Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin ;

THE LOST HEIR. (My dear, the child is swallowing a pin !)

“O where, and O where

Is my bonnie laddie gone?"-OLD SONG. Thou little tricksy Puck !

ONE day, as I was going by With antic toys so funnily bestuck,

That part of Holborn christened High, Light as the singing bird that rings the air,

I heard a loud and sudden cry (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the

That chilled my very blood ; stair !)

And lo! from out a dirty alley, Thou darling of thy sire !

Where pigs and Irish wont to rally, (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire !)

I saw a crazy woman sally, Thou imp of mirth and joy!

Bedaubed with grease and mud. In love's dear chain so bright a link,

She turned her East, she turned her West, Thou idol of thy parents ; — (Drat the boy !

Staring like Pythoness possest, There goes my ink.)

With streaming hair and heaving breast,

As one stark mad with grief. Thou cherub, but of earth; Fit playfellow for fairies, by moonlight pale, “O Lord ! O dear, my heart will break, I shall In harmless sport and mirth,

go stick stark staring wild ! (That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail !) Has ever a one seen anything about the streets

Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey like a crying lost-looking child ? From every blossom in the world that blows, Lawk help me, I don't know where to look, or to Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny,

run, if I only knew which way – (Another tumble ! That's his precious nose !)

A Child as is lost about London streets, and es. Thy father's pride and hope !

pecially Seven Dials, is a needle in a (He'll break that mirror with that skipping

bottle of hay. rope !)

I am all in a quiver -- get out of my sight, do, With pure heart newly stamped from nature's you wretch, you little Kitty M'Nab! mint,

You promised to have half an eye to him, you (Where did he learn that squint?)

know you did, you dirty deceitful young

drab. Thou domestic dove !

The last time as ever I see him, poor thing, was young (He'll have that ring off with another shove,)

with my own blessed Motherly eyes, Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest !

Sitting as good as gold in the gutter, a playing (Are these torn clothes his best ?)

at making little dirt-pies. Little epitome of man !

I wonder he left the court, where he was better

off than all the other young boys, (He'll climb upon the table, that 's his plan,) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning With two bricks, an old shoe, nine oyster-shells, life,

and a dead kitten by way of toys. (He's got a knife !)

When his Father comes home, and he always Thou enviable being !

comes home as sure as ever the clock No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, He'll be rampant, he will, at his child being

strikes one, Play on, play on, My elfin John!

lost ; and the beef and the inguns not

done! Toss the light ball, bestride the stick, (I knew so many cakes would make him sick !)

La bless you, good folks, mind your own conWith fancies buoyant as the thistle-down,

carns, and don't be making a mob in the

street ; Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, With many a lamb-like frisk!

O Sergeant M'Farlane ! you have not come across (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown !)

my poor little boy, have you, in your

beat ? Thou pretty opening rose ! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your

Do, good people, move on ! don't stand staring nose !)

at me like a parcel of stupid stuck pigs ; Balmy and breathing music like the south,

Saints forbid ! but he's p'r’aps been inviggled (He really brings my heart into my mouth!)

away up a court for the sake of his clothes Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove;

by the priggs ; (I 'll tell you what, my love,

He'd a very good jacket, for certain, for I bought I cannot write unless he's sent above.)

it myself for a shilling one day in Rag

THOMAS HOOD.

Fair ;

THOMAS Hoon.

was

too many

And his trousers considering not very much Why, there he is ! Punch and Judy hunting, the

patched, and red plush, they was once his young wretch, it's that Billy as sartin Father's best pair.

as sin ! His shirt, it's very lucky I'd got washing in the But let me get him home, with a good grip of

tub, or that might have gone with the his hair, and I'm blest if he shall have a rest;

whole bone in his skin ! But he'd got on a very good pinafore with only

two slits and a burn on the breast. He'd a goodish sort of hat, if the crown

sewed in, and not quite so much jagged at LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

the brim. With one shoe on, and the other shoe is a boot,

COME back, come back together, and not a fit, and you 'll know by that

All ye fancies of the past, if it's him.

Ye days of April weather, And then he has got such dear winning ways

Ye shadows that are cast but O, I never, never shall see him no

By the haunted hours before ! more!

Come back, come back, my Childhood ; O dear! to think of losing him just after nussing

Thou art summoned by a spell him back from death's door!

From the green leaves of the wildwood, Only the very last month when the windfalls,

From beside the charméd well, hang 'em, was at twenty a penny !

For Red Riding Hood, the darling, And the threepence he'd got by grottoing was

The flower of fairy lore ! spent in plums, and sixty for a child is

The fields were covered over

With colors as she went ; And the Cholera man came and whitewashed us all, and, drat him ! made a seize of our

Daisy, buttercup, and clover

Below her footsteps bent; hog.

Summer shed its shining store ; It's no use to send the Crier to cry him about, he's such a blunderin' drunken old dog ;

She was happy as she pressed them

Beneath her little feet ; The last time he was fetched to find a lost child

She plucked them and caressed them ; he was guzzling with his bell at the

They were so very sweet,
Crown,
And went and cried a boy instead of a girl, for

They had never seemed so sweet before,

To Red Riding Hood, the darling,
a distracted Mother and Father about
Town.

