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 Vale 
 
 Home Blossoms 
 
 
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 YFA 
 
 CILITY 
 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 X 
 
 ^''^HIMlkx 
 
 A

 
 jHOIs^/CE 
 
 
 
 BY 
 
 !OLET TniE. 
 
 ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL. 
 FIFTH THOUSAND. 
 
 Lo.NDo>; : 
 
 J. C. DUNMILL, MACHINE PRINTER, 
 
 ll'J, JUNCTION ROAD, 
 
 HOLLOWAY. N.
 
 PR 
 
 TO MY READERS. 
 
 Dear Frienih, 
 
 Mij iiiiiul Jt((s ever had an iiilciise si/inpathy 
 iritli Jtiiinc life in all its jJiases, licebj and patlietic, 
 from the cradle, to the c<ilftn. 
 
 Mij duties in life hare hem many, icith small 
 ()pp()rtu)iities to cultivate sentiment. Yet I was 
 tern /lied to irrite some verses, which were published 
 with a success that surprised m", and, ijieldimi to the 
 jiersistent and unwearied solieiiulions of lliose dange- 
 rous ^'enemies,''' my friends, I have put into rliyine 
 so)ne incidents that have been connected irith my oivn 
 ijuiet life, and others communicated to me by those I 
 have known and loved. These pieces, written in the 
 bosom of my own circle, tnvay from the ivorld, I now 
 send forth, hnpinij some sunbeams of kindly faces and 
 siimpatliiiic stmts may smile on my tiny bo}iquet (f 
 " Ho)ne Jjlossoms." 
 
 VIOLET VALE. 
 
 96378G
 
 LOSS OF THE PEINCESS ALICE, 
 
 In the Thames, off Woolwich, September 3rd, 1878. 
 
 They started that morning so happy and gay, 
 With hearts that Avere hght as a feather. 
 
 Away from the city to spend a long day, 
 Enjoying the fine Autumn weather. 
 
 How little they thought, on that beautiful morn, 
 As gaily they steamed down the river, 
 
 How feAv of their number would ever return 
 To the homes they were leaving for ever. 
 
 How swiftly the day passed 'mid scenes of dehght. 
 And health-giving breeze from the ocean ; 
 
 As evening advanced with its quiet twilight. 
 They assembled with pleasant commotion : 
 
 On board of the vessel again to return, 
 
 To the homes they had left in the morning, 
 
 And renew with fresh vigour the toils of the week, 
 As soon as next day should be dawnmg. 
 
 They travelled in safety for many a mile, 
 So calm lay the waters around them, 
 
 While overhead brightly the harvest moon shone, 
 In glory on aU things around them. 
 
 And many on board that fair vessel that night, 
 Sweet songs in the moonlight were singing, 
 
 While o'er the water there came a sweet sound 
 Of evening bells that were ringing.
 
 6 
 
 But nil in a moment the stillness of death 
 Eeij^ned on board of that sliip so ill-fated, 
 
 As tlioy saw coming near them so swift on tlie 
 stream 
 A vessel with speed unabated. 
 
 Then londlv thev shrieked as their fate thev 
 behold 
 
 For the vessel was riglit down nixni them ; 
 Their starboard she strikes, and, divided in two, 
 
 She sinks, and the waters close on them. 
 
 Oh ! who can describe the wild panic that reigned 
 On tliat ship as she sank in the river ; 
 
 Or the battle they had with the wiiters so deejj, 
 The thoiiglit of it makes one's lieart quiver. 
 
 For more than seven hundi-ed were lost on that 
 night, 
 
 And soon the sad news reached the city; 
 All Tiondon was stirred with emotion so great : 
 
 Witli sympathy, sorrow, and pity. 
 
 And many a mother mourned over her child, 
 And sisters a kind, loving brother ; 
 
 But saddest of all were the orphans that night. 
 Who were left without father or mother. 
 
 Oh ! sad was the sight the pale moon looked upon. 
 On tliat beautiful niglit in September, 
 
 And the dear ones so suddenly snatched from our 
 side. 
 We shall ever with sorrow remember. 
 
 -:oo:-
 
 Accepted and acknowleged l)y Her Majef3t.v, Jan. 3rd, 1879. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF 
 
 H. R. H. PRINCESS ALICE, 
 
 DECEMBER 14tli, 1878. 
 
 Dear Princess, and lias she left us, 
 For her Father's home above ; 
 
 From an earthly palace taken, 
 To the kmsrdom of His love : 
 
 '■o^ 
 
 There to reign with Him in glory. 
 With her children by her side : 
 
 Who to Heaven had gone before her, 
 And were safe, for Jesus died. 
 
 Many years ago did England 
 Sound her praises far and near ; 
 
 For her filial devotion 
 
 To her noble Father, dear. 
 
 Bright has been her hfe, and useful, 
 Home the centre of her love. 
 
 With a mother's true affection, 
 Like an angel from above ; 
 
 Watching o'er her stricken children 
 With a tender loving hand. 
 
 Ministering to the comfort 
 Of her helpless little band. 
 
 Wlien forbidden to caress them, 
 Lest the kiss should fatal prove,
 
 8 
 
 How it wrung her lieart with sorrow, 
 To deny tliis pledge of love. 
 
 Yet, I'ight bravely did she bear it, 
 Till death claimed her fairest llower, 
 
 Then with heart bowed down with soitow, 
 in that dark and trying hour, 
 
 Did she break the mournful tidings 
 
 To her broken-hearted boy, 
 AVho wept for the little sister, 
 
 AVIio had been his brightest joy. 
 
 Then her love for him o'ercame her, 
 And with out-stretched arms of love, 
 
 She did fold him to her bosom. 
 Asking help from One above. 
 
 But that kiss so fondly given. 
 
 Struck the death blow to her life. 
 
 And laid low the loving mother. 
 And the true devoted wife. 
 
 England niuurns thee, gentle Princess, 
 
 And we ofter up a prayer. 
 That our gracious Sovereign Ijady, 
 
 May have strength tliis trial to hetw. 
 
 May our Prince, her noble brother, 
 "Who in sickness she did tend, 
 
 Find pure, holy consolation. 
 
 In that tender Heavenly Friend : 
 
 Who has promised to the mourner, 
 l^rightur joy tlian earth can give ; 
 
 And if faithful they sliiill meet her. 
 Evermore in Heaven to Vwo.
 
 A PLEA FOR THE MINER. 
 
 Oh think of the miner, who works for his bread, 
 While dangers so awful hang over his head ; 
 A spark from a lantern may cost him his life, 
 And leave orphans his children, a widow his 
 wife. 
 
 But a few months ago in a pleasant Welsh vale. 
 An explosion occurred, which shook mountain 
 
 and dale, 
 And buried the miners so deep under-ground, 
 That their poor mangled bodies have not yet been 
 
 found. 
 
 Oh dreadful to think of, near three hundred men 
 Buried deep in the earth, in that dark smoky den ; 
 Their end was so sudden, no message of love 
 Or farewell could they send to their loved ones 
 above. 
 
 And now in that same Rhonda Valley we hear, 
 Another explosion has filled them with fear ; 
 At midnight so suddenly roused from their sleep. 
 For husbands, and fathers, and brothers to Aveep. 
 
 The men had gone down to their Avork on that 
 
 night. 
 Not thinking with death they would soon have to 
 
 fight ; 
 Poor fellows they thought not of danger so near, 
 Till a terrible noise made their hearts quake with 
 
 fear. 
 
 They made for the shaft, 'twas too late, the foul 
 air
 
 10 
 
 Drove them back in a frenzy of utter despau*, 
 And soon overcome by the poisonous gas, 
 They hiy dead in tlie pit, which tliey call the 
 Dinas. 
 
