What humanity is robb'd of,
Ne'er to be restored again?

What we lose, because we honour
Overmuch the mighty dead,

And dispirit

Living merit,

Heaping scorn upon its head?

Or perchance, when kinder grown,
Leaving it to die-alone?

CHARLES MACKAY.

THE BACHELOR'S COMPLAINT.

RETURNING home at close of day,
Who gently chides my long delay,
And by my side delights to stay?

-Nobody!

Who wheels about the easy chair,
Sets out the room with neatest care,
And lays my slippers ready there ?

-Nobody!

Who regulates the cheerful fire,

Who piles the blazing fuel higher,

And bids me draw my chair still nigher?

-Nobody!

When plunged in dire and deep distress,
And anxious cares my heart oppress,

Who whispers hopes of happiness?

-Nobody!

When anxious thoughts within me rise,
In sore dismay my spirit dies,

Who soothes me with her kind replies?
-Nobody!

When sickness racks my feeble frame,
And grief distracts my fevered brain,
Who sympathises with my pain?

-Nobody!

Then I'll resolve, so help me fate,
To change at once the single state,
And will to Hymen's Altar take-

SOMEBODY!

ANONYMOUS.

THE HUSBAND'S SONG.

RAINY and rough sets the day,

There's a heart beating for somebody;

I must be up and away,

Somebody's waiting for somebody.

Thrice hath she been to the gate,

Thrice hath she listened for somebody; 'Midst the night stormy and late,

Somebody's anxious for somebody!

There'll be a comforting fire,-
There'll be a welcome for somebody;
One, in her neatest attire,

Will look to the table for somebody.
Though the star's fled from the west,
There is a star yet for somebody,
Lighting the home he loves best,-
Warming the bosom of somebody.

There'll be a coat o'er the chair,

There will be slippers for somebody,There'll be a wife's tender care,—

Love's fond embracement for somebody: There'll be the little one's charms,— Soon 'twill be waken'd for somebody: When I have both in my arms, Oh! but how blest will be somebody!

CHAS. SWAIN.

FATHER WILLIAM.

You are old, father William," the young man cried,

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The few locks which are left you are grey;

You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man ;
Now tell me the reason, I pray? ?"

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remember'd that youth would fly fast,

And abused not my health and my vigour at first,
That I never might need them at last."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And pleasures with youth pass away,

And yet you lament not the days that are gone ;
Now tell me the reason, I pray?

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied,

I remembered that youth could not last ;

I thought of the future, whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried,

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And life must be hastening away :

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death;

Now tell me the reason, I pray?"

"I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied, “Let the cause thy attention engage;

In the days of my youth I remember'd my God;
And He hath not forgotten my age!"

THE THREE SONS.

SOUTHEY.

I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old, With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle mould;

They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears, That my child is grave and wise of head, beyond his childish years.

I cannot say how this may be, I know his face is fair, And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious

air:

I know his heart is kind and fond, I know he loveth me ; And loveth yet his mother more with grateful fervency. But that which others most admire is the thought that fills his mind,

The food for grave inquiring speech he every where doth find.

Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we together

walk;