NOBODY'S CHILD. The following poem was written by Miss Phila H. Case, and originally appeared in the SCHOOLDAY MAGAZINE, in March, 1867. It has been noticed and copied and sung and spoken almost everywhere, even finding its way into more than one English publication, and has really become a little "nobody's child," so far as its authorship and due credit are concerned. Two years ago the poem was set to music and published in St. Louis, ascribed to "E. D." Later it appeared in books of selections under the name of "Phila H. Child," but has very often appeared without credit whatever. The poem is printed here from the author's original manuscript. A LONE in the dreary, pitiless street, With my torn old dress, and bare, cold feet, Hungry and shivering, and nowhere to go; Just over the way there's a flood of light, Are caroling songs in their rapture there. Oh! what shall I do when the night comes down, On the cold, hard pavement, alone to die, When the beautiful children their prayers have said, And their mammas have tucked them up snugly in bed! For no dear mother on me ever smiled, Why is it, I wonder, I'm nobody's child? No father, no mother, no sister, not one In all the world loves me, e'en the little dogs run And a host of white-robed, nameless things, And a voice like the carol of some wild bird The sweetest voice that was ever heard Calls me many a dear, pet name, Till my heart and spirit are all aflame. PSALM XXI. PHILA H. CASE. HE Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. THE He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake, Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. it PSALM XXIV. HE earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein: For He hath founded it upon the seas, and established the floods. upon Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in His holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation. This is the generation of them that seek Him, that seek thy face, O Jacob. Selah. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in. Who is this King of glory? The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in. Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, He is the King of Glory. Selah. "TRA OVER THE HILL. [RAVELER, what lies over the hill? I am only a child,-from the window-sill "Child, there's a valley over there, Pretty and wooded and shy; And a little brook that says, 'Take care, "And what comes next?"-"A little town, And a towering hill again; More hills and valleys, up and down, And a river now and then." "And what comes next?"-"A lonely moon Without a beaten way; And gray clouds sailing slow before A wind that will not stay." "And then?"-"Dark rocks and yellow sand, And a moaning sea beside." "And then?"-"More sea, more sea, more land, And rivers deep and wide.” "And then?"—"Oh, rock and mountain and vale, Rivers and fields and men, Over and over-a weary tale- And round to your home again." "And is that all? Have you told the best?" "No; neither the best nor the end. On summer eves, away in the west You will see a stair ascend, "Built of all colors of lovely stones.- Where no one is weary, and nɔ one moans, "I will go."—" But the steps are very steep; You must lie at the foot, as still as sleep, GEORGE MACDONALD. AL THE CHILD-WIFE. LL this time I had gone on loving Dora harder than ever. If I may so express it, I was steeped in Dora. I was not merely over head and ears in love with her, I was saturated through and through. I took night walks to Norwood where she lived, and perambulated round and round the house and garden for hours together, looking through crevices in the palings, using violent exertions to get my chin above the rusty nails on the top, blowing kisses at the lights in the windows, and romantically calling on the night to shield my Dora,—I don't exactly know from what,-I suppose from fire, perhaps from mice, to which she had a great objection. Dora had a discreet friend, comparatively stricken in years, almost of the ripe age of twenty, I should say, whose name was Miss Mills. Dora called her Julia. She was the bosom friend of Dora. Happy Miss Mills! One day Miss Mills said: "Dora is coming to stay with me. She is coming the day after to-morrow. If you would like to call, I am sure' papa would be happy to see you." I passed three days in a luxury of wretchedness. At |