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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!

THOMAS HOOD. Bat 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 was

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 too many.

With colors as she went; And the Cholera man came and whitewashed us

Daisy, buttercup, and clover all, and, drat him I made a seize of our

Below her footsteps bent; hog. —

Summer shed its shining store ; It's no use to send the Crier to cry him about,

She was happy as she pressed them he's such a blunderin' drunken old dog ;

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,

They had never seemed so sweet before, And went and cried a boy instead of a girl, for

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

The flower of fairy lore.
Town.
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

And to his little daughter Jane

Five hundred pounds in gold,
To be paid down on marriage-day,

Which might not be controlled ;
But if the children chanced to die

Ere they to age should come, Their uncle should possess their wealth,

For so the will did run.

With Red Riding Hood, the darling,

The flower of fairy lore. Did the painter, dreaming

In a morning hour, Catch the fairy seeming Of this fairy flower !

Winning it with eager eyes
From the old enchanted stories,

Lingering with a long delight
On the unforgotten glories
Of the infant sight?

Giving us a sweet surprise
In Red Riding Hood, the darling,

The flower of fairy lore ?
Too long in the meadow staying,

Where the cowslip bends,
With the buttercups delaying
As with early friends,

Did the little maiden stay.
Sorrowful the tale for us ;

We, too, loiter mid life's flowers,
A little while so glorious,
So soon lost in darker hours.

All love lingering on their way,
Like Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.

LÆTITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.

“Now, brother,” said the dying man,

“Look to my children dear; Be good unto my boy and girl,

No friends else I have here."
With that bespake their mother dear,

“O brother kind," quoth she, “You are the man must bring our babes

To wealth or misery.

“And if you keep them carefully,

Then God will you reward ; If otherwise you seem to deal,

God will your deeds regard." With lips as cold as any stone

She kissed her children small : “God bless you both, my children dear,”

With that the tears did fall.

Their parents being dead and gone,

The children home he takes,
And brings them home unto his house,

And much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes

A twelvemonth and a day,
But, for their wealth, he did devise

To make them both away.

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. Now ponder well, you parents dear,

The words which I shall write ; A doleful story you shall hear,

In time brought forth to light : A gentleman, of good account,

In Norfolk lived of late, Whose wealth and riches did surmount

Most men of his estate. •

He bargained with two ruffians strong,

Which were of furious mood, That they should take these children young,

And slay them in a wood.
He told his wife, and all he had

He did the children send
To be brought up in fair London,
With one that was his friend.

Sore sick he was, and like to die,

No help then he could have ; His wife by him as sick did lie,

And both possessed one grave. No love between these two was lost,

Each was to other kind ; In love they lived, in love they died,

And left two babes behind :

Away then went these pretty babes,

Rejoicing at that tide, Rejoicing with a merry mind,

They should on cock-horse ride ; They prate and prattle pleasantly,

As they rode on the way, To those that should their butchers be,

And work their lives' decay,

The one a fine and pretty boy,

Not passing three years old ; The other a girl, more young than he,

And made in beauty's mould. The father left his little son,

As plainly doth appear, When he to perfect age should come,

Three hundred pounds a year,

So that the pretty speech they had

Made Murder's heart relent ; And they that undertook the deed

Full sore they did repent.

Yet one of them, more hard of heart,

Did vow to do his charge, Because the wretch that hired him

Had paid him very large.

The fellow that did take in hand

These children for to kill Was for a robber judged to die,

As was God's blessed will; Who did confess the very truth,

The which is here expressed ; Their uncle died while he, for debt,

In prison long did rest.

The other would not agree thereto,

So here they fell at strife ; With one another they did fight,

About the children's life ; And he that was of mildest mood

Did slay the other there, Within an unfrequented wood ;

While babes did quake for fear.

You that executors be made,

And overseers eke,
Of children that be fatherless,

And infants mild and meek,
Take you example by this thing,

And yield to each his right, Lest God with such-like misery Your wicked minds requite.

