WELCOME, LITTLE STRANGER. (BY A DISPLACED THREE-YEAR-OLD.) (TO A LITTLE One Just a Week Old.) ONLY a baby "Thout any hair, 'Cept just a little Fuzz here and there. 40 Only a baby, Name you have none, Only a baby, Teeth none at all; Only a baby, Just a week old; What are you here for, You little scold? BABY'S REPLY. Only a baby! What sood I be? Lots o' big folks Been little like me. Ain't dot any hair? 'Es I have, too; S'pos'n' I had n't, Dess it tood drow. Not any teeth Would n't have one; What am I here for? 'At's petty mean; Who's dot a better right 'Tever you've seen? What am I dood for, Did you say? Eber so many sings Tourse I squall at times, Sometimes I bawl; Taus I'm so small. Only a baby! 'És, sir, 'at 's so; 'At's all I've to say, THE LAST ARRIVAL. THERE came to port last Sunday night Without an inch of rigging on; I looked and looked and laughed! It seemed so curious that she Should cross the unknown water And moor herself within my roomMy daughter! oh, my daughter! Yet by these presents witness all She's rather new for our marine Ring out, wild bells, and tame ones too! Ring in the little worsted socks! Ring in the bib and spoon! Ring out the muse! Ring in the nurse! Ring in the milk and water! Away with paper, pen, and ink! GEORGE W. CABLE THE "COMING MAN." A PAIR of very chubby legs A little kilt, a little coat, Cut as a mother can, And lo! before us strides in state His eyes, perchance, will read the stars, Perchance their keen and flashing glance Those eyes that now are wistful bent On some 66 big fellow's" kite. That brow where mighty thought will dwell In solemn, secret state; Where fierce ambition's restless strength Shall war with future fate; Where science from now hidden caves New treasures shall outpour, 'Tis knit now with a troubled doubt, Are two, or three cents, more? Those lips that, in the coming years, Whose whispered words, on lightning flash, That, sternly grave, may speak command, Are coaxing now for gingerbread With all a baby's soul! Those hands those little busy hands So sticky, small, and brown, Those hands, whose only mission seems To pull all order down, Who knows what hidden strength may lie Ah, blessings on those little hands, THE BALD-HEADED TYRANT. OH! the quietest home on earth had I, Oh the despot came in the dead of night, He ordered us here, and he sent us there, Though never a word could his small lips speak, With his toothless gums and his vacant stare, And his helpless limbs so frail and weak; Till I cried, in a voice of stern command, "Go up, thou bald-head from No-man's-land!" But his abject slaves they turned on me ; Like the bears in Scripture they 'd rend me there, The while they worshipped on bended knee The ruthless wretch with the missing hair; For he rules them all with relentless hand, This bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land. Then I searched for help in every clime, Old Time he looked with a puzzled stare, Watch what my hour-glass does for him. Old Time is doing his work full well: Much less of might does the tyrant wield; |