h places
Was certain to prevail,
Made the kind Ogress, who had hidden and fed them,
Duchess of Draggletail.

THE BABES IN THE WOOD.

Come, list to my story,
More sorry, by far,
To her who must tell it,
And you who will hear it,
Than all others are!

'Tis the darling of each, who
Has spirit so mild
As to grieve for the Human--
The sad man or woman,
Or desolate child!

Of eyes, my dear children,
Yours are not the first,
Through whose teary lashes,
In soft, pitying splashes,
The warm drops have burst

At hearing it. Many,
For hundreds of years,
Have in the same fashion
Their heartfelt compassion
Shown thus--with their tears!

A dying father in his arms
Two children did enfold.
The eldest one, a little boy,
Was only three years old;
Even less than that had served to tint
The baby's head with gold.

The mother, too, lay ill to death,
No human power might save,
And to her darlings, that same hour,
Her farewell blessing gave.
Father and mother--one in life--
Were laid in the same grave.

But, ere the latest breath was drawn,
The father's brother came--
Nearest of kin, upon whose love
The orphaned ones had claim--
And he made oath to cherish them
As his own blood and name.

The will devised three hundred pounds
A year unto the son,
Three hundred, on her marriage-day,
To Jane, the little one.
Thus it was from the uncle's greed
That trouble first begun.

For if, by chance, they both should die,
He was to have their gold;
He felt no love for either child--
His heart was hard and cold.
And, while he promised fair, he planned
A scheme both bad and bold.

A twelvemonth did his darksome mind
Plot for the dreadful deed.
Two brutal ruffians he hired
To help him in his need;
And yet, so secret were his ways,
None knew to intercede.

He formed a wily, plausive tale,
And told it everywhere,
How the two children were to go,
Under the best of care--
Two friends of his--for holiday
To London, for the fair.

The horses stood before the gate,
The ruffians twain astride;
And gay with scarlet girth and rein
They started, side by side.
O, blithe the babies' spirits were,
That they could have a ride!

For every pretty sight they saw,
For every sound they he