By some reprobate basely beguiled,
Deserted and forlorn,

She died in giving her little one birth
And left the poor babe alone on this earth!

So, under workhouse care

Somehow the child grew up,

Stunted and spare, upon stinted fare
Without one gleam of kindliness there,
One touch of humanity ever so rare,

One drop of sweet in her cup,—
An ill-used, cunning, ignorant mind,
Blunted and bruised by a world unkind.

And thus the years went round,

And then to service she went;

The stern taskmaster was easily found,

The trembling apprentice as easily bound,
And so this drudge has been work'd and ground,
And still slaves on, content,

Too deeply acquainted with sorrow and strife
To care to be otherwise all her life!

-Nay but, Liberty's Nest!

Dear England, home of the Free!

So frankly made welcome to strangers distrest,
Can thine own daughters, pining for rest,
Be thus ground down, unhelp'd tho' opprest,
Be thus enslaved in thee?

Can woman, or man, or childhood appear
So hopelessly, endlessly, desolate here?

THE COALPIT GNOME.

Bear witness, many a Place

Where such bad servitude grinds,-
Where Sunday is never a Sabbath of grace,

And Toil never reaches the goal of its race,
And Cruelty buffets Humility's face,

And Thraldom Liberty binds,—

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And hardships, and evils, and wrongs you may see To rival almost the dark deeds of Legree!

VIII.

THE COALPIT GNOME.

O CHEERFUL Christmas hearth!

Bright with the blazing coals,

And echoing clear with children's mirth,
Goodwill tow'rds men and peace upon earth,
And blessing to bodies and souls:

Ah, Christmas hearth! a gloomier light
Streams from those thy coals so bright
While sternly before my musing sight

This dark hearse-reverie rolls!

The coalpit !-come with me

Deep down the perilous shaftAnd, how many objects sad to see, Pale abject girls and boys there be

Doom'd to this deadly craft:

Ah, blazing coals! what labour and pain

From earth's hard bowels have torn you amain,
By women and men that have sweated like rain,
And babes that have never laught!

The laden gang creeps on,

Women with browbound packs, Up sultry galleries, one by one, Headlong dragging ton by ton

These coals upon their backs!

And children, aching with ague and cramp,
Wearily watching the blue-flamed lamp,
Lest death steal by on the breath of the damp,
If those tired eyes relax.

And blows from merciless men,

And dread of the pick or the knife,
And nameless wrongs beyond mortal ken
Deepen the dark of their noisome den,
With terrors, and oaths, and strife:
O hard is the fate of this human gnome,
The woman, or child, with never a home,
Save under the coalpit's Tartarus dome,
The home of a miner's life!

Good Ashley thine is the eye

To pity and help such a slave;

Priest and Levite, both pass by,
But this Samaritan still draws nigh,

His generous hands still save!

And yet, how much remains to be done;

For though in a Blue-book the battle be won,

-They still drag coal-corves, ton by ton,

White slaves from cradle to grave!

OUR NATIONAL DEFENDERS.

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IX.

OUR NATIONAL DEFENDERS.

ALL honour to Discipline !-happy the land
Whose soldiers and sailors obey,-

Whose captains and colonels are strict in command,
And guide their strong steeds with a resolute hand
By Order, the rule of the day.

All praise to the captain,—whose spirited crew
Is ready by noon or by night
With cheerful alacrity, steadily too,-
His daring and masculine bidding to do

In spite of the storm or the fight!

All praise to the colonel,-whose troops well in hand
At double-quick rush at the guns,

Or like a built wall on the battlefield stand,
Or hold without malice an enemy's land
As dear British mothers' own sons!

But, scorn for yon Admiral, bitter old Salt,

Who swears "he'll make hell of his ship!"
Who flogs honest Jack for the hint of a fault,
And brands the ship's company "Slaves"-to exalt
The pride of his heart and his lip.

Poor Jack is right ready to watch and to work,
And any one's servant to be,

All dangers to dare, and no duty to shirk,-
But cannot put up with that terrible Turk
A quarter-deck tyrant at sea!

Give, give him his comforts; for hardships enough
Must ever be mates of poor Jack;

But his heart is as soft as his bosom is rough
And he feels like a woman the curse or the cuff
And the mark of the cat on his back!

And-General Martinet, one little verse
To you and your majors is due:

Be kind to your men; for no blunder is worse
Than still to be flinging the cuff or the curse
At Englishmen honest as you!

Don't tease them with pipeclay; nor drill them too hard;
Nor shave their moustachios away,-

Why shouldn't their beards be "outparding the pard?"—
Nor stiffen their stocks on parade, nor on guard;
Nor scold them by night and by day.

Let Jack and his brother, who fight for us, find
They serve under true-hearted men,

As officers strict, but as gentlemen kind,

And so to each Service good treatment shall bind
Our champions most heartily then!

X.

SLOP-JOBBING.

SURELY, to labour for what is not bread,

To earn for an egg a stone instead,

Cheap work, with victuals so dear;