The first thing she did was give "syrup of squills" To dolly to make her well;

And then when I told her how wrong it was,

She said, with a quivering sigh,

"I'm sorry I made her so sticky, mamma, But I couldn't let dolly die."

Then comforted wholly she went away,

And was just as still as a mouse,

And I thought to be sure I should find her at once
In the nursery playing "house;"

But lo! on the way as I started to look,
A queer little piece I found,
Just like a center of snowy lawn

That the scissors had scolloped round.

I cried, "O, baby! what have you done?
You have been to somebody's drawer,
And taken from out of the handkerchief pile
The most beautiful one that you saw!"
And then the dear little head went down
Pathetic as it could be,

While she sobbed, "There was nothing for me to cut,

And I thought I'd take two or three!"

It was only a little later on,

That the water began to splash,

And I jumped and found she was rubbing away On her sister's holiday sash;

But, catching a look of utter dismay

As she lifted her innocent eyes,

She whispered: "Don't worry, I'll wash it all

clean,

And hang it up till it dries."

But the funny mishaps of that wonderful day I could not begin to relate;

The boxes of buttons and pins she spilled,

Like a cherub pursued by fate!
And still, all the while, the dear little dove
Was fluttering 'round her nest,
And the only thing I really could do

Was to smooth out her wings on my breast.

But the day drifted on till it came to an end,
And the great moon rose in sight.
And the dear soft lids o'er the dear soft eyes
Dropped tenderly their good-night

And I thought, as I looked on her lying asleep,
I was glad (for once in a way),

That my beautiful child was human enough
For a mischievous "Baby Day."

-Mrs. L. C. Whiton.

A

DROLL conversation I once overheard-
Two children, a cat, a cow, and a bird.
The names of the children were Eddie and Jane;
The names of the others I did not hear plain.
How came I to hear them? I think I won't tell :
You may guess, if you please; and if you guess well
You'll guess that I heard it as many a man hears-
With his fancy alone, and not with his ears.

The children were drawing with caution and care,
Their sweet baby-sister, to give her the air,

In a dainty straw wagon with wheels of bright red,
And a top of white muslin which shaded her head.
She was only one year and a few months old;
Her eyes were bright blue, and her hair was like gold;
She laughed all the time from morning till night,
Till Eddie and Jane were quite wild with delight.

Such a wonderful plaything never was known!
Like a real live dolly, and all for their own!
Two happier children could nowhere be found,
No, not if you traveled the whole world around.
They had drawn her this morning where daisies grew-
White daisies, all shining and dripping with dew,
Long wreaths of the daisies, and chains, they had made;
In the baby's lap these wreaths they had laid,
And were laughing to watch her fat little hands
Untwisting and twisting the stems and the strands.

We're not cruel children. You may come without fear.
We've something to show you. In all your life maybe,
You'll never see anything sweet as our baby!”
'Twas an odd thing, now, for a lark to do-
I hope you won't think my story's untrue-
But this is the thing that I saw and I heard:
That lark flew right down like a sociable bird
As soon as they called him, and perched on a tree,
And winked with his eye at the children and me,
And laughed out as much as a bird ever can,
As he cried, Ha ha! Little woman and man!

"You'll be quite surprised and astonished, maybe,
To hear that I do not think much of your baby.
Why, out in the field here I've got in my nest,
All cuddled up snug 'neath my wife's warm breast,
Four little babies-two sisters, two brothers-
And all with bright eyes, as bright as their mother's;
Your baby's at least ten times older than they,
But they are all ready to fly to-day.

'They'll take care of themselves in another week,
Before your poor baby can walk, or can speak.
It has often surprised me to see what poor things

All babies are that are born without wings;
And but one at a time! Dear me, my wife
Would be quite ashamed of so idle a life!"

And the lark looked as scornful as a lark knows how,

As he swung up and down on a slender bough.

A cat had been eyeing him there for a while,
And sprang at him now from top of a stile.
But she missed her aim-he was quite too high;
And oh, how he laughed as he soared in the sky!
Then the cat scrambled up, disappointed and cross;
She looked all about her, and felt at a loss

What next she should do. So she took up the thread
Of the lark's discourse, and ill-naturedly said:

"Yes, indeed, little master and miss, I declare,
It's enough to make any mother-cat stare,
To see what a time you do make, to be sure,
Over one small creature, so helpless and poor
As your babies are! Why, I've six of my own:
When they were two weeks old they could run alone;
They're never afraid of dogs or of rats-

In a few weeks more they'll be full-grown cats;

"Their fur is as fine and as soft as silk

Two gray, and three black, and one white as new milk.

