I first observed her sunken eye,
And her pale, hollow cheek; and then
I told my brother she would die!

"And the next morn they did not speak,
But led us to her silent bed;
They bade us kiss her icy cheek,
And told us she indeed was dead!

"Oh, then I thought how she was kind,
My own beloved and gentle mother!
And calling all I knew to mind,

I thought there ne'er was such another!

"Poor little Charles, and I! that day
We sate within our silent room;
But we could neither read nor play,—
The very walls seemed full of gloom.

"I wish my mother had not died,

We never have been glad since then ; They say, and is it true," she cried,

That she can never come again?"

The father checked his tears, and thus
He spake, "My child, they do not err,
Who say she cannot come to us;
But you and I may go to her.
"Remember your dear mother still,

And the pure precepts she has given; Like her, be humble, free from ill,

And you shall see her face in heaven!"

THE BEAR AND THE BAKERS.

A TRUE STORY.

IN the old town in which I live,
The event occurred of which I mean to speak;
To know what town that is, ye need not seek;
No further information shall I give.

In this town is an annual fair,

Such as, I will be bound to say,

May not be met with everywhere.

Then all the people look extremely gay,
And all the children have a holiday:

Then there are cows, and sheep, and pigs to sell,
And more than I can tell;

And booths are ranged in rows,
Full of all sorts of pretty things,
Glass necklaces, and copper rings,

And pins, and gloves, and bracelets, combs, and boxes;
And then there are such quantities of shows,
All crammed with lions, elephants, and foxes!
And for the little people, dolls and balls,

Horses and coaches, whips and penny trumpets :
And many different sorts of stalls,

By this time it was dark enough;

And Bruin walked into a common rough,
That lay behind the Golden Star ;
And there he wandered up and down-
When thus it came to pass,

A baker from the town

Was carrying fagots for the morning;
And he had not gone far

Before he saw what he supposed an ass,

In the dusk night-fall, shaggy, wild, and black;
So, without any warning,

He threw the fagots on his back,
Thinking it was a lucky chance

To meet with such a beast!
Bruin, thus taken by surprise,
Began to prance

And growl, and stare with fiery eyes.
The man, who never in the least
Expected such a spirited retort,
Stopped for a moment short;
Then sprang along o'er smooth and rough,
Expecting that a thing

So wild and gruff

Upon his back would make a sudden spring, And eat him at a mouthful, sure enough! Poor Bruin had no such intent,

pets;

And then there is the learned pig,

And the great "Mister Bigg,"

The famous English Patagonian;

Down to a neighbouring lane,
Picking his way as best he could.-
But in my second part, I will explain
The nature of the place whereon he stood.

PART II.

"T WAS on the confines of that common hoary,
Which, like a wall, stood up against the lane-
Because the common was much higher ground
So that the houses standing there,
Seemed at the back only one single story,
Though, in the front, they all of them were twain.
I'm very much afraid this will be found
An explanation rather dark and lame;
But as you read you'll understand it better,
If you attend, at least, unto the letter.
But, let us now unto the bear:-

"T was to the back of such a house he came,
Built 'gainst this higher ground,
So that he found,

Without being in the least to blame,
His nose against a window-grate
Which opened straight

Into a well-stored larder.

In this small house there dwelt another baker,

A famous man for penny pies:

Of cakes and ginger-bread, a noted maker,
And sausages likewise.

No wonder let it be, therefore,

That there was such a store

Of legs of mutton, dainty pork,

And pies just ready for the knife and fork.

These things just standing under bruin's nose,
You may suppose

Would make him long to have a little taste;
So, through the grate,

Headlong he plunged -a lumbering weight-
And many jingling tins displaced.
Poor bruin never thought, not he,
The window was just at the ceiling,
And he should fall so far and heavily;
And after all, be taken up for stealing!

The baker being awakened by this din,
Blunder on blunder, tin on tin,

Thought twenty thieves were breaking in!
He was a tall and sturdy fellow,
And to his only son,

Most stoutly he began to bellow-
"Jack, get the double-barrelled gun,
A host of thieves is in the pantry —
Twenty they are, or more;
Do you go out and keep strict sentry,
And shoot the first who ventures out,
The while I guard the door!"

As soon as said, the thing was done,-
Jack took the double-barrelled gun,
And stood before the broken grate :

Ah, thieves!" said he, with lusty shout, "If you come out,

I'll scatter twenty bullets round about!" The bear, so frightened at this sad disaster, And, thinking Jack must be his master, Lay quite stock still:

Meanwhile, the baker stood before,

And double-locked the pantry-door.

There, there!" said he, "I've got them fast,

I've caught the rogues at last!"

All this poor bruin heard,

And much he marvelled at his case;
Thus prisoned in that trap-like place;
Yet so the baker scolded if he stirred;
And so much did he fear his master's stick,
Heavy and thick,

He dared not reconnoitre, nor look out,
Lest something worse should come about;
Therefore, he lay quite still,

Though it was very much against his will.
Jack was outside, a watchful sentinel,
He noted all that happened in the night:
He heard the asses braying on the common;
He saw the earliest streak of morning light;
He heard the watchmen in the town,
With their dull voices passing up and down,
And the Exchange clock, with its heavy bell,
The hours with quarters tell :

He saw the earliest passing countrywoman;
And now a man, and now a boy he saw;
And now the morning grew so keen and raw,
He wished his task was o'er;

And now he heard the clocks strike four;

And now,-O welcome sight,

He, in the Golden Star, beheld a light!