 But, Oh, Avho can picture the wild scene that 
 
 night. 
 As they rush from each cottage half dead with 
 
 the fright ; 
 Each one is so anxious some tidings to gain, 
 Of the friends whom they fear they shall ne'er 
 
 see again. 
 
 Tlie night wind blows fierce, yet they heed not 
 
 the cold, 
 They stay not around them warm garments to 
 
 'fold i 
 But swiftly they run o'er the hard frosty ground, 
 To the mine whence they know came that terrible 
 
 sound. 
 
 Oh well may they weep, for the men who are gone, 
 Witliont tlicm their homes will be sad and forlorn, 
 in Viiin will the children call father to come. 
 No more will they welcome his safe return home. 
 
 And we, as we sit by our cosy tireside. 
 Think not of the dangers which often betide 
 The men who work hard for the wages they earn, 
 At the risk of their lives for the coals which we 
 burn. 
 
 Then let us ludp those who are left to our care. 
 And try to relieve them with all we can spare. 
 Remembering how much of our comfort we owe 
 To tlio miner wlm sends up the coals from below.
 
 11 
 
 THE BELFEF.Y GHOST. 
 
 The villagers had gone to rest, 
 Full two long hours or more, 
 
 And all was peace and quietness 
 Within each cottage door. 
 
 No sound disturbed the midnight hour. 
 
 Except the night birds cry 
 From high up in the old church tower. 
 
 Or in the wood close by. 
 
 When suddenly a noise awoke 
 
 The echoes far and near, 
 And roused the simple country folk, 
 
 With faces pale with fear. 
 
 It is the bell, the funeral bell. 
 Whose dismal sound they hear, 
 
 Thus tolling forth its solemn knell 
 Upon the midnight air. 
 
 What can it mean ? said Mrs. Prim, 
 
 The village tailor's wife ; 
 Get up and see, said Peter Prim, 
 
 Be quick now for your life. 
 
 Oh ! no, said she, I would not go 
 One step outside this night : 
 
 Some ghost is in the church I know, 
 And I should die with fright. 
 
 Then Mr. Prim rose from his bed, 
 
 Said he, I'll go and see 
 What ghost has left the quiet dead, 
 
 To come disturbing me,
 
 12 
 
 No soldier on the l)attle fiolJ, 
 
 Clad in his armour bright, 
 Ft'lt braver than did Peter Prim, 
 
 ( )n that cokl wintry night. 
 
 AVitli stick in hand he sallied forth, 
 
 The midnight ghost to meet ; 
 And soon he reached the churchyard gate, 
 
 Beyond tlie village street. 
 
 And still the bell kept tolling on, 
 
 What can it mean said lie ; 
 I'll softly walk around the church, 
 
 It shall not frighten mo. 
 
 So crossing o'er the churchyard dark, 
 
 He reached the belfry door, 
 And tlien a fear crept over him 
 
 He had not felt before. 
 
 If I go up tlie belfry stairs 
 
 And find a spirit there, 
 And after me tlic door should close, 
 
 No one my voice would liear. 
 
 Tlien braver thoughts came in his mind, 
 
 This Avill not do said he, 
 I must not let such foolish fears 
 
 Come creeping over me. 
 
 So up the belfry stairs he went. 
 
 With lantern in liis hand, 
 And soon he reached the gallery. 
 
 On wliicli tlie ringers stand. 
 
 There stood the village sexton old, 
 
 Witli bell-rope in his hand, 
 Wlio tolled the bell for rich and potU", 
 
 'I'lie lowlv and the grand.
 
 13 
 
 Halloa ■? said Mr Prim, what now ! 
 
 "What means this noise to-night ? 
 The sexton thought he was a ghost, 
 
 And started back with fright. 
 
 Oh harm me not the sexton cried, 
 
 I'm but a poor old man, 
 I never did von any harm, 
 
 Oh leave me if you can. 
 
 • 
 
 Then down he fell upon his knees, 
 
 Beseeching Mr. Prim. 
 By all the powers in heaven above. 
 
 To go away from him. 
 
 Why Jeremiah Jones said Prim, 
 
 I am no ghost you see, 
 I've been your neighbour forty years, 
 
 Get up and look at me. 
 
 Then Jones got up and looked at Prim, 
 
 Half fearful still to see 
 A spii'it there, in human form, 
 
 So frightened yet was he. 
 
 What brings you to the chui'ch to-night, 
 
 At this unheard of hour ? 
 I'm sure I thought you were the ghost, 
 
 They say is in this tower. 
 
 That's just the very thing said Prim, 
 
 That I was going to say : 
 Why are you tolling here to-night. 
 
 Instead of in the day '? 
 
 WeU, Mr. Prim, I'll teU you why 
 I'm tolling here to-night ;
 
 11 
 
 'I'liougli it wiis vtiy wrong of you 
 To give me sucli a fright. 
 
 Our huly at the mauor house, 
 Has lost lier first-born son, 
 
 He (lied in town a week ago, 
 ^luch honour had lie won. 
 
 And to liis home they're bringing him, 
 
 So that his bones may lie 
 Witliin his own ancestral vault, 
 
 Willi proper dignity. 
 
 'Vhoy ordered me to toll the bell, 
 ^VIlilc his remains pass through 
 
 This parish to his native home. 
 From twelve o'clock till two. 
 
 I'm sorry I disturbed your sleep, 
 
 But this I'll always say. 
 No braver man than Ptter Prim 
 
 Is in our Sovereign's pay. 
 
 -:oo:- 
 
 BEBTIE'S FARTHING. 
 
 1 have, within a little box, 
 
 A very thiy treasure ; 
 And every time I look at it, 
 
 It fills my heart with pleasure. 
 
 'Twas given to mo in purest love, 
 I'm sure you will not doubt it ; 
 
 If for a moment ycni will stay, 
 I'll tell you all about it.
 
 15 
 
 It was one eveuing long ago, 
 My head was aching badly, 
 
 And I upon the sofa lay, 
 I dare say looking sadly. 
 
 My little boy was playing near. 
 
 He was my greatest treasure ; 
 To watch his happy little face 
 Chive me the sweetest pleasure. 
 
 That morning I had given him, 
 
 Dear, tiny little fellow, 
 A bright new farthing for himself. 
 
 Like gold, it looked so yellow. 
 
 He was delighted with the gift, 
 And thought it quite a treasure ; 
 
 And carried it about all day, 
 Admirins; without measiu-e. 
 
 "& 
 
 Now, wdien he sSw me looking sad. 
 How fondly he caressed me, 
 
 And brought me all his infant toys, 
 To try and interest me. 
 
 At last he said, " here, mother, dear, 
 You take my pretty farthing." 
 
 T took the gift, and keep it still, 
 In memoi-y of my darling. 
 
 'Twas not the value of the gift, 
 
 That tilled my heart with pleasure, 
 
 It was the love which prompted him 
 To bring his brightest treasure. 
 
 And give to me what pleased him most, 
 He thought would cheer my sadness, 
 
 He hoped to send my tears away, 
 And nil my heart with gladness.
 
 16 
 
 BATTLE OF LSANDULA. 
 Ziilulaiid, January 22ud, 1879. 
 
 All liouour to our soldiers brave 
 
 Who sloop on AiVic's shore ; 
 
 Thoui,']i crownocl with glory are their uaiiies, 
 
 Their loss we must deplore. 
 
 Surrounded by a countless host 
 Of Zulus tierce and strong, 
 They bcldly rallied round the Hag 
 And faced the mighty throng. 
 
 For English soldiers fear not death, 
 Their colours they'll defend, 
 Though each shall have ten foes to meet. 
 Hell tight them to the end. 
 
