WASHING-DAY. WHILE mother is tending baby And blow it full of bubbles. Hearth and Home. BABY'S LETTER. DEAR ole untle, I dot oor letter: Don't mean to be sick berry much longer. Daddy 's so fat, can't hardly stagger; Had to take tree drops nassy paleygolic. Toot a dose of tatnip, felt worse as ever. Wind on stomit, felt pooty bad, Ever had belly-ate, ole untle Bill? But I'm growin', gettin' pooty fat, Gains 'most two pounds, only tink o' dat! Skirts so small, baby so stout, My mammy says, never did see Baby sends a pooty kiss to his untles all, MY LOST BABY. COMES little Maud and stands by my knee, For Maud was a babe but a week ago, Now we are saddened but pleased to know The queen is dethroned and there reigns a king, A tiny king, with a cheek like down; With hair of the softest satiny brown; Who doubles his fists and hiccoughs and cries; Who groans, grimaces, and paws the air, And twists his mouth in a meaningless smile; Who fixes his eyes in a winkless stare, And seems in the deepest thought the while; A wee small king with a comical face, Whom one moment we laugh at, the next caress; A little monarch who holds his place By the wondrous might of his helplessness. Come hither, my Maud, with your wistful eyes; Come hither, I'll lay the small tyrant down; I'll gather you up in a glad surprise, And press to my bosom your head of brown. Nestle down close to your mother's breast, Alas! I have lost her, she is no more My heart is sad for my girl to-day; In a moment babyhood's privileged years Have passed from her life forever away, We see them vanish through misty tears. Farewell, sweet babe of a week agone! - Thou hast reached the land of the nevermore, And Maud's little feet are standing on The perilous heights of childhood's shore. A BABY'S RATTLE. I. ONLY a baby's rattle, And yet if you offered me gold For that worthless toy, I should answer, Of love and joy, the remembrance Of all that it means for all years. The old associations Of the years that have waned and fled Lie there with the childish token That was clasped by a hand that is dead. And beyond all earthly treasures I prize that worn old plaything For the memories shrined therein. There may be hope in the future That clings round thoughts of the past. II. She came when the May-time scattered And the glint of the sunshine seemed sweeter, 'T was a page from the book of Creation, With an imprint I knew was divine, And I felt the infinite yearning For the new life sprung from mine. Ah me! how we loved our blossom! That she crowed and laughed in the summer, It seems like a vision remembered When fearsome thoughts come upon you And whenever I hear the laughter III. The May-time had changed to summer, The cynic may sneer at the feeling, She grew with the summer's fruitage, It was hard to mark, and still harder Were we never to see her joyous IV. At last-how well I remember And then when the desolate morning It was hard to bow in submission The white little baby face. Only one thought could comfort, He spake, who bade the children Draw near on the sacred sod, When he stretched out hands of blessing, "Of such is the kingdom of God." WATCHING FOR PAPA. SHE always stood upon the steps |