Each held a lighted candle; and, en masse,
They rushed into the place where bruin was!
There, skulking in his shaggy coat, they saw
A frightful something with a paw!
"Up, up with you at once!"
Shouted poor bruin's master in his ears;
And he, who was no dunce,
And had so many fears,

And knew that voice so well,

Sprang in a moment to his hinder legs,
Just like a little dog that begs,
And danced a hornpipe to a miracle!
Half angry was the baker, seeing thus,
That after all his fuss,

The thieves were nothing but a dancing-bear!
And yet he took it in good part,
And tried to laugh with all his heart,
And said it was a joke most capital!
And through all the fair

"T was told at every booth and every stall,
What fancy bruin had for dainty store;
And many people gave him ginger-bread;
And he with buns and penny-pies was fed,
So that he never fared so well before!

THE SOLDIER'S STORY.

"HEAVEN bless the boys!" the old man said, "I hear their distant drumming.Young Arthur Bruce is at their head,

And down the street they're coming.

"And a very noble standard too
He carries in the van;
By the faith of an old soldier, he
Is born to make a man!"

A glow of pride passed o'er his cheek,
A tear came to his eye;
"Hurra, hurra! my gallant men!"
Cried he, as they came nigh.

"It seems to me but yesterday
Since I was one like ye,
And now my years are seventy-two,-
Come here, and talk with me!"

They made a halt, those merry boys,

Before the aged man;

And "tell us now some story wild,"
Young Arthur Bruce began;

"Of battle and of victory

Tell us some stirring thing!"
The old man raised his arm aloft,
And cried, "God save the king!

"A soldier' is a life of fame,

A life that hath its meed

They write his wars in printed books,
That every man may read.

"And if you'd hear a story wild,

Of war and battle done,

I am the man to tell such tales,
And you shall now have one.

"In every quarter of the globe

I've fought by sea, by land;
And scarce for five and fifty years
Was the musket from my hand.

"But the bloodiest wars, and fiercest too,
That were waged on any shore,
Were those in which my strength was spent,
In the country of Mysore.

"And oh! what a fearful, deadly clime
Is that of the Indian land,

Where the burning sun shines fiercely down On the hot and fiery sand!

"The life of man seems little worth,

And his arm hath little power His very soul within him dies,

As dies a broken flower.

"Yet spite of this, was India made
As for a kingly throne;
There gold is plentiful as dust,
As sand the diamond stone;
"And like a temple is each house,
Silk-curtained from the sun;
And every man has twenty slaves,
Who at his bidding run.

"He rides on the lordly elephant,
In solemn pomp ;-and there
They hunt the gold-striped tiger,
As here they hunt the hare.

"Yet it is a dreadful clime! and we

Up in the country far

Were sent, we were two thousand men,
In a disastrous war.

"The soldiers died in the companies

As if the plague had been; And soon in every twenty men, The dead were seventeen.

"We went to storm a fort of mud-
And yet the place was strong-
Three thousand men were guarding it,
And they had kept it long.

"We were in all three hundred souls,
Feeble and worn and wan;

Like walking spectres of the tomb,
Was every living man.

"Yet Arthur Bruce, now standing there,

With the ensign of his band, Reminds me of a gallant youth,

Who fought at my right hand.

"Scarce five and twenty years of age, And feeble as the rest,

Yet with the bearing of a king,
That noble soul expressed.

But he seized the banner with his left,
Without a moment's stand.

“He mounted upward to the wall;
He waved the standard high,-
But then another smote him!--

And the captain standing by

"Said, 'Of this gallant youth take care,
He hath won for us the day!'
I and my comrades took him up,
And bore him thence away.

"There was no tree about the place,
So 'neath the fortress shade
We carried him, and carefully
Upon the red sand laid.

"I took the feather from my cap,
To fan his burning cheek;

I gave him water, drop by drop,

And prayed that he would speak.

"At length he said, 'mine hour is come!
My soldier-name is bright;
But a pang there is within my soul,
That hath wrung me day and night:

"I left my mother's home without

Her blessing-she doth mourn,
Doth weep for me with bitter tears,—
I never can return!

"This bowed my eagle-spirit down,
This robbed mine eye of rest;
I left her widowed and alone :-
Oh that I had been blessed!'

"No more he said, he closed his eyes. And yet he died not then;

He lived till the morrow morning came,
But he never spoke again."

This tale the veteran soldier told,
Upon a summer's day;-

The boys came merrily down the street,
But they all went sad away.

MARIEN LEE.

NOT a care hath Marien Lee, Dwelling by the sounding sea! Her young life's a flowery way :— Without toil from day to day, Without bodings for the morrow,— Marien was not made for sorrow!

Like the summer-billows wild
Leaps the happy-hearted child;
Sees her father's fishing boat,
O'er the waters gaily float;
Hears her brother's fishing-song
On the light gale borne along;
Half a league she hears the lay,
Ere they turn into the bay,
And with glee, o'er cliff and main,
Sings an answer back again,
Which by man and boy is heard,
Like the carol of a bird.
Look! she sitteth laughing there,
Wreathing sea-weed in her hair,
Saw ye e'er a thing so fair?

Marien, some are rich in gold,
Heaped-up treasure-stores untold;
Some in thought sublime, refined,
And the glorious wealth of mind:
Thou, sweet child, life's rose unblown,
Hast a treasure of thine own-
Youth's most unalloyed delights;
Happy days, and tranquil nights;
Hast a brain with thought unvexed;
A heart untroubled, unperplexed!
Go, thou sweet one, all day long,
Like a glad bird, pour thy song;
And let thy young, graceful head,
Be with sea-flowers garlanded;
For all outward signs of glee,
Well befit thee, Marien Lee!