 Their guns they used with deadly aim. 
 As on their foes advanced. 
 Yet forward still the Zulus came, 
 Though death around them danced. 
 
 But what could those few soldiers do, 
 With foes on every hand, 
 Each nionunt found the number less 
 Around tluur flag to stand. 
 
 Then with their colours in his hand, 
 True courage in his eye, 
 A gallant officer rode forth 
 To save them or to die. 
 
 Away he wi'ut o'er rugged ground, 
 Pursued by savage foes. 
 Then plunged into the river deep. 
 Its waters o'er him close.
 
 17 
 
 Dismounted in the rapid stream, 
 He battled with tlie wave, 
 Still clinging firmly to the flag, 
 He yet must try to save. 
 
 Another came to help iiim then, 
 A true brave heart had he, 
 He just had safely crossed the stream, 
 Though wounded in the knee. 
 
 ^o' 
 
 He turned his horse, and back he came 
 His comi-ade's task to share, 
 They bravely strove across the stream. 
 Their precious flag to bear. 
 
 On them the Zulus opened fire. 
 And shots on every side 
 Fell thickly round them, as in vain 
 To hold their flag they tried. 
 
 For from their grasp the cruel wave 
 Their colours bore away. 
 And they but reached the rivers bank, 
 Exhausted down to lay. 
 
 And there they met tlieu' cruel fate, 
 For all their strength had fled, 
 Killed by their Zulu enemies, 
 Their comrades found them dead. 
 
 Brave officers ! theu' work was done : 
 Then- noble task was o'er. 
 The colours which they died to save. 
 Were safely brought to shore. 
 
 For in the river they were found, 
 Uimoticed they had lain.
 
 18 
 
 And so tlie twenty-fourth with joy 
 Their colours did regain, 
 
 :oo:- 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 
 
 I saw him sittinj^' on a stone 
 
 Within the clnu-cliyard, sad and lone, 
 
 A weary looking man ; 
 He watched the village children play, 
 As gaily on that summer day 
 
 Among the graves they ran. 
 
 His was a worn and sun-hurnt face. 
 And in his form you still could trace 
 
 The soldier firm and hrave ; 
 He now had come once more to see 
 His early friends, hut Oh ! said he, 
 
 They all are in the grave. 
 
 And I was once a boy like these. 
 
 And played beneath these same old trees, 
 
 As free from care as they ; 
 And yonder is the very spot. 
 Where stood my mother's humble cot : 
 
 Now all have passed away. 
 
 I left my home a youth so gay, 
 And with my regiment went away, 
 
 In foreign lands to fight ; 
 Now none are left to wclct)me me. 
 For all the people here I see, 
 
 Are strangers to my sight.
 
 19 
 
 I loved a gentle village maid, 
 And when I went away, she said 
 
 To me she'd faithful prove ; 
 But Oh ! the sad news news came to me 
 lu far off lands across the sea, 
 
 That death had claimed my love. 
 
 That stile beneath the chestnut tree, 
 Is where she said good bye to me ; 
 
 I seem to see her still, 
 Just as she stood that summer day, 
 And watched me as I went away : 
 
 Till hidden by the mill. 
 
 Full forty years have passed and gone, 
 Since I left home on that bright morn ; 
 
 And now once more I've come 
 To see the dear old place again : 
 But Oh ! it fills my heart with pain, 
 
 To think I have no home. 
 
 But here I'll stay while life shall last. 
 And think o'er all the joys gone past, 
 
 Sweet memories still are they ; 
 Each evening at the sunset hour, 
 I'll sit beneath this leafy bower. 
 
 And watch the closing day. 
 
 I hope in peace my life to end, 
 And then with mother, sister, friend, 
 
 Once more to meet above : 
 Where wars and partings are no more, 
 For all upon that heavenly shore 
 
 Is joy, and peace, and love.
 
 20 
 
 ABEECARNE COLLIERY EXPLOSION, 
 
 September lltli, 1878. 
 
 Hai-k ! wliat is that noise like thunder, 
 Sounding through the peaceful vale ; 
 
 Filling every heart witli terror, 
 ]\Iakiug every face turn pale. 
 
 All around looks calm and peaceful, 
 Autumn sunshine floods the dale ; 
 
 But from every home there rises, 
 Sound of sorrows' bitter wail. 
 
 Out they rush from every cottage, 
 Wives and eliildron pale with fear, 
 
 Down the hillsides swiftly rushing. 
 For the news they dread to hear. 
 
 Husbands, fatliers, brothers, working 
 In that mine so dark and deep ; 
 
 What has happened, are tliey living? 
 Asks eacli one, as loud they weep. 
 
 Clouds of smoke tlie sliaft ascending. 
 For some moments fill the air, 
 
 Telling to the crowd assembled. 
 That a fire is raging there. 
 
 oil ! what anguisli fills each bosom. 
 As they wait in dread suspense ; 
 
 While three noble-hearted miners, 
 Venture down the pit so dense. 
 
 Bravely worked the little party. 
 Searching for their comrades dear;
 
 21 
 
 Sometimes pausing for a moment, 
 Hoping tliey some voice slioukl hear. 
 
 Presently they prove successful, 
 
 Eighty -one they find alive ; 
 And they hring them to the surface. 
 
 Thanking God that they survive. 
 
 But their comrades, oh ! where are they '? 
 
 Near tliree hundred lives are gone, 
 In that dark pit fiercely burning. 
 
 From their wives and children torn. 
 
 God defend tlie helpless orphans, 
 
 And the widow's helper be ; 
 May they find in Thee the comfort, 
 
 All have found who trust in Thee. 
 
 And wlien Christmas bells are ringing. 
 And we meet in circles bright ; 
 
 'With a nice Avarni fire to cheer us, 
 (_)n a cold and wintry night : 
 
 Let us tliink of those bereavi'd, 
 Wlio are mourning while we sing. 
 
 With no father to support thenr, 
 Or nice Christmas presents brhig. 
 
 Let all England try to help them, 
 With a rich and bounteous liand, 
 
 80 that none go unprovided, 
 In our own dear native land. 
 
 -.oo:- 
 
 LILY'S LAST PIC-NIC. 
 
 Lily deai-est ! aj-e you ready. 
 They are v>-aiting at the gate,
 
 22 
 
 And tlie moniiiij; is so lovely, 
 But its j^rowiug ratlier late. 
 
 I am glad you're going with thorn, 
 
 To the pic-nic in the wood ; 
 For you've looked so siidly lately. 
 
 And the trip will do you good. 
 
 And the SAveet flowers of the country, 
 
 Will lefresh you all the way. 
 And hriiig back the faded roses 
 
 To your cheek, so pale to-day. 
 
 This was spoken by a mother. 
 
 To her only darling child ; 
 Who with loving words of comfort. 
 
 Many weary hours beguiled. 
 
 She was anxious that her darling 
 
 Should enjoy a happy day. 
 For her home was in the city. 
 
 And the woods were far away. 
 
 But a kiiul of dread foreboding, 
 
 Would come o'er that mother's heart, 
 
 And she felt as thougli she could not 
 AVitli her daughter hear to part. 
 
 Had some angel whispered to her, 
 That before that day should close, 
 
 Her sweet flower would droop and wither, 
 And in death's cold arms repose. 
 
 Oh ! how loudly would that mother 
 
 Have entreated her to stay ; 
 Nor allowed her child to leaA-e her. 
 
 On that last sad summer's da v.
 
 23 
 
 "With her friends all young and happy, 
 To the Avoods she went that day, 
 
 And their songs and pleasant music. 
 Woke the echoes all the way. 
 
 Brightly gleamed the summer sunshine, 
 And the hills were gay with flowers ; 
 
 While the hirds rang forth a chorus 
 From their green and leafv bowers. 
 
