BY MRS. S. F. JENNINGS.
A LITTLE dirty ragged boy, in the streets of New York, selling penny songs, is asked by a gentleman if he has a mother. "Neow don't—where's yourn? Does she know you're out?" he says, with that impudent nonchalance which is the more pitiful because so common among that class. But the gentleman buys some of his songs, and that act is the sesame to his heart. Upon a second putting of the question, he is ready, though with the same reckless air, to answer, "No; folks don't have two mothers, do they? and mine's dead's long ago's I can remember."
Two mothers? Never, little one;
No merit brings such meed;
God gave thee one—if she be gone
God help thee feel thy need!
For a dangerous way, stormy and wild,
Thou goest, without thy mother, child.
The throbbing heart of this mighty town,
How beats its pulse for thee?