So Mary, the household minstrel, who always loved to please, Sat down to the new "Clementi," and struck the glittering keys. Hushed were the children's voices, and every eye grew dim, Steals from her mother's chamber and peeps at the open door. -"Open it! open it, lady!" the little maiden cries, (For she thought 'twas a singing creature caged in a box she heard,) "Open it, open it, lady! and let me see the bird!" OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. AFTER THE ACCIDENT. (MOUTH OF THE SHAFT.) What I want is my husband, sir,- Where is my Joe? Penryhn, sir, Joe Caernarvonshire. Six months ago Since we came here Eh?-Ah, you know! Well, I am quiet And still. But I must stand here, And will! She'd had some knowledge of the stage as an amateur, she said, And could I give her something to do to find her boy in bread? "O, that's how the wind lays, is it?" I thought. "Well, p'r'aps I might do worse: If she only acts as well as she looks, she'd nicely line my purse;" And I took good stock of her as she sat with her boy beside her chair, And stroked with dainty tremulous hand his bonnie golden hair. Bit by bit her story came out. Long back her mother had died, And left her, an only child, to be her father's darling and pride: He was in the law, and thought to be rich, and was held in high repute, But, ah! he died a ruin'd man, and left her destitute. Then the only relative she had- -an aunt, who was well-to do Had taken her in, and had found for her a wealthy suitor, too. But she loved another-a sailor lad-who, like herself, was poor; And when they married, her haughty aunt had spurned her from her door. They were very happy at first, she said, and her voice was tearful and low, But, O, she had lost her husband too-he was drown'd four months ago; His ship was wreck'd, and all were lost; and now, in her need and care, She'd no one left in all the world, but her little Charlie there! And here she droop'd her head, poor girl, and her voice was choked with sighs Hem, hem! confound the smoke; how it gets in a fellow's throat and eyes! Then she finished her tale: She felt at first all stunn'd and dazed, she said; And even to think of aught but him seem'd treachery to the dead. But by and by, for the sake of her boy, now doubly precious and dear, She nerved herself to look beyond to the future that seem'd so drear: She thought of a governess's place at last, but then they would have to part, And to give up her only darling now would almost break her heart! Little by little her things had gone to meet their daily need, Till her home too had to be given up, and all seem'd lost indeed; Then she thought of how she loved the stage in the happy Long Ago, And how well she play'd as an amateur-at least they told her so. She'd call'd at all the theatres she knew, but 'twas still the same old tale A novice had no chance at all where even vet'rans fail; Then some one had told her to come to me, and she'd tra vell'd here to-day To see if I could take her on, in however humble a way. She'd had some knowledge of the stage as an amateur, she said, And could I give her something to do to find her boy in bread? "O, that's how the wind lays, is it?" I thought. "Well, p'r'aps I might do worse: If she only acts as well as she looks, she'd nicely line my purse;" And I took good stock of her as she sat with her boy beside her chair, And stroked with dainty tremulous hand his bonnie golden hair. Bit by bit her story came out. Long back her mother had died, And left her, an only child, to be her father's darling and pride: He was in the law, and thought to be rich, and was held in high repute, But, ah! he died a ruin'd man, and left her destitute. Then the only relative she had-an aunt, who was well-todo Had taken her in, and had found for her a wealthy suitor, too. But she loved another-a sailor lad-who, like herself, was poor; And when they married, her haughty aunt had spurned her from her door. They were very happy at first, she said, and her voice was tearful and low, But, O, she had lost her husband too-he was drown'd four months ago; |