 But no flower in all the woodland, 
 With our Lily could compare ; 
 
 AVith her eyes of blue, so gentle, 
 And her clouds of golden hair. 
 
 As the evening shades were falling, 
 We were walking in a lane ; 
 
 When our Lily's cheeks grew paler, 
 And we saw she was in pain ; 
 
 So with tender arms we bore her, 
 
 To a grassy bank close by ; 
 And amongst the summer flowers : there 
 
 We laid her down to die. 
 
 No more she smiled upon us, for 
 
 Her happy soul had fled ; 
 And the startled ones around her, 
 
 Only looked upon the dead. 
 
 Then we looked at one another, 
 Askino- who the ncAvs could tell 
 
 To the poor bereaved mother. 
 Who we knew loved her so well. 
 
 When we started on that morning, 
 All so full of mirth and joy ;
 
 24 
 
 No one tlion^'lit how dcatli would nict't us. 
 And our luippiuc'srf dobtroy. 
 
 JJcariug off oui" gcutlo Lily, 
 
 Tairest Howcr of lis all, 
 Casting gloom and sadness o'ev us. 
 
 Like a heavy fuucral pall. 
 
 Oil ! she lookod just like an angel, 
 ill licv dress of snowy white ; 
 
 As the soft light fell upon her. 
 On that summer evening hright. 
 
 lu her dross she wore a rose-hud, 
 
 Plucked that morning fresh and gay — 
 
 Now like her it drooped jsiid withered, 
 All its brii!;htness lied awav. 
 
 But our Lily has but left us 
 
 For a brighter home above ; 
 For we know she was rejoicing 
 
 111 hei- heavenly Father's love. 
 
 And though suddenly lie called hei', 
 
 She was ready to obey ; 
 And but passed through doatli's dark portal 
 
 Into everlasting day. 
 
 :oo: 
 
 TILE FOLDED LAMI). 
 
 A littU; liliio eyed iiiaideu 
 Sat by luu- mother's side, 
 
 And listened to the story 
 or how the Saviour died.
 
 811-5 heard with childish wonder, 
 
 That tale of holy love, 
 Which hrought a gracious Saviour, 
 
 Down from the realms above. 
 
 And does He love the children, 
 
 Such tiny ones as me ; 
 Can I go up to heaven. 
 
 One of his huubs to be. 
 
 Her mother answered gently, 
 
 My little girl may be 
 One of the Saviour's cherubs, 
 
 His glorious heaven to see. 
 
 If he sees fit to call her 
 
 While yet a little child ; 
 But, as she spake a sadness 
 
 Came o'er her face so mild, 
 
 She looked upon her darhng, 
 And thought within her heart, 
 
 Oh ! should the Saviour call her, 
 How could 1 bear to part '? 
 
 This world to me without her 
 
 Would like a desert be ; 
 God grant that this my treasure 
 
 May long be spared to me. 
 
 T'was but a few days after, 
 
 A messenger of death 
 Came for her little daughter. 
 
 Who with her latest breath : 
 
 Said, " dont you cry, dear mother, 
 I'm going to the fold ;
 
 20 
 
 'Where Jesus takes tlie little lambs, 
 Just as you've often told ; 
 
 And you nuist come there to me, 
 And walk with me in white, 
 
 All rouud the golden city, 
 Amid the angels bright." 
 
 The tuiy hands were folded, 
 The soft l)lue eyes were closed ; 
 
 Beneath tlic summer flowers 
 Her little form reposed. 
 
 Her spirit lives in heaven, 
 Among the joyous throng. 
 
 Of rausom'd ones in glory. 
 Who sing that glorious song. 
 
 And God has blessed her mother, 
 And healed her Ijroken heart, 
 
 And shown her that in wisdom, 
 She thus was called to part 
 
 With this her earthly treasure. 
 Now stored in heaven above, 
 
 WJiero she may surely follow. 
 Drawn by the cords of love. 
 
 -:oo:- 
 
 THE J5UNCH OF WILD ILOWEKS. 
 
 *>li, lovely flowers, so fresh, so fair, 
 Tiiey speak to me of meadows where 
 1 [ticked them when a cliild ;
 
 27 
 
 Eemmcliug me of tiowery dells, 
 Where cowslips, violets, aud bluebells 
 Grew ill profusiou wild. 
 
 They speak to me of youthful days, 
 When growu too old for chiltlish plays 
 I wandered, book in hand. 
 And read beneath some shad}- tree, 
 With flowers on every side of me. 
 And over all the laud. 
 
 They tell me of the happy morn 
 When they were gathered to adorn, 
 A gentle village bride. 
 As from the church she walked that day 
 All strewn about her path they lay : 
 Scattered on every side. 
 
 They tell me of a grassy mound, 
 Where, but a few feet underground, 
 I burietl one I love ; 
 Upon her grave sweet violets grow. 
 And roses, too, as white as snow. 
 Shaded by trees above. 
 
 Ob wonderful that tiny flowers 
 Should thus recal so many hours 
 Of sadness, or of joy ; 
 xVnd, iiOAv, amid the care and strife 
 Of this dark busy city life, 
 Their fragrance I enjoy. 
 
 They look so innocent and sweet, 
 
 As though they just were come to greet 
 
 Us with a smile ; 
 
 And make us tliuik of woodlands fair, 
 
 Of hill, and dales, and meadows where 
 
 They grow for many a mile.
 
 28 
 WILLI KS PET CAT. 
 
 Pussy is ii. (liirliii.Li: ])ut, 
 111 her co;it of sliiuiiig jet, 
 PuiTiiig in tlie warm suushiiic, 
 AVliiit ii lovely cat is mine. 
 
 Soc ! she answers to my call, 
 Leapiu,!,' from tlio garden -wall ; 
 She shall have some milk and bread. 
 While I gently stroke her head. 
 
 There's a clever cat, now, sec ! 
 She will give her paw to me. 
 ]f 1 say, " pnss, there's a mouse," 
 She will search all round the house. 
 
 Then a quiet watch she'll keep, 
 AVliiie ap[>earing fast asleep, 
 And, when mousey shows his head, 
 Up she jumps and strikes him dead. 
 
 Sometimes on a sunny day. 
 When we'iv out of doors at play 
 She will have a game at hall, 
 In the garden, with us all. 
 
 But one thing puss will not learn, 
 She will not take her proper turn ; 
 Every time she sees lis run. 
 Off she goes to join the fun. 
 
 I'll ti'll you what she did one day, 
 T'will make you laugh, now, J. daresay ; 
 We had a hedge-hog brought to town, 
 To \yy to Icccp the beetles down :
 
 29 
 
 Now, when puss saw the ngly thing, 
 At him she went with such a spring ; 
 Then quick as lightning hack she llew 
 "With such a loud distressing mew. 
 
 Then from the hedgehog walked away, 
 His prickly coat had won the day ; 
 The lesson puss in memory keeps, 
 And looks always hefore she leaps. 
 
 ■:oo:- 
 
 THE FADED FLOWEES. 
 
 The stream was swift, and broad, and deep, 
 Its banks were steep and high ; 
 
 Yet near it sat a child asleep. 
 Unheeding danger nigh. 
 
 "Within each hand he held a flower, 
 
 A hunch was in his hat ; 
 And there beneath a shady bower. 
 
 Among the flowers he sat. 
 
 His little head had drooped aside, 
 
 And rested near a tree ; 
 As from the bridge his form I spied, 
 
 A picture fair was he. 
 
 Just then he woke — there was no chance 
 
 To save him e're he fell ; 
 I saw his danger at a glance, 
 
 My feelings, who can tell ?
 
