romance in her life tho lovo of sentiment, which is in every woman, made them feel u sympathy for her hitherto unknown. 'Liza was standing by her wushtub, and she had already plunged in her hands and begun to vigorously soap one from | the heap of towels she had to wash. 11 or lips were set tight together, her bosom was heaving, and a tear had rolled down i her cheek and droppod off it on her coarso apron. She put up her arm, her hands being soapy, and laid her elbow across her oyes for a minute. "Eliza," said a soft voice, in accents more tender than sho was wont to hear, so that her namo sounded quito musical. She looked up. " Eliza," said Miss Cullender again, and then sho came oloso up to the girl, and drew her towurd her. 'Liza was unused to any such demon stration. Perhaps that was why she half-pulled herself away. "My dear," said Miss Callonder, " wo must bo great friends, you and I, for wo have a sorrow in common. Nothing binds peoplo so close together us to bo linked by mutual trouble. Two years ago I was engaged to bo married, and he who was to have been my husband was— was shot, in Afghanistan." " Oh, Miss ! " cried 'Liza," Oh, Miss !" "So you soe," said Miss Caliender softly, "you and I must be a comfort to each other." 'Liza did not speak. She began to pull at her apron-strings, then getting them into a knot, busied herself undoing "It don't soem as I could do anythink," she said presently. "You always seems happy and bright-like. You're mostly I smiling. 1 don't soe how you can bo it when any one us has cared for yor has ' died." "God helps mo to bo happy, said Miss Caliender simply. "Besides, 1 huvo many things to be grateful for." "Ah, there yer are," cried 'Liza, al most passionately; "you ain't poor and lonely and hugly. You could havo love if yer wanted to; you don't go longin' and longin', and a pain in your heart mostwhiles. I wouldn't toll any o' them," (pointing to the door) "for thoy wouldn't understand, but you ain't like them, and you won't make a mock at mo, butthoro's times, specially in tho even ings, when I acho for some ono to say