"He was a strong, strong swimmer. Do you know, When the wind whistled yesternight, I cried, And prayed to God, -though 'twas so long ago,He did not struggle much before he died. "'Twas his third voyage. brought, That's the box he Or would have brought-my poor deserted boy! And these the words the agents sent thought they That money, perhaps, could make my loss a joy. "Look, sir, I've something here that I prize more: This is a fragment of the poor lad's coat, That other clutched him as the wave went o'er, And this stayed in his hand. That's what they wrote. "Well, well, 'tis done. My story's shocking you; Grief is for them that have both time and wealth: BEFORE THE CURTAIN. "MISS PEACOCK's called.” And who demurs ? Not I who write, for certain; If praise be due, one sure prefers That some such face as fresh as hers And yet, most strange to say, I find The pleased young premier led her on, Where is "Sir Lumley Leycester, Bart."? That man may have a kindly heart, Where is the cool Detective, - he The Lawyer, who refused the fee? The Wedding Guests (in number three)?— Why are they all defrauded? The men who worked the cataract? Think what a crowd whom none recall, Unsung, unpraised, — unpitied; Women for whom no bouquets fall, And men whose names no galleries bawl, The Great un Benefit-ed! Ah, Reader, ere you turn the page, I leave you this for Moral: Remember those who tread Life's stage And ne'er a leaf for laurel ! - A NIGHTINGALE IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. THEY paused, the cripple in the chair, More bent with pain than age; The mother with her lines of care; The many-buttoned page; The noisy, red-cheeked nursery-maid, The Frenchman with his frogs and braid; If possible, the small, dusk bird Had poured the joyous chant they heard, So suddenly, but now. And one poor POET stopped and thought How many a lonely lay That bird had sung ere fortune brought It near the common way, |