 80 
 
 Down the steep bank he quickly rolletl 
 
 Into the stream so deep, 
 And sank beneath tlic waters cold; 
 
 The siglit it made me weep. 
 
 Ho was his niDthor's only boy, 
 
 No other child had she ; 
 Oh cruel fate ! to thus destroy 
 
 Her child so suddenly. 
 
 "When next I saw that little child, 
 
 T'was in his coffin small, 
 And in each hand he held a flower, 
 
 Though faded were they all. 
 
 I Imew they were the daisies white, 
 
 And buttercups so gay, 
 Which he had ])luckcd beside the stream. 
 
 On that sad fatal da3^ 
 
 Dear little one, his infant life 
 Had passed like summer flowers, 
 
 And we are left to mourn his loss. 
 Through many weary hours. 
 
 -:oo:- 
 
 THE TWO HOMES— RICH AND POOE. 
 
 A lady sat in her parlour warm, 
 One cold and frosty day. 
 
 Surrounded by a youthful band 
 Of children bright and gay.
 
 81 
 
 Oh look mamma ? the lovelj' snow 
 
 Is over all the ground ; 
 And we can skate upon tlie pond, 
 
 The ice is hard and sound. 
 
 So off they went, those children fair, 
 Wrapt in their furs so warm, 
 
 They quite enjoy 'd the wintry cold, 
 For them it had a charm. 
 
 At home they had a well- spread board, 
 
 A pleasant cheerful fire. 
 And every comfort wealth could grant, 
 
 No more could they desire. 
 
 The wintry winds might howl and blow. 
 And shake the trees around ; 
 
 And fields be covered white with snow, 
 All frozen on the ground ; 
 
 It only gave them pleasures new, 
 
 To view a scene so fair ; 
 And watch the snow-flakes as they came 
 
 All dancing through the air. 
 
 And m their warm Avell-lighted room. 
 
 The evening passed so gay, 
 They often wished that winter-time 
 
 Could with them longer stay. 
 
 Oh ! life to them was bright indeed. 
 With riches, health, and friends ; 
 
 The misery they little knew, 
 Which povert}' attends. 
 
 Not half a mile from where they lived, 
 A woman young and fau',
 
 82 
 
 Rat ill licr garret-room so sad, 
 No tire to warm her there. 
 
 Two little ones were nestled close 
 
 Beside her .ti^arineuts old ; 
 Poor mother ! little warmth was there 
 
 To shield tiiem from the cold. 
 
 Their little faces looked so sad, 
 No childish mirth was there ; 
 
 But hungry now tliey cried for hread, 
 Their cries she scarce could hear. 
 
 Oh ! hush, my darlings, wait awhile— 
 P'raps father soon will come ; 
 
 If he hut gets a loaf of bread, 
 I'm sure he'll luirry home. 
 
 And as she spoke, the wintry hlast 
 Swept o'er the casement old, 
 
 And through the broken panes of glass, 
 It came with piercing cold. 
 
 Oh ! mother look, the dreadful snow 
 
 Is coming in again ; 
 It c:ime so cold ujion my head. 
 
 Through that old broken pane. 
 
 The father came at last, said he, — 
 I've walked tlie country round. 
 
 But not the smallest bit of Avork, 
 Can there for me be found. 
 
 Thank God! I've got a loaf of bread, 
 
 'Twas given me to-day. 
 For helping for an liour or two. 
 
 To clear the snow away.
 
 33 
 
 Tliey gave me too, this cau of milk, 
 
 'Twill do the children good ; 
 And see, l"ve gathered 'neath the trees 
 
 Some hits of hroken wood. 
 
 Poor souls how thankful thus were they, 
 
 This Immhle meal to share ; 
 Not knowing whence the next would come, 
 
 But offering up a in-ayer — 
 
 That God would take the snow away, 
 And send some warmer weather ; 
 
 That they might earn their daily bread, 
 And keep a home together. 
 
 -0:0: 
 
 CHRISTMAS MORNING, 1878. 
 
 Christmas, merry Christmas time. 
 Comes again to cheer us, 
 
 Sw^eetly peals the morning chime. 
 From the church hells near us, 
 
 Merry, happy ! Christmas hells, 
 Joyful news your music tells. 
 
 As I listen to your song, 
 
 Memories soft come o'er me ; 
 
 Christmas days gone past so long, 
 Seem to come before me ; 
 
 And again dear friends I see. 
 
 Who have passed away from me. 
 
 C
 
 111 my youtliful, happy houio, 
 
 Cluistmns day ^vus jolly ! 
 In our pleasant sitting room, 
 
 Gaily dcckcfl with holly ; 
 None so happy then as we — 
 
 One luiited family. 
 
 But how swiftly pass the years, 
 Youtliful friends where are they ? 
 
 Some have left this vale of tears. 
 For a home i)i glory ; 
 
 Many in a foreign clime, 
 
 Think of us this Christmas time. 
 
 Many on this festive day, 
 
 Meet around the table, 
 Who instead of colours gay. 
 
 Now are dressed in sable ; 
 And they drop a silent tear. 
 
 As they view the vacant chair. 
 
 Homes are desolate and sad, 
 ^Yhere last Christmas morning. 
 
 Every one with voice so glad 
 Hailed the earliest dawning ; 
 
 Heath has been throughout our laud, 
 "With unsparing cruel hand. 
 
 Casting sad and solemn gloom 
 
 O'er our Koyal Palace, 
 Taking to her heavenly home, 
 
 Much-loved Princess Alice ; 
 Christmas bells will fail to cheer 
 
 Those wlio mourn tlicir friends so dear. 
 
 Let us thru with grateful licart. 
 Thank our heavculv Father,
 
 35 
 
 That we've uot been called to part 
 With our friends but rather — 
 
 This year brings us many more 
 Than we ever had before. 
 
 :uo: 
 
 TELL MOTHER! 
 
 (A touchiug incident in the Zulu War.) 
 
 Tell mother ! that was all he said, 
 
 As from his horse he fell : 
 For death so (|uickly sealed his lips, 
 
 Before he more could tell. 
 
 Tell motlier ! Ah what could they tell, 
 
 Jjut that her son was dead ; 
 That on the battle-field he fell. 
 
 And for his country bled. 
 
 Tell mother, that he thought of her, 
 
 His truest friend and best ; 
 .\nd though but two small words w'ere said, 
 
 We know she'll guess the rest. 
 
 Tell mother he had hoped to live. 
 
 To see her face once more. 
 And Ining lier home some treasure rare, 
 
 Fi'om off a foreign shore. 
 
 Tell mother that her loving words 
 
 Of counsel good and kind. 
 Though told to him so long ago, 
 
 Were ever kept in mind.
 
 86 
 
 'r.ll luotlipr that wlieu battles raged, 
 And linstilc Iocs wt'iv lii<;li. 
 
 Her son euiild like a soldier light, 
 And like a christian die. 
 
 'rill mother that in heaven above. 
 She'll meet again her boy ; 
 
 United in eternal love, 
 And everlasting joy. 
 
 :oo: 
 
 Tin: CONVICT'S WIFE. 
 
 'Twas on a wintry day, 
 
 Fierce blew the wind and cold ; 
 A woman paced the street, 
 
 in garments mean and old. 
 Her face was pale an 1 worn 
 
 "With anguish, grief, and fear; 
 As hastily slit; wipe.l 
 
 Away the fulling tear. 
 
 W'lial is she waiting for ; 
 
 ( )h ! sad the news to tell, 
 Jler hn-^bandis confined 
 
 W'itiiin that prison cell ; 
 For many years she's wept 
 
 And prayed to God for him ; 
 And yet what is he now, 
 
 \ felon steeped in sin. 
 