ANONYMOUS

He took the children by the hand

When tears stood in their eye,
And bade them come and go with him,

And look they did not cry ;
And two long miles he led them on,

While they for food complain : “Stay here," quoth he, “I'll bring you bread

When I do come again."

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,

Went wandering up and down, But nevermore they saw the man

Approaching from the town. Their pretty lips with blackberries

Were all besmeared and dyed, And when they saw the darksome night

They sate them down and cried.

Thus wandered these two pretty babes

Till death did end their grief ; In one another's arms they died,

As babes wanting relief.
No burial this pretty pair

Of any man receives,
Till robin redbreast, painfully,

Did cover them with leaves.

A LITTLE in the doorway sitting,
The mother plied her busy knitting ;
And her cheek so softly smiled,
You might be sure, although her gaze
Was on the meshes of the lace,
Yet her thoughts were with her child.
But when the boy had heard her voice,
As o'er her work she did rejoice,
His became silent altogether ;
And slyly creeping by the wall,
He seized a single plume, let fall
By some wild bird of longest feather ;
And, all a-tremble with his freak,
He touched her lightly on the cheek.
0, what a loveliness her eyes
Gather in that one moment's space,
While peeping round the post she spies
Her darling's laughing face !
0, mother's love is glorifying,
On the cheek like sunset lying ;
In the eyes a moistened light,
Softer than the moon at night!

And now the heavy wrath of God

Upon their uncle fell; Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,

His conscience felt an hell. His barns were fired, his goods consumed,

His lands were barren made ; His cattle died within the field,

And nothing with him stayed.

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And, in the voyage of Portugal,

Two of his sons did die ; And, to conclude, himself was brought

To extreme misery.
He pawned and mortgaged all his land

Ere seven years came about';
And now, at length, this wicked act

Did by this means come out :

Down the dimpled greensward dancing

Bursts a flaxen-headed bevy, Bud-lipt boys and girls advancing,

Love's irregular little levy. Rows of liquid eyes in laughter,

How they glimmer, how they quiver ! Sparkling one another after,

Like bright ripples on a river.

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 force 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 reStealing 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 reAnd Maud with her mantle of silver-green,

boundeth ; And Kate with the scarlet feather.

And many a mirthful jest and mock reply

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

And thine was many an art to win and bless, While Mand 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 disarmAnd I give her all iny roses.

ing!
THOMAS WESTWOOD.

| 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 laughing 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 !

Yen patient to rebukę when justly given; An eye of resolute and successful scheming ! Obedient, casy to be reconciled,

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

ing ;

ing;

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Listen ! and be now delighted :

Morn hath touched her golden strings ; Earth and Sky their vows have plighted; Life and Light are reunited

Amid countless carollings ;
Yet, delicious as they are,
There's a sound that's sweeter far, —
One that makes the heart rejoice
More than all, – the human voice !

Organ finer, deeper, clearer,

Though it be a stranger's tone, Than the winds or waters dearer, More enchanting to the hearer,

For it answereth to his own. But, of all its witching words, Those are sweetest, bubbling wild Through the laughter of a child.

Harmonies from time-touched towers,

Haunted strains from rivulets, Hum of bees among the flowers, Rustling leaves, and silver showers, –

These, erelong, the ear forgets; But in mine there is a sound Ringing on the whole year round, Heart-deep laughter that I heard Ere my child could speak a word.

THE PET LAMB. The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heard a voice ; it said, “Drink, pretty creature,

drink!" And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain-lamb with a maiden at

its side. Nor sheep nor kine were near ; the lamb was

all alone, And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone ; With one knee on the grass did the little

maiden kneel, While to that mountain-lamb she gave its

evening meal. The lamb, while from her hand he thus his

supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his

tail with pleasure shook. “Drink, pretty creature, drink !” she said, in

such a tone That I almost received her heart into my own. 'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of

beauty rare ! I watched them with delight : they were a

lovely pair.

Ah! 't was heard by ear far purer,

Fondlier formed to catch the strain, — Ear of one whose love is surer, — Hers, the mother, the endurer

Of the deepest share of pain ;

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