“Neddy, my boy!” stammered Mrs. Brady to her son, as she staggered to her wretched lodging that night, “it’s wonderful luck ye’ had with that penny; the four-pence ye’ won through it at “pitch and toss” has made a woman of me; I am as happy as a queen—as a queen, Neddy.” The unfortunate creature flourished her arm so decidedly that she broke a pane of glass in a shopkeeper’s window, and was secured by a policeman for the offence; poor unfortunate Ned followed his mother, with loud, incoherent lamentations, wishing “bad luck” to every one, but more especially to the police, and the gentleman that brought him into misery by his mean penny;—_if it had_ been a sum he could have done any thing with—but a penny! what could be done with one poor penny, but spend it! * * * * * Willy’s penny went into a box with several other coins; _his_ mother lacked the common necessaries of life—still Willy hoarded, and continued to look after his treasure as a magpie watches the silver coin she drops into a hole in a castle wall. [_To be continued._ * * * * * =TO MARY, ASKING FOR A SONG.= =BY MATTHIAS WARD.= The song, dear maid, you deign to ask, What churlish mortal could refuse; Then, while I ply my pleasing task, Be thou at once my theme and muse. While to such theme my gift I bring, Fair muse, inspire me as I sing. A song you ask—if music flow, To make thy gentle heart rejoice; Ope but thy lips, and soon thou’lt know ’Tis but the echo of thy voice. Such tones, if kindly, still prolong— I cannot ask a sweeter song. There’s music beaming from thy brow— Within thine eyes a tuneful tongue; And gazing there, I fancy how The morning stars together sung. Through passion’s waste, when wandering far, Heaven grant thee for my guiding star. Ask you for music? Go but forth, And air salutes each varied charm; The wildest tempest from the north, Melodious dances o’er thy form. Would that my tones had winning powers, Like breezes when they kiss the flowers! The birds are dumb in dreamy night, And silent wait the opening day; But when he brings his wakening light, The morn rejoices in their lay. From grove and brook sweet music floats, Responsive to their happy notes.