THE YOUNG STREET WANDERER.

BY NICHOLAS MICHELL.

RAGS hang upon her form, young, slim, and fair,
Her arms are naked, her small feet are bare,
Her head uncovered, loosely streams her hair.
No health-rose on her meagre cheek appears,
She sports not, laughs not, as becomes her years,
But her great violet eyes oft brim with tears.
Each morning from a squalid den, her home,
Two fiends, her parents, send her forth to roam
That city glorious with grand tower and dome.
Her task to walk and beg, to beg and weep,
And still, though starving, her poor coins to keep,
That nightly the two fiends their spoil may reap.
And when she fails to touch cold hearts, and goes
Back penniless at evening's weary close,
Curses are shower'd upon her, and hard blows.

'Tis night; the young maid plods with bleeding feet,
A blur, a moving rag in that grand street;
Moans the chill wind, and falls the blinding sleet.

Her hair is wet in all its uncombed flow,

Long eye-lashes are fringed with specks of snow,
Hands numbed with cold, as is her heart with woe.
A small wild beast, God's image seems to prowl,
People avoid her as some object foul,

E'en dogs her strange form see, and turn, and growl.
Her tears this night for pence have flowed in vain ;
She stands before a great shop's glittering pane,
There dainty food-here hunger, cold, and rain.
She moves away, while pangs her spirit thrill;
Fate, dost thou rule all earth with iron will,
Some born to plenty, bliss-some want and ill?
She gains a street where crowds are gathering fast;
In close-shut coaches some are whirling past,
Others, warm-coated, brave the biting blast.

But all, well-pleased, to yon grand pile are rushing,
Women rich-dressed, youth, age, are laughing, crushing,
While music's stream through half-oped doors is gushing.
Large sums they give for loved theatric show;
She asks one mite-they coldly answer, "No!"
Or thrust her rags aside, and scorn her woe.

They seek the scenes where laughter glads the ear,
Paid men "sing" griefs, and flows the ideal tear,
Living distress and pain are recked not here.

A church-men enter slow that house of prayer;
Kind must they be who worship nightly there;
So thinks the child; they sure a coin will spare.

The trembling hand is stretched, as men pass by;
They will not see, or look with wondering eye;
"Away! lost child!" is answered to her sigh.

Ladies quick step aside; their hearts will cling
To Afric's heathen, but they shrink to bring
Pure hands in contact with that abject thing.

All now have passed within; the church-doors close;
None have relieved her, none have soothed her woes,
And ah! her lot to-night is cruel blows.

She wanders on amidst the cold and rain,
Folding her rags around her, warmth to gain,
And humming low, to drown her fears and pain.

And can that wretched, broken spirit sing?
Oh, youthful Nature is a wondrous spring!
But thought returns; the bird must stoop its wing.

Again her sobs, her wail, 'tis sad to hear;
May pitying angels sometimes haunt our sphere?
Or do but demons curse and torture here?

She nothing knows; all heaven to her is gloom,
Like the hard world where nought can cheer or bloom,
And scarce she knows the meaning of the tomb.

Great London! mid thine untaught masses dwell
Many such hearts, whose miseries few can tell,

For if thou'rt pleasure's heaven, thou'rt suffering's hell.

RANDOM IDEAS.

V.

RECIPROCAL JUDGMENT.

NOTHING is more easy than to see and say what our acquaintances ought to be and do!

VEXATIONS.

How many of our annoyances which seem mountains to ourselves seem mole-hills to others!

DIFFERENT MEANS.

In some cases there is but one way to a desired end; in others there are several ways, and the agent may and does take that particular way which suits his own idiosyncrasy. One has known the same result obtained by different people in totally different methods. Thus, one orator succeeds by careful preparation of his speeches; another, by trusting to the "inspiration of the moment." Thus, again, one teacher will begin with stating a general conclusion, and then the arguments or facts which lead to that conclusion; while another teacher will follow the analytical method of first stating the arguments or facts, and leading up the mind of the learner to the intended conclusion. The latter is the more interesting method, but the former may equally succeed; and when the learner is possessed both of the facts or arguments and of the conclusion, it matters not how he has become possessed of them. And so of education in its moral aspects. Many turn out well who have been brought up with a consistent strictness; others turn out equally well who have been treated with uniform kindness and indulgence. The former would probably be of a firmer and more austere kind of character; the latter, more amiable and perhaps of better temper. In either case the successful educator has followed, though with moderation and within the limits of common sense, the method which his own character has prompted. Again, some preachers who have succeeded in their transcendent vocation have dwelt more on the sterner aspects of religious truth; others, with equal success, have chiefly placed the truths of religion before their hearers in the milder and more winning points of view. Similar remarks may be made with regard to the different means by which success is achieved in many other departments of human endeavour. Hence in a mulJune-VOL. III. NO. XVIII.

