THE STEPMOTHER.

By RICHARD HOWIRT.

Y011 ask me why I look so sad,

And why the roses on my face, Which ever hlootn'd so fresh and fair, Have lost their former grace ;

And why I now seem no forlorn,

Who was so very much caresed ; And wonder I, who was so neat, Am now so very meanly dress'cl.— Long—long ago, mamma was ill ; And when I went unto her bed, When she had kiss'd she spoke to me, But whisper'd all she said.

And when I 'went to see her last, I could not wake her as she slept ;— Papa sat by her on the bed, And hid his face and wept.

Then many days to Grandmamma's I went ; and often wish'd in vain, The clock and crickets were so loud, I might go home again.

And when I with the kitten play'd, My Grandinamma would frown, and say I was a very naughty child At such a time to play.

Glad was I when she took me home;

I far before her hasten'd on ; And very quick I ran up stairs To see mamma—and she was gone !

And when I call'il about the house,

And could not find her anywhere, They chid me—saying, she was gone, But soon she would again be there.

I often wonder'd why she went—

Papa and I both loved her well !

And always when I ask'd papa,

He would reply—" he could not tell."

Long—very long, she staid away, And when again she to us came, The day the bells were ringing so,

I thought she could not he the same.

FOF when she went her cheeks were pale,

And when she came her cheeks were red,

And then she came all dress'd in white— And yet it Was mamma, they said.

And so it was—and I was glad; And loved her well, as I was bid:

let I am sure that she is changed— She does not love metro she did.

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