NOBODY'S CHILD.-Phila H. Case.

ALONE, in the dreary, pitiless street,
With my torn old dress and bare cold feet,
All day I've wandered to and fro,

Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go;
The night's coming on in darkness and dread,
And the chill sleet beating upon my bare head;
Oh! why does the wind blow upon me so wild?
Is it because I'm nobody's child?

Just over the way there's a flood of light,
And warmth and beauty, and all things bright;
Beautiful children, in robes so fair,

Are carolling songs in rapture there.
I wonder if they, in their blissful glee,
Would pity a poor little beggar like me,
Wandering alone in the merciless street,
Naked and shivering and nothing to eat.

Oh! what shall I do when the night comes down
In its terrible blackness all over the town?
Shall I lay me down 'neath the angry sky,
On the cold hard pavements alone to die?

When the beautiful children their prayers have said,
And mammas have tucked them up snugly in bed.
No dear mother ever upon me smiled-
Why is it, I wonder, that I'm nobody's child!

No father, no mother, no sister, not one

In all the world loves me; e'en the little dogs run
When I wander too near them; 'tis wondrous to see,
How everything shrinks from a beggar like me!
Perhaps 'tis a dream; but, sometimes, when I lie
Gazing far up in the dark blue sky,

Watching for hours some large bright star,
I fancy the beautiful gates are ajar.

And a host of white-robed, nameless things,
Come fluttering o'er me in gilded wings;
A hand that is strangely soft and fair
Caresses gently my tangled hair,

And a voice like the carol of some wild bird
The sweetest voice that was ever heard-
Calls me many a dear pet name,

Till my heart and spirits are all aflame;

And tells me of such unbounded love,
And bids me come up to their home above,
And then, with such pitiful, sad surprise,
They look at me with their sweet blue eyes,
And it seems to me out of the dreary night,
I am going up to the world of light,

And away from the hunger and storms so wild-
I am sure I shall then be somebody's child.

NATIONAL MONUMENT TO WASHINGTON. R. C. Winthrop, July 4th, 1848.

FELLOW-CITIZENS, let us seize this occasion to renew to each other our vows of allegiance and devotion to the American Union, and let us recognize in our common title to the name and the fame of Washington, and in our common veneration for his example and his advice, the all-sufficient centripetal power, which shall hold the thick clustering stars of our confederacy in one glorious constellation forever! Let the column which we are about to construct be at once a pledge and an emblem of perpetual union! Let the foundations be laid, let the superstructure be built up and cemented, let each stone be raised and riveted, in a spirit of national brotherhood! And may the earliest ray of the rising sun-till that sun shall set to rise no more--draw forth from it daily, as from the fabled statue of antiquity, a strain of national harmony, which shall strike a responsive cord in every heart throughout the republic!

Proceed, then, fellow-citizens with the work for which you have assembled. Lay the corner-stone of a monument which shall adequately bespeak the gratitude of the whole American people to the illustrious father of his country! Build it to the skies; you cannot outreach the loftiness of his principles! Found it upon the massive and eternal rock; you cannot make it more enduring than his fame! Construct it of the peerless Parian marble; you cannot make it purer than his life! Exhaust upon it the rules and principles of ancient and of modern art; you cannot make it more proportionate than his character.

But let not your homage to his memory end here. Think not to transfer to a tablet or a column the tribute which is due from yourselves. Just honor to Washington can only be rendered by observing his precepts and imitating his example. Similitudine decoremus. He has built

his own monument. We, and those who come after us, in successive generations, are its appointed, its privileged guardians. The wide-spread republic is the future monument to Washington. Maintain its independence. Uphold its constitution. Preserve its union. Defend its liberty. Let it stand before the world in all its original strength and beauty, securing peace, order, equality, and freedom, to all within its boundaries, and shedding light and hope and joy upon the pathway of human liberty throughout the world-and Washington needs no other monument. Other structures may fully testify our veneration for him; this, this alone can adequately illustrate his services to mankind.

Nor does he need even this. The republic may perish; the wide arch of our ranged Union may fall; star by star its glories may expire; stone by stone its columns and its capitol may moulder and crumble; all other names which adorn its annals may be forgotten; but as long as human hearts shall anywhere pant, or humau tongues anywhere plead, for a true, rational, constitutional liberty, those hearts shall enshrine the memory, and those tongues prolong the fame, of GEORGE WASHINGTON.

