The Tamworth Examiner and Working Men's Journal. — 1875-10-16 (Tamworth, Staffordshire, England)

TIIE LITTLE BAUBLE. A STORY OF A S An•a. • poor little, street-going Arab, With an old sack about hint drawn, Was wandering, cold And hungry, Out in the "ehuddeeng dawn;" Till he came to a spacious. door-step, With an old stone portal above ; And he sate him down on his dear old Sacks And thought of his mother's love.  eut of at the Chop W the five rathey. to the le Hen re was  gearche Le pill ng ,trd trch OT to with tor AI  intel loor • to ot ole:t. r Con  prom call .n old it, we ad awn:  He took from his breast a locket, All black with dirt and years, And be smothered it with his kiwi., And watered it with his tears. "I have saved it through all these years; They are nt many. it is true— But 1 have had some turd fights for it, With men and with hunger too. "I fought for it, down with the fever— Thee could not master me thou; I bit their hands like • tiger. And ceased to belong to men. Oh! I cannot fight any more, The day of fighting is pa.. Death comes—but I am the victor, F.,r I hold the prize to the last. Good bye-1 feel it is coming, It will not wait till day." Bo lie laid his head on the door-step, And cpsietly passed away. Theo the servants came out in the Morllll4. And found what was lying there; And one came oat after Hnother, Till nos.. of those steps was bare. The women—the young—they wept. For the boy had got lovely eyes; But the old and the flunkies; looked on, With • sort of genteel surprise. " We had better send for the master,. And forthwith the master came ; "Yea, sleep in sweet in the morning, But I do not hold you to b ame." Then he 'Hoked at the bones on the door-dep. And tioueht " wticrse could be the sin?' And he told the flunkies about him, To carry the poor corpse in; But the servi”g-men stared and wondered, As if 'twere the day of loom: Bo he took the corpee in hie own strong &MS And carried it into his root, Then he laid it down, oh, so gently, And scanned the poor Arab's face, Whilst his own was as pale as ashes, Aid he shivered a little space. Be opened the poor little fingers, IWllen something fell to the ground, &was hut a worthless locketBut he knew well what he had found. Be looked at it gravely and fondly, With tears—and he touched a epring, And mw a scrap of his own brown hair, lied up in • little ring. Bo the old story lay before him, Be thought of the love and the shame, Of the soft brown eyes of the murdered girl, Of the child without a name. And he moaned, " Oh ! boy, for your mother's rake, Xou fought and were eager to die; You kept your promise to your mother, But mine was a bitter lie. "Yes; your. wee the knightly nature; Yes, yours woo the blood no blue ; No knight of King Arthur's table Was ever snore heave and true." "Wound dead," was the ready verdict— But they could not find a nave; Bo the parish had charge of the body, Till a better claimant came. And soon it was noised in the Workhouse, Tout a batter olannant hed come ; A piece of gold to the beadle, And the poor belied were carried home. They buried him not as a pauper, But as one with good blood in his veins; And the stains which he left behind him Were only hie father's stains. —From Good Words for October.