VI.

Round every hearth, may Household Words

Like these familiar be

Heart-gushing as the song of birds,
As pure, as glad, as free!—

And never may they fail to bring
A kind return from those

To whom our best affections cling,
From childhood to life's close!

VII.

By those who yearn for gentler times—

For life-endearing days,

May he who charm'd us with "THE CHIMES "

Be crown'd with household bays,

His "Household Words " familiar be

In cot and lordly hall,

And on his spirit's energy

No household shadow fall!

VIII.

Our household words-sweet household words !

Oh, who the spell disowns

That round about the bosom girds

From their familiar tones?

In childhood, or in after-life,

Oh, ever bless'd be ye

Who mingle not unhallow'd strife
With their sweet melody!

NOTE.

The preceding lines were suggested by Mr. Charles Dickens's

new periodical, "Household Words."

OUR CITY'S SHAME.

NOTES OF A PEDESTRIAN.

I HAVE gone forth, and mark'd with sicken'd eye Our houseless poor upon our pavements lie, Fainting and wailing at some poor-house gate That frown'd denial on their wretched state: Young men and old, women, and children rest, Alike unshelter'd, on the earth's cold breast,

Girls,

whose young lives thus left the

Forth on

66

99
our streets are pitilessly thrust,

Or left to crouch, unshelter'd and unfed,

'Midst that poor group, in common mis'ry wed;
And, as I've gazed upon that breathing mass
Of human woe, I 've seen the rich man pass
Regardless by, and wonder'd in my soul
If such distressing facts are past control?

I've follow'd the proud step, that spurn'd the ground
Whereon the roofless poor sleep's solace found,
To some luxurious dome, where viands rare

Were spread to tempt each pamper'd palate there,
Where rank and wealth had met, of Want to talk,
While

past the very door they'd see it stalk And deem its form a counterfeit pretence, Dress'd in the borrow'd robes of indigence,And so feast on, and deem their duty done To the poor fasting, wretched, roofless one! And, as I've gazed upon that pompous throng, My heart has sigh'd—” How long, O Lord, how long? How long exposed shall, houseless, wretches lie,

In this vast capital of wealth and pride; While millions under heavy burthens sigh, And state rolls on with unabated tide ?How long shall feeble age and untaught youth

Upbraid us for their woes and blasted name, And manhood's wild despair, with voice of truth, Proclaim its darkest deeds our city's shame ?"

SCORN, OR TEARS?

A CONFLICT.

WHERE art thou that wouldst bid me stifle tears-
Thou mocking demon of the spirit's caves—
Remorseless Scorn ?-Thou pulseless spectre king,
Thou sword-defying sprite, come forth!-stand up-
Up-up!-and be confest, that I may see

What in thee lies to wield such wondrous might
O'er the wild torrent that now swells my soul !—
Ay! stem it if thou canst, and take my thanks;
For it is past my skill to check its course;
And thou wert fain to boast the pow'r I lack!

So now I see thee, dread and haughty king,
Swaying with frozen sceptre o'er thy realm-
The injured heart, turning its streams to ice,
Blighting its verdure with thy with'ring breath,