 How gloomy look the walls 
 C)f stone so rough and liard :
 
 87 
 
 Fit dwelling place for those, 
 
 Whose crimes have thus deharred 
 
 Them, from associating 
 AVith their fellow-men ; 
 
 And shut them up within 
 That stony prison den. 
 
 And now a little crowd 
 
 Assemble at the door, 
 An anxious looking crowd, 
 
 And mostly mean and poor ; 
 She sees them enter yet, 
 
 She walks on down the street 
 In constant dread, lest she 
 
 Some well-known face shall meet. 
 
 Just then, as though to mock 
 
 Her heart so full of care, 
 A merry peal of hells 
 
 Burst forth, and filled the air 
 With melody, Avhich made 
 
 Her think of happier times, 
 Before licr life was sad, 
 
 All through her husband's crimes. 
 
 At last she ventures in, 
 
 And takes a sad farewell 
 Of him M^ho still she loves, 
 
 Though in a prison cell : 
 Though all the world despise 
 
 Him, still there's one true heart 
 Mom-ns o'er his sins — yet in 
 
 His sorrow bears a part. 
 
 He looks upon her face. 
 So weary and so worn ;
 
 88 
 
 He tliinks of all the past, 
 Tlie troubles ahe has borne ; 
 
 Picpcntance comes too late, 
 Stern justice claims him now ; 
 
 He l)0};s'her to foru;ive, 
 
 And takes a solemn vow — 
 
 Wlion Rcvon long years are past, 
 
 I'll lead a bettor life, 
 I'll never grieve you more, 
 
 My own dear faithful wife ; 
 Hope on, and pray for me 
 
 AN'lien 1 am far away, 
 I promise you, I Avill 
 
 Retorm from this sad day. 
 
 And so ilicy parted, ne'er 
 
 On eartli to moot again ; 
 Sadly she sought her home. 
 
 Her heart was full of pain ; 
 Her darling child was there, 
 
 Her one hriglit earthly joy. 
 The only comfort left 
 
 "Was this, her infant hoy. 
 
 Wliy do you weep so much — 
 
 Dear mother, tell mo wliy ? 
 Is father ill, or dead, 
 
 That you so often cry '? 
 Oh no, my child, hut for 
 
 A time he's <^one away, 
 From foreign lands he will 
 
 Return to you some day. 
 
 When he comes home again. 
 Just toll liim wIkiI T sav ;
 
 89 
 
 God's angels have been down, 
 
 To caiT}' me away, 
 To that bright home above, 
 
 Where he's to follow me, 
 To lead a happier life 
 
 I'han this can ever he. 
 
 And so she passed awa}^ 
 
 Poor broken-hearted wife, 
 And left her orphan boy, 
 
 Amid this world of strife ; 
 She prayed that God would take 
 
 Her boy beneath His care. 
 And guide lis steps aright — 
 
 And God has heard her prayer. 
 
 "When many years had passed, 
 
 Sad bitter tears were shed, 
 By he who once again 
 
 Keturned to find her dead ; 
 Upon her grave he Imelt, 
 
 And humbly prayed to God, 
 That when he too should be 
 
 Beneath that same green sod ; 
 
 His spirit washed in Christ 
 
 Our Saviour's blood, might rise 
 
 To meet his long lost wife. 
 In heaven above the skies. 
 
 -:oo: 
 
 THE MOUENEE'S PEAYEE. 
 
 'Twas evening, and the summer sun 
 Was sinking in the west ;
 
 40 
 
 As after walking many n mile, 
 I sat me down to rest. 
 
 Around me lay the quiet dead, 
 
 In ]>('iicf'rnl calm roi)oso, 
 Unconcious now of" earthly joys. 
 Untrouhled hy its woes. 
 
 The summer flowers around me grew, 
 
 On many a grassy mom id. 
 And as tlio dew fell on them, shed 
 
 Their fragrance all around. 
 
 And from the village chnrcli close hy 
 Kang forth the evening chimes; 
 
 I thought how those now sleeping there. 
 Had heard them many times. 
 
 For that old ivy mantled church 
 
 Has stood a hundred years ; 
 And witnessed many a joyful hride, 
 
 And many a mourner's tears. 
 
 As I sat musing o'er llie past, 
 
 A childish voice close hy, 
 Said : mother ! which is grandma's grave ? 
 
 Dear mother, don't you cry. 
 
 I looked around, a heautious child. 
 
 Was hy his mother led, 
 With gentle footsteps, o'er the graves 
 
 Where slept the silent dead. 
 
 'Tis here beneath this stone, my child, 
 That your dear grandma lies ; 
 
 But thougli her body's buried here, 
 yhe lives beyond the skies.
 
 41 
 
 Her happy spirit lives in heaven, 
 That home of joy and love ; 
 
 I seem to hear her calling us, 
 To follow her ahove. 
 
 Come ! let us kneel upon her grave, 
 
 And offer up a prayer, 
 That God may guide our steps ariglit, 
 
 That we may meet her there. 
 
 They knelt, the mother and the child : 
 
 I listened to their prayer, 
 As slowly came the solemn words. 
 
 Upon the evening air. 
 
 Oh God ! look down upon my child, 
 And draw his heart to thee. 
 
 And make him holy, kind, and good, 
 As thou woukVst have him be. 
 
 May I his footsteps guide aright, 
 As mine in youth were led, 
 
 By her who now beneath this stone, 
 Is sleeping with the dead. 
 
 Though bitterly we mourn our loss, 
 Yet help us with thy love. 
 
 And fit us for a holier life, 
 With her in heaven above. 
 
 They rose, the mother and the child, 
 They had not seen me there ; 
 
 jMv memoi-y long will keep in mind, 
 That simple evening prayer.
 
 42 
 THE SOLDIELS' FAREWELL. ' 
 
 (On til. ir (Icpnvtnrc fnnu Portsmontli, for Znlnlaiul.) 
 
 I saw them stni t ! a bravo aud noLle band 
 Of soldiers, wlio wore bound for Zululand ; 
 Kv^ht bi-avoly went they forth to meet the foe ; 
 "\"\ "here duty called, thoyworo pri'})ared to go. 
 
 Yet 'twas a sight wliioli touched my heart, to sec 
 Tho dour ones left l)eliiiid, grieving so bitterly ; 
 The soldiers turned to hid one last fareAvell ; 
 AVill f'ci- llioy ]neet agaui "? Ali, wl)o can tell ? 
 
 The crowds were cheering as they passed along, 
 And baiids of music ])hiyod a lively song ; 
 Yet, as tho soldiers thouglit of tliose so dear, 
 Down many a sunburnt face there rolled a tear. 
 
 And did that tear disgrace the soldier, no ! 
 Within ]iis bosom gentle feelings flow ; 
 Though to the world he is the soldier brave, 
 Pu-ady to die, his native land to save. 
 
 Yet in his homo, with h:thy on his knee 
 So gentle and so kind, a father he ; 
 A loviug husband too, his greatest pride 
 Is she, who once became his early bride. 
 
 But now the soldier and his wife must part. 
 And children who are dearer to his heart 
 Than all Die world : must say n sad good-bye 
 T<» liini. who now departs perhaps to die.
 
 43 
 NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFOEE. 
 
 Where the purple violets grow, 
 
 'Neath the drooping- Avillow tree, 
 They have laid my darling low, 
 
 Hidden from the world and me. 
 Birds as sweetly sing to-day, 
 
 In the sunshine hright and warm. 
 But I don't enjoy their lay : 
 
 Now their music fails to charm. 
 
 How he loved the hirds and flowei-s ; 
 
 Yet he's gone from tiiem, and me, 
 And the sad and lonely hours, 
 
 Pass av/ay most wearily. 
 Often on a summer's eve, 
 
 When the sun sinks in the west. 
 Far hehind the town, I leave 
 
 For that place of quiet rest. 
 
