Look through the casement dim and old,
A shadow fronts the ingle's glow,
Whose arms a tiny form enfold,
Sits gently rocking to and fro;
With cadence measured to its swing,
Comes song that mothers only sing.

Her tears fall on the baby's brow,
Too full her heart with very joy,
Hark! with her voice is blending now,
The sleepy murmurs of her boy;
Faint—fainter—hushed and slumbering,
By song but mother's lips may sing.

Why bends, O friend, thy brow with thought,
At glimpse of Paradise so fair?
Doth memory fill thy heart unsought
With echo, whose 'divine despair'
Brings sadness past imagining?
Song that thy mother used to sing!

O soft sweet voice, O simple strain,
Where love ne'er bids the measure cease,
Until the charm of its refrain,
Lulls the complaining soul to peace;
Come back again on angel wing,
O song my mother used to sing!

It may not be, earth hath one heaven,
Our childhood's days, a mother's care,
When life is o'er, will other given
Restore to us these joys so rare?
Yes, and its pure delight shall bring,
The songs our mothers used to sing.

MONUMENT TO HENRY STAFFORD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, K G.
Britford Church, near Salisbury.
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UNDER THE HOOF OF THE WHITE BOAR.

The fair, busy, if not large city of New Sarum or Salisbury, has since its foundation, occupied an important place in our national history, resulting from the heritage of its natural position, which may be described as forming the Gate or Key to the peninsula of the West. Besides this, it is the inheritor of, and is associated with, some of the oldest traditions of the land before the pen of history has left record, the venerable fame of previous ages having descended and added distinguished interest to its surroundings, while the marvellous circle of Stonehenge finds its place close by, as also its own antient progenitor, the equally remarkable hill-fortressed city of Old Sarum,—circumstances that attest the importance in which the locality was regarded, wherein its city of to-day is situate.