A New Year's Gift.

A little lad, - bare wor his feet,     His 'een wor swell'd an red,     Wor sleepin, one wild New Year's neet, -     A cold doorstep his bed.     His little curls wor drippin weet,     His clooas wor thin an old,     His face, tho' pinched, wor smilin sweet, -     His limbs wor numb wi' cold.     Th' wind whistled throo th' deserted street,     An snowflakes whirled abaat, -     It wor a sorry sooart o' neet,     For poor souls to be aght.     'Twor varry dark, noa stars or mooin,     Could shine throo sich a storm; -     Unless some succour turns up sooin,     God help that freezin form!     A carriage stops at th' varry haase, -     A sarvent oppens th' door;     A lady wi' a pale sad face,     Steps aght o'th' cooach to th' floor.     Her 'een fell on that huddled form,     Shoo gives a startled cry;     Then has him carried aght o'th' storm,     To whear its warm an dry.     Shoo tended him wi' jewelled hands,     An monny a tear shoo shed;     For shoo'd once had a darlin lad     But he, alas! wor dead.     This little waif seemed sent to cheer,     An fill her darlin's place;     An to her heart shoo prest him near,     An kissed his little face.