Volume 99 — "HOPE DEFERRED."

"Weary of watching and waiting!" So the old song-words go! Charity here, contemplating This trio of lads in a row, Might turn from the slums of the City, From "Nobody's Children" might spare One glance of true practical pity, One hour of considerate care. The waifs from the slum and the gutter Are off "to the country" in troops, To feed on new eggs and fresh butter, To frolic with balls and with hoops; These three, with their eyes on the poster That hints unattainable joys, Must envy the son of the Coster, The waifs of the Workhouse. Poor boys! They, too, are unitedly yearning To "go to the country," together. Hope on the horizon is burning With prospect of promising weather. One pities them, looking and longing, Aweary of waiting their turn With those who are country wards thronging; The "Voice of the Country" they'd learn. The lay of the lark or the linnet? The babble of brooklet or rill? Nay, that "Voice," to their ears, hath more in it Than sounds in the nightingale's trill. There's a song, though to some it sounds raucous, For them most seductively rolls; 'Tis the crow of a bird (the "Caw-Caw-Cus") Whose song is so like "Pretty Poll's"!