Now, hear me for the weakest of the weak.
Their masters, and their parents, double thrall;
For parents, brutalized by want, will seek

Toil's meagrest fruits, whatever else befall,
And, in their offspring's premature decay,
Reckless, will share, because, alas ! 'twill pay !
But theirs the fault who, brutalized by gain,

Clutch it, unmoved, through suff'ring and disease; These are the social Vampires to restrain,

Whole Populations' stunters-dead'ners—these!
Who, by "all work," would make "no play" a fact,
And to one-half the life of man contract,

As, from the young, they banish youth away
By tasks, each day, too long for labour of a day.

O Gentlemen of England! test The Right,

Quit not your hearth-fires to detect The Wrong: But call your bright-eyed children to your sight.

They are well-limb'd, well nurtured, fresh and strong; Let your dear girls their brothers' summons share— Both sexes of the poor, now, claim your care!— Say, would you, for your lives, your sturdier young Should toil like yonder weaklings--stived, immured, But the two hours, from destitution wrung,

Beyond "the Day" to other crafts secured?— If not, doubt no more; no longer pause;

Treat the cold theorists with stern contempt;

And, mercifully wise, enact us laws,

From labour in excess, those Weaklings to exempt.

(Copyright-contributed.)

SEBASTOPOL.

MARY C. HUME.

[Miss Hume is the daughter of one whose name alone would cause her writings to be received with consideration, viz., the late

Joseph Hume, M.P.; but she needs no introduction, save the force of her own genius, to cause her muse to be received with respect and attention. Her works are-"The Bridesmaid, and other Poems," 1853; Normiton, a Dramatic Poem," 1857; and Sappho," 1862. Second editions of the two former are issued by the publisher of the latter, Mr. F. Pitman.]

A VISION of a city on a hill!

Adown these slopes once waved, perchance, bright corn,
And groves which bird and breeze with song did fill;
But now thy golden tresses all are shorn,

Nor voice of song-bird wakens the stunned ear,
Proud, mournful city! thy scarred front anear.

Without, with bristling horrors robed and crowned,
Thy deadly groans of rage thou flingest wide;
Within, thy festive lights in blood are drowned,
And hushed in voice of bridegroom and of bride—
Save where War trysts with her grim bridegroom, Death,
Who hangs enraptured on her sulphurous breath.

Within thy walls they hold their bridal court;
But chiefest on this blackened seared hill-side
They ply fierce revelry, in nuptial sport,
And all bow down to bridegroom and to bride.
Behold the bridal guests! like stately trees
Prone before whirlwinds. Who and what are these?

Ye know! sad watchers on far distant shores,
From whence the hateful siren's voice hath lured
Those whom nor love nor prayers nor tears of yours
Could save, or succour in the pangs endured
'Neath her relentless gripe.-Yet worse had he
Endured, but so their ransom price to be!

Widow ! whose only son from bloody bier,
May by no Jesus-voice again be given;
Young wife! whose bridal-chaplet scarce is sere;
Orphan whose plaintiff cry ascends to Heaven;
Pale maiden! drooping o'er the unpledged love
Whose brave hope, death-defying, roots above,—

Come forth with me! And in this dim dream-light
Shed tears and kisses upon cheek and lip,

(Ye know your own!) with whose dull red and white May rose nor lily now claim fellowship!

Gory, death-pale, and stiffening, there they lie!
O Christendom! is this thy chivalry?

Pledged to the banners of the Prince of Peace,
Girt with the Spirit's sword, and vowed to strive
'Gainst spiritual foes that wars may cease,
And evil, hate, and cruelty (which rive
The links of human brother-love) with good
To overcome-have thus thy heroes stood,

And fall'n, bereaved Christendom! unstained?
Alas! the swords they wore were only steel;
And hero-like though they the fight sustained,
Nor quaked to hear what the hills quaked to feel,
Yet in the thunders launched their path around,
Heaven spake not; rather Hell gives forth such sound.

And now, O God of Love! their hands are red
With hearts' blood which hath flowed not from their
veins;

Red blood of brother-man by their hands shed!

Oh! for the hyssop which should purge these stains! Not all your tears can cleanse them! Come away! These blood-stained forms, thank God! these are not they.

No, God be praised! they are not, are not here!
Their cast-off earthly garb alone we find;
May they not, thus translate to higher sphere,
Have left their Cain-mark, too, O God! behind?
Our treasures, heavenly Father! we resign;
Oh! have Thou mercy on them now, as Thine!

They fought not for themselves! And many left
Their all of earthly hope and happiness,

To die on this hill-side, of all bereft

Which makes death sweetest-woman's tenderness, And Heaven-sent peace-while scarce, 'mid war's dread roar,

Hearts hushed to note one comrade less or more.

They died not for themselves! And greater love
(Is it not written ?) may by none be shown
Than life laid down for others' weal doth prove:
Love may a multitude of sins atone!

And though Thy perfect law their deeds forbid,
Forgive them, for they knew not what they did!

The light within them was not wholly pure,
And thus betrayed them—in their ardour high
To make Love's reign of truth and justice sure,
Deeming the end the means might sanctify-
To break Love's law; and though they erred in this,
Be not extreme to mark what thus they did amiss!

Perchance, despite the bloodmarks' fearful brand,
They sinned not more, but only were less blest
Than peace-lapped men, who at Thine altar stand,
With clean hands ministering, and stainless vest;
Or who, in midnight vigil, from their pen
Fling deathless words to wake the souls of men.

They drew the sword, and perished by the sword;
And who, e'en best that loved them, dare repine?
But now implore we Mercy's mild award :-
"He that is sinless," saith the Judge Divine,
"Cast the first stone!" God's love condemns them not;
Gone hence "to sin no more,"—such, such their lot!

And we, too, must "go hence." We may not spend
Life's labour-hours in weeping over graves;
Nor shelter 'gainst the day's fierce heats may lend
Blood-nurtured laurel which around them waves.
"Go hence and sin no more!" O Christendom!
When, when shall thy Lord's sinless kingdom come?

Daily and hourly doth the prayer ascend

From countless tongues, throughout thy world-wide reign,
That come it may. Hath He then ceased to lend
Ear to men's prayers? Not so: they say in vain,
"His will be done!" while still their own they do;
Heaven with the lip, Hell heart and hand they woo!

Therefore Hell stalks abroad upon the earth,

And Murder wears the glory which makes blind
Men's hearts and eyes to his infernal birth;
While Virtue's brow with poison-flowers is twined;
And on our very heroes' deeds, as now,
Mercy to claim, not blessing, must we bow.

Nor deem ye, who, afar from fields of strife,
A path pursue from such temptations free,
Ye therefore are assoiled of the life

Here shed like water. Till the law which ye
Laud with your lip your life's each act controls,

The blood is on your hands! the guilt is on your souls!

For whoso to the greedy idol Self

Panders, in small or great things,-service owed
To God, for pleasure bartering, or pelf,

Or fame, thus brings, to heap man's weary load,
His tithe of all the evil, sin and wrong,

On which we pray for mercy-Lord! how long?

BARBARA GRAY!

"BARBARA GRAY!

ROBERT BUCHANAN.

Pause, and remember what the world will say,"
I cried, and turning on the threshold fled,
When he was breathing on his dying bed;
But when, with heart grown bold,

I cross'd the threshold cold,

Here lay John Hamerton, and he was dead.