to your mother and Herbert, too. Oh, Wil liam! he will not disgrace your teaching." Again the horrid knell of that painful, tearing cough; and once more his head drops fondly on her shoulder. But there is a gush of something that comes even hotter and faster than scalding tears; in the cough he has broken a blood-vessel, and the life stream flows from his pale lips on the bosom of his faithful, high-hearted Alice! A few hours of mortal life were all that remained to William Howard. Reader, this is a common story; one that in all its human emotions has been felt and acted thousands of times. There is something so blinding in custom, that the best and wisest of us are slow to see evils that do not come directly home to us. How many a gentle and sensitive woman, that has wept over the vivid pages of romance, or lent her keenest sympathies to the ideal sorrows of the drama, has, month after month, and year after year, visited the gay and gorgeous shops of the "Metropolitan Drapers," without so much as dreaming of the deep and real tragedies that were enacting "behind the counter." The blighted youth the ruined health the early graves - the withered minds -the corrupted morals-and, oh! the noble spirits, the true heroes of private life, who, stand ing forward to cheer and teach, by precept and example, have won the guerdon of eternal gratitude from their class. To my mind, it seems there must have been many William Howards ere the "Metropolitan Drapers' Association" could have been formed; an association now encouraged and assisted by clergy, members of parliament, influential literary and philanthropic gentlemen, and the most respectable employers in London. And alas! there must have been many a selfish, narrow-minded man, like Mr. Markham, with heart contracted by the very system he attempted to uphold, ere the wrongs of the oppressed could have grown so deep as to require such a remedy. Remember Raise your Gentle, kind-hearted lady, who would not hurt a noxious insect in your path—who, if your pet bird pined in its gilded cage, would open the door to give it the option of liberty — think how much good there is in your power to do! that units make up the millions. voice bravely to assert the right; and in your household see that it is done. Forbid the late shopping forbid even all trading with the houses that do keep open. Think, too, it is the merry month of May - bright summer, golden autumn, are before us; then turn in thought, as you breathe the perfume of flowers, or inhale the fresh sea-breeze, to those crowded shops, and their sickly, heart-crushed denizens! Yet they might have the morning and evening walk in the bright summer, and in the winter the cheerful fireside, the friendly converse, and the pleasant book. Health might bloom on their cheeks, and joy sparkle in their eyes! A FAREWELL TO THE LYRE. BY MISS E. L. MONTAGU. FAREWELL!the gift of Song is fading fast, Like some fair flower, upfolding to its rest! I feel a glory from my soul hath past, And quenched the sacred fires within my breast. My thoughts are dim-my thrilling lyre unstrung And, like sweet dews from off the light leaves flung, Each fountain-drop returneth to the source from whence it sprung! Farewell! - there was a time my soul had wept To see the radiant Sun of Song go down! When 'neath its light the pale-browed Sorrow slept, And Anguish woke not till its rays were gone. But severed now is Music's mystic chain; The eye which marks that lamp of glory wane Shall smile upon its setting, though it riseth not again! Farewell! thou Lyre so deeply loved of old! Thy voice is tuneless, and thy spirit fled. Farewell, each strain that in my breast lies cold Above your rest be Joy's soft silence shed. Yet, though ye die, your memory still is ours, When faint ye breathe along the winged hours, As odors soft arise from graves of buried flowers! |