Like one that loved him: and the lad

stretch'd out

And babbled for the golden seal, that hung From Allan's watch, and sparkled by the fire.

Then they came in: but when the boy beheld

His mother, he cried out to come to her:
And Allan set him down, and Mary said:

"O Father!—if you let me call you so— I never came a-begging for myself,

Or William, or this child; but now I come For Dora: take her back; she loves you well.

O Sir, when William died, he died at peace
With all men; for I ask'd him, and he said,
He could not ever rue his marrying me-
I had been a patient wife: but, Sir, he said
That he was wrong to cross his father thus:

'God bless him!' he said, and may he

never know

The troubles I have gone thro'!' Then he turn'd

His face and pass'd-unhappy that I am! But now, Sir, let me have my boy, for you' Will make him hard, and he will learn to slight

His father's memory; and take Dora back,' And let all this be as it was before."

So Mary said, and Dora hid her face By Mary. There was silence in the room; And all at once the old man burst in sobs:

"I have been to blame-to blame. I

have kill'd my son.

I have kill'd him-but I loved him--my

dear son.

May God forgive me!—I have been to blame. Kiss me, my children,"

Then they clung about

The old man's neck, and kiss'd him many

times.

And all the man was broken with remorse; And all his love came back a hundredfold; And for three hours he sobb'd o'er William's

child,

Thinking of William.

So those four abode

Within one house together; and as years Went forward, Mary took another mate; But Dora lived unmarried till her death.

A REPORT FROM BELOW!

"Blow high, blow low."-SEA Song.

BY THOMAS HOOD.

As Mister B. and Mistress B.

One night were sitting down to tea,
With toast and muffins hot-

They heard a loud and sudden bounce,
That made the very china flounce,
They could not for a time pronounce
If they were safe or shot-

For Memory brought a deed to match
At Deptford done by night-

Before one eye appeared a Patch,
In t'other eye a Blight!

To be belabour'd out of life,

Without some small attempt at strife,
Our nature will not grovel;

One impulse mov'd both man and dame,

He seized the tongs—she did the

Leaving the ruffian, if he came,

same,

The poker and the shovel.
Suppose the couple standing so,
When rushing footsteps from below
Made pulses fast and fervent,
And first burst in the frantic cat,

All steaming like a brewer's rat,

And then-as white as my cravat-
Poor Mary May, the servant!

Lord, how the couple's teeth did chatter, Master and Mistress both flew at her,

Speak! Fire? or Murder? What's the matter?"