A fair fight for a mouse in my family

Is as pretty a sight as you'll ever see.

It is all very well to brag of your baby

One of these years it will be something, maybe!"
And without even looking at the baby's face,
The cat walked away at a sleepy.pace.

"Moo, Moo!" said a cow, coming up. "Moo, Moo!
Young people, you're making a great to-do
About your baby. And the lark and the cat,
They're nothing but braggers-I wouldn't give that,"
(And the cow snapped her tail as you'd snap your
thumb)

"For all the babies, and kittens, and birds, that come In the course of a year! It does make me laugh To look at them all, by the side of a calf!

'Why, my little Brindle as soon as 'twas born Stood up on its legs, and sniffed at the corn; Before it had been in the world an hour

It began to gambol, and canter, and scour
All over the fields. See its great shining eyes,
And its comely red hair that so glossy lies
And thick! he has never felt cold in his life;
But the wind cuts your baby's skin like a knife.

"Poor shivering things! I have pitied them oft,
All muffled and smothered in flannel soft.
Ha ha! I am sure the stupidest gaby
Can see that a calf's ahead of a baby!"
And the cow called her calf, and tossed up her head
Like a person quite sure of all she has said.

Then Jane looked at Eddie, and Eddie at Jane ;
Said Eddie, How mean! I declare, they're too vain

"To live-preposterous things! They don't know
What they're talking about! I'd like them to show
A bird, or a kitten, or a learned calf,

That can kiss like our baby, or smile, or laugh."
"Yes, indeed, so should I!" said Jane in a rage;
"The poor little thing! She's advanced for her age,
For the minister said so the other day-
She's worth a hundred kittens or calves to play.
"And as for young birds-they're pitiful things!
I saw a whole nest once, all mouths and bare wings,
And they looked as if they'd been picked by the cook
To broil for breakfast. I'm sure that they shook
With cold if their mother got off for a minute-
I'm glad we have flannel, and wrap babies in it!"
So the children went grumbling one to the other,
And when they reached home, they told their mother.

The dear baby, asleep, in its crib she laid,
And laughed as she kissed the children, and said:
"Do you think I believe that the sun can shine
On a boy or a girl half so sweet as mine?
The lark and the cat, and the cow were all right-
Each baby seems best in its own mother's sight."
-Helen Hunt Jackson.

Now

OW I lay me"-say it, darling; "Lay me," lisped the tiny lips

Of my daughter, kneeling, bending O'er her folded finger tips.

"Down to sleep-to sleep," she murmured, And the curly head dropped low,

"I pray thee Lord," I gently added,— "You can say it all, I know."

See the forms of little children Kneeling, white-robed, for their rest : All in quiet nursery chambers,

While the dusky shadows creep, Hear the voices of the children

"Now I lay me down to sleep."

On the meadow and the mountain
Calmly shine the winter stars,
But across the glistening lowlands
Slant the moonlight's silver bars
In the silence and the darkness,

Darkness growing still more deep,
Listen to the little children

Praying God their souls to keep.

"If we die"-so pray the children, And the mother's head drops low; (One from out her fold is sleeping

Deep beneath the winter's snow;) "Take our souls:" and past the casement Flits a gleam of crystal light, Like the trailing of his garments, Walking evermore in white.

Little souls that stand expectant
Listening at the gates of life,
Hearing, far away, the murmur
Of the tumult and the strife;
We who fight beneath those banners,
Meeting ranks of foemen there,
Find a deeper, broader meaning

In your simple vesper prayer.

When your hands shall grasp this standard,
Which to-day you watch from far,
When your deeds shall shape the conflict
In this universal war :

Pray to Him, the God of Battles,
Whose strong eye can never sleep,
In the warring of temptation

Firm and true your souls to keep.

When the combat ends, and slowly

Clears the smoke from out the skies, Then far down the purple distance All the noise of battle dies. When the last night's solemn shadows Settle down on you and me, May the love that never faileth Take our souls eternally.