' Where is my wandering boy to-night ?—the boy of my tenderest care ?—'
The voice of the singer rang clear and sweet on the biting Christmas air ;
But the pleasure-seekers hurried by, unheeding her plaintive strain,
And tears bedimmed the woman's eyes, for their pity she sought in vain.
Wending her way from the busy street, with its traffic, and ceaseless throng,
She dragged her limbs to a quiet square, and there resumed her song ;
And once again came the sad refrain—in front of a mansion bright:
' My heart o'erflows, I love him he knows,—Oh! where is my boy to-night ? '

Alone in his sumptuous drawing-room, which overlooked the square,
Sat Daniel Flint the Merchant Prince, and well-known millionaire;
In the race for wealth he had ever been successful from the start,
But, by those who knew him, 'twas often said that his name described his heart.
No spark of charity kindled there,—no sympathy stirred his breast,
For the sake of gold he had sacrificed the joys that make life blest;
And on that Christmas Eve he sat, the victim of selfish greed,
With none to love him and none to love—a pitiful wretch indeed I

His mind went back to the wasted years—for he knew his folly now,
And when he thought of his poor dead wife sad wrinkles lined his brow ;
She had pined for the love he could not give, for wealth was his only God,
Till she drooped away tike a sun-parched flower and was laid 'neath the graveyard sod.
Then he thought of the boy he had cast adrift— their only offspring, Jack,
Who had dared to rebel 'gainst his iron will—how he yearned now to have him back ?
'My son! return and forgive me! 'he cried,— here he sprang to his feet upright,
For the words of the singer fell sweet on his ear :- ' Oh 1 where is my boy to-night ?'

He stood and listened like one transfixed, till her voice died on the air,
Then a feeling came to his hardened breast that had long been a stranger there ;
And he bade his flunkey open the door, and call the singer in—
For the ' one sweet touch ' had entered his soul, that makes the whole world kin.
Shivering with cold, and with timid gaze, she stood before him at last,
And his eyes wore a look they had seldom known, as he spoke to the poor outcast;
Her haggard features and sunken cheeks told their tale of sad despair,
And he sighed to think that one so young should be burdened with want and care.

He gently led her to a seat by the Yule-log's cheerful blaze,
And sought to learn from her the cause that had brought such evil days;
His tone, so full of tenderness, soon put her at her ease,
And a most heartrending story she unfolded by degrees.
Her husband lay sick and helpless in the garret they called their home,
And whilst he slept that evening, she had ventured abroad to roam;
She had hoped to earn a trifle by singing in the street,
But fate once more had proved unkind, and she had to own defeat.

As she ended her tale of sorrow, a portrait caught her eye,—
'Twas that of her stricken husband, as she knew him in days gone by;
' Whose is the portrait hanging there? ' in eager tones she cried,
'It is my son, my only son !' the millionaire replied.
' You seem to recognise it,—is it someone that you know ? '
' It is—it is my husband, sir,' she answered, faint and low;
' Your husband 1—Oh!thank God for this!' he murmured tremblingly,
' The lost is found!—my darling boy shall soon return to me !'

His husky voice was choked with sobs,—he felt too full to speak,
As he drew her shaking form to his and kissed her pallid cheek;
' My daughter ! ' he exclaimed at length. ' now take me to my son !—
No rest can e'er be mine till his forgiveness I have won.'
Ordering his carriage to the gate, they soon were on their way
To where the boy he yearned for on a bed of suffering lay;
And as they reached their journey's end—a wretched, squalid den,
The bells pealed forth their message of Goodwill and Peace to men !

A humbled man was Daniel Flint, as he knelt at his son's bedside ;
But Jack had whispered that he forgave, and his heart was satisfied.
Forgotten was all the anguish of the years that had gone before,
And father and son, so long estranged, were reconciled once more.
Down the old man's thin and furrowed cheeks the hot tears trickled fast,
As he realised that happiness had come to him at last.
From the sepulchre of his buried hopes the stone had been rolled away,
For his long-lost boy brought peace and joy to his soul on that Christmas Day!