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titude of objects to be attained, we cannot say abstractedly which is the best method of attaining it. The question is, by which method are you most likely to attain it?

GOSSIP ABOUT TELEGRAMS.

The word "telegram," as our classical readers know, and as it appeared in a learned correspondence in the Times some thirteen years ago, is a barbarism. It ought, grammatically speaking, to be "telegrapheme." From ypápa we should no doubt have gram," but then yάppw, according to the analogy of the language, would, in composition with any word but a preposition, become γραφέω. Hence the verb would be τηλεγραφέω, and the derivative hypάpnua, "telegrapheme." "Monogram," which τηλεγράφημα, would seem to be a precedent for "telegram," belongs to an age of degenerate Greek-the age of Chrysostom. In the adoption of "telegram" instead of the grammatical "telegrapheme," we have one of the many thousands of instances in which the genius of our language prefers brevity to accuracy, or, as some would say, utility to pedantry. By the way, how much we are indebted to the Greek language for compound terms, in business as well as in

science!

There have been a greater number of useful and wonderful inventions during the last hundred years than during any previous century; but though some of these inventions are more useful, none is so wonderful as the electric telegraph. Had the Arabian Nights related the delivery of a message and the receipt of an answer to it at the distance of a thousand miles within two minutes, we should, in pre-telegraph days, have classed the tale with the marvels of Aladdin's lamp or Fortunatus' cap. In this achievement science has produced nearly as great a wonder as magic has been supposed to produce, or an Oriental imagination has conceived.

The electric telegraph, with its preponderating advantages, has some evils in the opposite scale. It brings grievous news with a terrible curtness. It gives an enormous accession of trouble in official and mercantile life. A despatch or a letter has been written after much deliberation and consultation. Suddenly a telegram comes, altering all the conditions of the problem which had to be solved. The whole subject must be reconsidered and a fresh missive composed. The man of business never knows when his correspondence during the passing day will end, for news requiring an answer may reach him at any moment. Or he has laid out his day's work; then comes a telegram involving an entire alteration of his plan, and the relegation of present business to another day. Or a number of telegrams pouring in perplex him

by the multiplicity of different matters, each demanding immediate attention. Or, he thinks he has finished his day's work; before he leaves his office, possibly when he has reached his home, a telegram comes, and he has to resume his task. The telegraph is the messenger of the unforeseen and unexpected. It may also be the irresponsible and untraceable means of spreading mischievous falsehood, for the receiver has no guarantee of the sender's truthfulness, or even of his identity, such as would be furnished by his handwriting or signature. The style of telegraph-writing is a curious innovation on received forms of speech. There is a condensation of meaning, an elliptical mode of expression, where words are sent so many for a shilling! Such language has hitherto been called "laconic;" it might now be termed telegrammatic!" If something of this style were to be extended to our literature, and still more to our public speaking, there would be a saving of time and patience.

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The publication of the telegrams which have passed through a large office during one year would present a complete "section" of human life, with its joys and sorrows, interests and anxieties, prosperous and adverse occurrences. What Juvenal says of his Satires would apply to such a publication:

Quisquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas,
Gaudia, discursus, nostri est farrago libelli.

All men's affairs, their hopes, fears, pleasure, rage,
Joys, and pursuits, are crowded in my page.

"Your house burnt down"-"Dead"-" Dangerously ill, come directly"-"Has had a bad accident"-" How is "_" Much better." A telegram we knew of came from the western coast of America with the single word "married." There would be invitations to public meetings of every kind, invitations to dinners, festivities, and other occasions of in-doors or out-of-doors pleasures, invitations to baptisms, weddings, funerals! One telegram would announce a bankruptcy or a failure, another a splendid success in trade, or in intellectual competition. An intelligent clerk at a telegraph office has the best opportunity of taking a wide survey of human life, and obtaining a knowledge of the world. No event would surprise him, from a revolution down to a broken leg. He has the materials for making himself a philosopher!

CONCLUSION.

"For the last time!" There is usually a sadness in these words, for they remind us of the fleeting nature of everything human. A certain melancholy accompanies the conclusion of almost every continuous occupation, and the breaking off of almost every