The flower of fairy lore.
Billy — where are you, Billy, I say? come, Billy, How the heart of childhood dances
come home, to your best of Mothers !

Upon a sunny day! I'm scared when I think of them Cabroleys, they It has its own romances, drive so, they'd run over their own Sisters

And a wide, wide world have they ! and Brothers.

A world where Phantasie is king, Or maybe he's stole by some chimbly-sweeping Made all of eager dreaming ; wretch, to stick fast in narrow flues and

When once grown up and tall what not,

Now is the time for scheming And be poked up behind with a picked pointed Then we shall do them all! pole, when the soot has ketched, and the

Do such pleasant fancies spring chimbly 's red hot.

For Red Riding Hood, the darling, 0, I'd give the whole wide world, if the world

The flower of fairy lore ?
was mine, to clap my two longin' eyes on
his face.

She seems like an ideal love,
For he's my darlin' of darlin's, and if he don't The poetry of childhood shown,

soon come back, you 'll see me drop stone And yet loved with a real love,
dead on the place.

As if she were our own,
I only wish I'd got him safe in these two Moth-

A younger sister for the heart;
erly arms, and would n't I hug him and Like the woodland pheasant,
kiss him !

Her hair is brown and bright;
Lawk! I never knew what a precious he was

And her smile is pleasant,
but a child don't not feel like a child till With its rosy light.
you miss him.

Never can the memory part

Tipsy band of rubious faces,

Not willing to be left — still by my side, Flushed with Joy's ethereal spirit,

Haunting my walks, while summer-day was Make your mocks and sly grimaces

dying; At Love's self, and do not fear it. Nor leaving in thy turn, but pleased to glide

GEORGE DARLEY.

Through the dark room where I was sadly

lying ;

Or by the couch of pain, a sitter meek,
UNDER MY WINDOW.

Watch the dim eye, and kiss the fevered cheek.
UNDER my window, under my window, O boy ! of such as thou are oftenest made
All in the Midsummer weather,

Earth’s fragile idols ; like a tender flower,
Three little girls with fluttering curls No strength in all thy freshness, prone to fade,
Flit to and fro together :-

And bending weakly to the thunder-shower ; There's Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen, Still, round the loved, thy heart found foree to And Maud with her mantle of silver-green,

bind, And Kate with her scarlet feather.

And clung, like woodbine shaken in the wind ! Under my window, under my window,

Then Thou, my merry love, — bold in thy glee, Leaning stealthily over,

Under the bough, or by the firelight dancing, Merry and clear, the voice. I hear,

With thy sweet temper, and thy spirit free, Of each glad-hearted rover.

Didst come, as restless as a bird's wing glan. Ah ! sly little Kate, she steals my roses ;

cing, And Maud and Bell twine wreaths and posies, Full of a wild and irrepressible mirth, As merry as bees in clover.

Like a young sunbeam to the gladdened earth ! Under my window, under my window,

Thine was the shout, the song, the burst of joy, In the blue Midsummer weather,

Which sweet from childhood's rosy lip re. Stealing slow, on a hushed tiptoe,

soundeth ; I catch them all together :

Thine was the eager spirit naught could cloy, Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen,

And the glad heart from which all grief re. And Maud with her mantle of silver-green,

boundeth ; And Kate with the scarlet feather.

And many a mirthful jest and mock reply Under

Lurked in the laughter of thy dark-blue eye. window, under my window, my And off through the orchard closes ;

And thine was many an art to win and bless,
While Maud she flouts, and Bell she pouts,

The cold and stern to joy and fondness warm.
They scamper and drop their posies ;
But dear little Kate takes naught amiss,

The coaxing smile, the frequent soft caress,
And leaps in my arms with a loving kiss,

The earnest, tearful prayer all wrath disarm-
And I give her all my roses.

ing!
Again my heart a new affection found,
But thought that love with thee had reached its

bound.
THE MOTHER'S HEART.

At length thou camest, — thou, the last and
WHEN first thou camest, gentle, shy, and fond, least,
My eldest born, first hope, and dearest treasure,

Nicknamed “the Emperor” by thy lar.ghing
My heart received thee with a joy beyond

brothers, All that it yet had felt of earthly pleasure ; Because a haughty spirit swelled thy breast, Nor thought that any love again might be

And thou didst seek to rule and sway the So deep and strong as that I felt for thee.

others,

Mingling with every playful infant wile
Faithful and true, with sense beyond thy years, A mimic majesty that made us smile.

And natural piety that leaned to heaven ;
Wrung by a harsh word suddenly to tears, And 0, most like a regal child wert thou !

Yet patient to rebuke when justly given ; An eye of resolute and successful scheming!
Obedient, easy to be reconciled,

Fair shoulders, curling lips, and dauntless brow, And meekly chcerful ; such wert thou, my Fit for the world's strife, not for poet's dream. child !

ing ;

ing ;

THOMAS WESTWOOD.