innocents, who were ruthlessly snatched 

 from their beds at midnight, torn limb from 

 limb, and their agonised bodies crunched— 

 •ay, crunched is the word — between the 

 fangs of murderous assassins ! Oh, ' Had 

 all their hairs been lives, my great revenge 

 had stomach for them all ! ' — William Kidd, 

 Sanders' Cottage, New Boad, Hammersmith, 

 Feb. 5. 



% 1850." 



Pictures of Domestic Life. — Ho 1. 



THE STEPMOTHER. 



Well, I will try and love her, then, 



But do not ask me yet ; 

 You know my own dear, dead Mamma, 



I never must forget! 



Don't you remember, dear Papa, 



The night before she died 

 You carried me into her room ? 



How bitterly I cried ! 



Her thin white fingers on my head 



So earnestly she laid, 

 And her sunk eyes gleamed fearfully, 



I felt almost afraid. 



You lifted me upon the bed, 



To kiss her pale cold cheek; 

 And something rattled in her throat, 



I scarce could hear her speak: — 



But she did whisper, — " When I'm gone 



For ever from your sight, 

 And others have forgotten me, 



Don't you forget me quite! " 



And often in my dreams I feel 



Her hand upon my head, 

 And see her sunken eyes as plain , 



As if she were not dead. 



I hear her feeble, well-known voice, 



Amidst the silent night, 

 Repeat her dying words again — 



" Don't you forget me quite! " 



It sometimes wakes me, and I think 



I'll run into her room; 

 And then I weep to recollect, 



She's sleeping in the tomb. 



I miss her in our garden walks ; — 

 At morn and ev'ning prayer; 



At church — at play — at home — abroad — 

 I miss her every where :— 



But most of all I miss her when 



The pleasant daylight's fled, 

 And strangers draw the certains round 



My lonely little bed ! — 



For no one comes to kiss me now, 

 Nor bid poor Anne — " Good night! *' 



Nor hear me say my pretty hymn ; 

 I shall forget it quite ! 



They tell me this Mamma is rich, 



And beautiful, and fine ; 

 Bat will she love you, dear Papa, 



More tenderly than mine? 



And will she, when the fever conies, 



With its bewild'ring pain, 

 Watch night by night your restless couch 



Till you are well again? 



When first she sung your fav'rite song, 

 " Come to the Sunset Tree," 



Which my poor mother used to sing, 

 With me upon her knee, — 



I saw you turn your head away ; 



I saw your eyes were wet ; 

 'Midst all our glittering company, 



You do not quite forget ! 



But must you never wear again 

 The ring poor mother gave? 



Will it be long before the grass 

 Is green upon her grave ? — 



He turned him from that gentle child, 

 His eyes with tears were dim; 



At thought of the undying love 

 Her mother bore to him ! 



He met his gay, his beauteous bride, 



With spirits low and weak ; 

 And missed the kind consoling words 



The dead was wont to speak. 



Long years rolled on; but hope's gay flowers 



Blossom'd for him in vain; 

 The freshness of life's morning hours 



Never returned again ! 



PROPOSED MOBEKN IMPROVEMENTS. 

 2To. 1. — Female Costume. 



[BY OUR " EXTRA " CONTRIBUTOR.] 



" Reform it altogether," — Shakspeare. 



He were indeed a bold man — such are 

 not we — who would dare to utter all his 

 thoughts upon so serious a question as Ladies 1 

 Dress ! Neither would we allude to it, did 

 not our position as journalists, and our pro- 

 mise to notice passing events, lend a sanc- 

 tion to it. We are avowedly " lovers of 

 Nature ; " and this induces us to speak 

 freely when her " laws " are outraged. We 

 also greatly admire art, but only when kept 

 in its proper place. This premised, Ave will 

 let a few, and a few only, of our thoughts 

 ooze out. Being a man blessed with a 

 large family, we feel we are privileged to do 

 so. 



Our eye has for many weeks been fixed 

 upon the rise and progress of " Bloomerism," 

 and our pen has been rampant for an oppor- 

 tunity to stifle it in its birth. It was well- 

 meant, certainly, to try and introduce what 

 was considered a change for the better ; and 