 Thougli his form I cannot see, 
 
 Yet I feel his ])rescnce there ; 
 Angels' voices seem to he 
 
 Gently floating- in the air ; 
 And they seem to say to me, 
 
 "Weeping mourner dry tliy tears. 
 He's from sin and sorrow free. 
 
 Free from all life's earthly cares. 
 
 In a brighter, happier land, 
 He is waiting now for tliee ; 
 
 And our hofivenly Father's hand 
 Shall support and strengthen tlieo
 
 44 
 
 Wlion life's many triids are o'er, 
 And thy eartlily work is done. 
 
 Safe upon tlie licavenly shore, 
 
 'I'hou slialt meet thv inuch-h)vc(l one. 
 
 -;oo;- 
 
 A PEDLAR'S PERPLEXITIES. 
 
 If you will listen. I will tell, 
 Some of tlio tronliles which hefel 
 
 Me in this wurld of strife ; 
 I used to work, like other men, 
 Until a sad misfoi'tune, when 
 
 I nearly lost my life. 
 
 And when a.c^ain 1 walked ahout, 
 I found tluit I nuist do without 
 
 One poor disabled hand ; 
 So to my work I could not go. 
 But sadl}' wandered to and fro, 
 
 An idler in the land. 
 
 At last a ]ieiglil)oin' said to me ; 
 Why, Jem ! if J were you J 'd be 
 
 A Pedlar, and go round 
 And try and sell some little thing. 
 Which would to you some profit bring- 
 
 I'll start you with a pound. 
 
 At first I thought I could not go, 
 My comrades all would chaff me so. 
 To see me with a i)ack ;
 
 45 
 
 But wiser tlioiights came in niv head, 
 So off upou the road I sped, 
 My goods upon my hack. 
 
 Away I went for many a mile. 
 
 And trudged along in first-rate style, 
 
 Until I came to wdiere 
 The people were all strange to me. 
 And in the crowd I failed to see, 
 
 A soul who knew me there. 
 
 And when I first began to sell. 
 The people used me very well, 
 
 My goods they kindly bought. 
 And soon, accustomed to the trade, 
 I found a living could be made 
 
 By working as I ought. 
 
 But even in a Pedlar's life, 
 Things will occur to stir up strife, 
 
 Though trifles they may seem ; 
 For instance, on a washing day, 
 When all the men are best away, 
 
 It rains down r[uite a stream. 
 
 Then in the house I'm forced to stay, 
 If baby's cross, I have to play 
 
 The nurse as best I can. 
 Oh ! could you hear that baby cry. 
 You'd say he was enough to try 
 
 The nerves of any man. 
 
 One morning, in the winter time, 
 My wife said, Jem, its half-past nine, 
 
 And we no coals have got ; 
 The man won't come this Avay to-daj', 
 The snow has blocked up all the way. 
 
 You'll fetch some, will you not ?
 
 46 
 
 Sit lakiii;^ ;ui old carpi't-ba^s 
 Away I went soiui; coals to dnig, 
 
 i'ull liall' a milt' or more : 
 It was a dark and to^'gy day, 
 TJiL' i)aYomeiit slip[)i'ry all thu ^vay, 
 
 I wished 1 was uot poor. 
 
 For if with riches I were blest, 
 In wiuter tuiie I'd take a rest, 
 
 And snug at home remain. 
 Ami then my cellar I would till, 
 W itii coals and wood to last mc till 
 
 The siunmer came again. 
 
 Now, as 1 was returning home, 
 Just hy a station 1 had come. 
 
 \\ Jiere policemen sit in state ; 
 ( h- idly wander in iind out, 
 hn[)orlant, turn, and look about — 
 
 As tor a charge they wait. 
 
 Then up to me there came a man. 
 Who said, allow me just to scan 
 
 The contents of that bag ; 
 1 a.^ked him what on earth he meant ! 
 He said I'm a detective sent 
 
 To search that heavy bag. 
 
 i said, well, now I'll tell you what, 
 1 strongly would advise you not 
 
 'J'o carry this too far ; 
 A friendly joke is very well, 
 JJut what's in there 1 will not tell 
 
 Detective though you are.
 
 47 
 
 With tliut he said, m elh come with 1113 
 Into the station aiul we'll see, 
 
 If you're a thief or not ; 
 Some heavy ])late av:is lost last uight, 
 And if what I suspect is right, 
 
 That's just what you have got. 
 
 i^o in he went with bag in hand. 
 And soon he made them understand 
 
 This most important news ; 
 That he had met me in the road, 
 With this suspicious-looking load, 
 
 Just down beyond the mews. 
 
 The grave Inspector then began, 
 1 order you at once young man 
 
 To let the Policeman see 
 "What you have got within that liag, 
 80 heavy 3'ou can scarcely drag 
 
 Along the road I sec. 
 
 Well, sir, said 1, you'll understand 
 That as I have but one strong hand, 
 
 It is a load for me ; 
 But most of it will end in smoke, 
 The truth it is which J have spoke, 
 
 And that you'll quickly see. 
 
 So then the bag I opened wide. 
 And when the contents he espied 
 
 You should have seen his look ; 
 The policeman too who brought me in, 
 Thinking perhaps a prize to win 
 
 His burglar quite mistook.
 
 48 
 
 lUii lor liimsell' he'd made a name, 
 And to this day he's called tlie same, 
 
 By aJl the men in hhie ; 
 And Avlion I clianc to jjass tliat way, 
 i'oor Coaley looks another way, 
 
 And wishes I would too. 
 
 But time would fail were I to dwell 
 lipon my troubles, or to tell 
 
 One half to you to-day. 
 So if you please, another time 
 I'll put some more of them in rhyme, 
 
 And farewell ! now 1 say. 
 
 -:oo:- 
 
 MV GKAND.MUTIIEUS IlNKltAL. 
 
 1 stood within a villa^'e tdnirch, 
 One bright day in September. 
 
 'J'he feelings 1 experiojiced then, 
 J ever shall remember. 
 
 For death had claimed my dearest friend, 
 
 I came her funeral to attend. 
 
 Oh. it was sad: she died alone, 
 \o sou or daughter near her ; 
 
 Kind, loving words I'm sure she said, 
 Though none of us could hear her. 
 
 For wc were very far away. 
 
 And knew not that bhe dying lay.
 
 49 
 
 The cliurch was gaily decked with flowers, 
 They seemed to mock my sorrow ; 
 
 The harvest festival was near, 
 It would he held to-morrow. 
 
 Though all around looked gay and bright, 
 
 Mv heart within felt dark as night, 
 
 I looked around the dear old church, 
 And thought of much-loved faces 
 
 I used to see so long ago 
 In those now vacant places. 
 
 And now the last and best of all 
 
 Lay cold beneath her funeral pall. 
 
 She was so pleasant, kind, and good, 
 
 So gentle and true-hearted ; 
 I'll think of her with fondest love, 
 
 Tho' for a while we're parted. 
 One day we both shaU meet again. 
 Far from this world of care and pain. 
 
 And so we laid her in the grave, 
 
 Where nothuig more could grieve her ; 
 
 And with sad hearts we came away. 
 When we were forced to leave her. 
 
 That quiet spot is dear to me, 
 
 Beneath the mournful cypress tree. 
 
 -:oo:- 
 
 MEMOEIES OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Happy, happy childliood's hours ! 
 Sweet their memory is to me,
 
 60 
 
 When 'mid sweetly scented flowers, 
 
 'Neath the shade of some green tree, 
 I cni;ld road, or siuf?, or play. 
 All the long hright summer day. 
 