VAT YOU PLEASĖ.— Wm. B. Fowle.

Two Frenchmen, who had just come over,
Half starved but always gay,

(No weasels ere were thinner,) Trudged up to town from Dover,

Their slender store exhausted on the way,
Extremely puzzled how to get a dinner.
From morn till noon, from noon till dewy eve,
Our Frenchmen wandered on their expedition;
Great was their need, and sorely did they grieve,
Stomach and pocket in the same condition.
At length by mutual consent they parted,
And different ways on the same errand started.

Towards night, one Frenchman at a tavern door
Stopped, entered, all the preparation saw;

The ready waiter at his elbow stands

"Sir, will you favor me with your commands,

Roast goose or ducks, sir, choose you that or these ? "Sure, you are very kine, sure, vat you please."

It was a glorious treat, pie, pudding, cheese and meat; At last the Frenchman, having eaten his fill,

Prepared to go, when-" Here, sir, is your bill!"

O, you are Bill-Vell, Mr. Bill, good-day !"

My name is Tom, sir--you've this bill to pay."---
Pay, pay, ma foi!

I call for notting, sare, pardonnez moi !

You show to me the pooden, goose and sheeze,
You ask me vat I eat-I tell you vat you please."
The waiter, softened by his queer grimace,

Could not help laughing in the Frenchman's face,
And generously tore the bill in two,
Forgave the hungry trick, and let him go.

Our Frenchman's appetite subdued,
Away he chaséed in a merry mood,
And, turning round the corner of a street,
His hungry countryman perchanced to meet,
When, with a grin,

He told how he had taken John Bull in.
Fired with the tale, the other licks his chops,
Makes his congee, and seeks this shop of shops,
Entering, he seats himself as if at ease-
"What will you have, sir ?"—"Vat you please."

The waiter saw the joke, and slyly took
A whip, and with a very gracious look
Sought instantly the Frenchman's seat,

"What will you have, sir ?" venturing to repeat-
Our Frenchman, feeling sure of goose and cheese,

With bow and smile, quick answers-" Vat you please l

But scarcely had he let the sentence slip,

When round his shoulder twines the pliant whip.

"Sure! sare! ah misericorde ! parbleu !

O dear, monsieur, what for you strike me? huh
Vat for is dis !"—" Ah, don't you know?
That's Vat I please exactly; now, sir, go!
Your friend, although I paid well for his funning,
Deserves the goose he gained, sir, by his cunning;
But you, monsieur, without my dinner tasting,
Are goose enough-and only want a basting."

WILL THE NEW YEAR COME TO-NIGHT, MAMMA?-Cora M. Eager.

Will the New Year come to-night, mamma? I'm tired of waiting so

My stocking hung by the chimney-side full three long days

ago;

I run to peep within the door by morning's early light'Tis empty still: oh, say, mamma, will the New Year come to-night?

Will the New Year come to-night, mamma ?-the snow is on the hill,

And the ice must be two inches thick upon the meadow's

rill.

I heard you tell papa, last night, his son must have a sled, (I didn't mean to hear, mamma,) and a pair of skates, you said.

I prayed for just those things, mamma. Oh, I shall be full of glee,

And the orphan boys in the village school will all be envying me;

But I'll give them toys, and lend them books, and make their New Year glad,

For God, you say, takes back his gifts when little folks are

bad.

And won't you let me go, mamma, upon the New Year's

day,

And carry something nice and warm to poor old Widow Gray?

I'll leave the basket near the door, within the garden gateWill the New Year come to-night, mamma ?-it seems so long to wait.

*

The New Year comes to-night, mamma, I saw it in my sleep;

My stocking hung so full, I thought-mamma, what makes you weep?

But it only held a little shroud--a shroud, and nothing more; And an open colin, made for me, was standing on the floor! It seemed so very strange, indeed, to find such gifts, instead Of all the toys I wished so much-the story-books and sled; And while I wondered what it meant, you came with tear

ful joy,

And said, "Thou'lt find the New Year first: God calleth thee, my boy!"