_West London._

Crouched on the pavement, close by Belgrave Square, A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied; A babe was in her arms, and at her side A girl; their clothes were rags, their feet were bare.

Some laboring-men, whose work lay somewhere there, Passed opposite; she touched her girl, who hied Across, and begged, and came back satisfied. The rich she had let pass with frozen stare.

Thought I, “Above her state this spirit towers; She will not ask of aliens, but of friends, Of sharers in a common human fate.

She turns from that cold succor, which attends The unknown little from the unknowing great, And points us to a better time than ours.”