 And when wintry winds hlew cold, 
 All around our cottage home. 
 
 Father pleasant stories told 
 
 In our parlour snug and warm, 
 
 As around the tire wo sat, 
 
 All engaged in pleasant chat. 
 
 Mother, in her easy chair, 
 
 . Looked so happy, calm, and hright. 
 In my memory still she's tlicro. 
 As" she sat that winter's night, 
 Looking down with smile so sweet 
 On we children at her feet. 
 
 Darling little sister NeU 
 
 Was my greatest treasure then. 
 How I loved her none can tell, 
 
 Nor the sorrow I felt when 
 Childhood's days had passed away. 
 And there came a parting day. 
 
 Many years have passed away 
 
 Since I saw my childhood's home ; 
 
 But my memory still retains, 
 All its joys wherein to roam. 
 
 Pleasant thought it hrings to me 
 
 Amid life's rough and troubled sea. 
 
 :oo:-
 
 61 
 
 ACROSTIC. 
 
 Mother, thy name is dear to me. 
 Oh ! how I love to think of thee. 
 Thy gentle, loving, patient care 
 Hath followed nie from year to year. 
 Ever thy tender love shall be 
 Eemembered and returned by me. 
 
 -:oo:- 
 
 A WIFE'S LAMENT. 
 
 Mother, is thy gentle spirit 
 
 AVatchiug o'er thy child to-night ; 
 
 Canst thou see me, sad and weary, 
 Waiting for the morning light. 
 
 He, who once so kind and tender, 
 Took me for his loving Avife. 
 
 Promised at God's holy altar, 
 I should be his own for life. 
 
 Now has left me cold and hungry, 
 On this bitter wintry night, 
 
 While he sports with gay companions, 
 Sometimes until morning light. 
 
 For a few years we were happy ; 
 
 Home was bright as summer morn, 
 And with joy we hailed the advent. 
 
 Of our boy — our dear first-born.
 
 52 
 
 Soon, dciir motlu'r, tliou wast taken, 
 
 To the home of God above ; 
 And we missed thee from our circle, 
 
 "Whore we lived hi truest love. 
 
 Often liave we sat together, 
 
 By our fireside, warm and snug, 
 With our little baby playing 
 
 At our feet upon the rug. 
 
 And thy chair has stood beside us, 
 
 Where thou always used to sit, 
 Witli tlie cover hanging o'er it, 
 
 Whicli 1 saw thy lingers knit. 
 
 And together we did mourn thee, 
 
 And to comfort me he tried. 
 As, with tender hand he wiped away 
 
 The tears I could not hide. 
 
 Oh, could any one have told me, 
 
 In those early, happy days, 
 That strong drink could so have changed him, 
 
 From all good and noble ways. 
 
 But when once it had ensnared him, 
 
 Like a slave it bound him fast ; 
 Wife and child were both neglected. 
 
 All then" happiness gone past. 
 
 Just a year ago this Christmas — ■ 
 
 Yes, 'twas on this very night, 
 That our little boy was taken, 
 
 liome to join the angels bright. 
 
 All night long T sat and watched him, 
 With his tuiy hand in mine.
 
 58 
 
 And the peaceful joy of heaven, 
 Seemed arouud his face to shine. 
 
 And I thought of thee, dear mother, 
 Who so soon wouki meet my boy, 
 
 'Mid fair scenes of untold glory. 
 And eternal, endless joy. 
 
 And to-night, as I sit lonely. 
 Thinking of the troubled past. 
 
 Praying God to save my husband 
 From the drunkard's end at last. 
 
 Seems to me I feel thy presence. 
 And thy voice I seem to hear, 
 
 Speaking words of hope and comfort. 
 To thy weeping child so dear. 
 
 Very soon I hope to join thee, 
 
 With my little one above, 
 Evermore to be united 
 
 In eternal bonds of love. 
 
 -:oo:- 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 PEINCE IMPEKIAL, 
 
 Killed in Zululaud, June, 1879. 
 
 Let England mourn with sorrow dee^), 
 For him who now has passed away ; 
 
 A Prince was he for whom we weep. 
 Beloved, though short on earth his stay.
 
 54 
 
 Eventful was Li8 youthful life, 
 
 An exile from his native land ; 
 He joined our forces in tlie strife, 
 
 Against our foes Avith us to stand. 
 
 Fierce was the war through which he came, 
 For refuge to Old England's shore ; 
 
 And long shall he be known to fame. 
 Though wo shall see his face no more. 
 
 A l>riglit and joyous youth was he, 
 Who volunteered with courage bold 
 
 To face the Zulu enemy, 
 
 And with our men his name enrolled. 
 
 His widowed mother's only son, 
 More dear to her than all beside ; 
 
 Esteemed and loved by every one, 
 Was he who in our cause has died. 
 
 And who can tell the bitter grief 
 
 Which fills that lloyal Mother's heart ; 
 
 Her sorrow is beyond relief, 
 
 Though gladly we would bear a part. 
 
 She now her last fond hope has lost, 
 Her throne, her Juisband, all are gone : 
 
 Of friends, she has a mighty host, 
 Yet "mid them all she feels alone. 
 
 Alone, beside two vacant chairs. 
 
 Where those she loved were used to kneel, 
 And with iier ttffer up their prayers ; 
 
 Oh ! what must that dear mourner feel. 
 
 The sou who knelt so many years 
 Ueside her at tliat holy shrine,
 
 66 
 
 Has left her in this vale of tears 
 Alone, to seek the aid divme. . 
 
 But England long will honour one, 
 
 Whose virtues shine forth pure and hright ; 
 She'll moiirn for her adopted son, 
 
 To memory dear, tho' lost to sight. 
 
 We sympathise with heartfelt grief, 
 
 With her who claims our tenderest care ; 
 
 Whose joys in life have heen so hrief : 
 Whose trials have multiplied each year. 
 
 And as we think of her, we'll pray 
 That God will comfort and sustain 
 
 Her through this dark and di'eary day, 
 And shed on her some light again. 
 
 God grant her strength to look above, 
 And find pure consolation there ; 
 
 And show her all was done in love, 
 By him who hears a mourner's prayer.
 
 INDEX 
 
 PAOE. 
 
 Loss of the " Princess Alice " 5 
 
 Denth of H. R. n. Princess Alice 7 
 
 A Plea for the Miner 9 
 
 The Belfrey Ghost 11 
 
 Bertie's Farthing 14 
 
 Battle of Isamliila 16 
 
 The Solilier's Return 18 
 
 Abercai-ne Colliery Explosion 20 
 
 Lily's Last Pic-uie 21 
 
 The Folded Lamb 24 
 
 The Bunch of Wild Flowers 2G 
 
 Willie's Pet Cat 28 
 
 The Faded Flowers 29 
 
 The Two Homes— Rich and Poor 30 
 
 Christmas IMorning, 1878 33 
 
 Tell Mother 35 
 
 The Convict's Wife '36 
 
 The Mourner's Prayer 39 
 
 The Soldiers' Farewell 42 
 
 Not Lost, hut Gone Before 43 
 
 A Pedlar's Perplexities 44 
 
 My Grandmother's Funeral 48 
 
 Memories of Cliildhood 49 
 
 Acrostic 51 
 
 A Wife's Lament 51 
 
 In ^Nlemoriam — Prince Imperial 53
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stam >ed below 
 
 2«i-6,'52(A1855)470
 
 AmrnLci ninutK 
 
 — ^Z Syrocuse, N. Y. 
 
 ^3^3 Stockfon, Colif. 
 
 ,,y,;;,i>UUTHERfjREGIOrjAL 
 
 LIBR 
 
 AA 000 367 02 
 
 PR 
 
 5703 
 
 V235h