WASHING-DAY.

WHILE mother is tending baby
We'll help her all we can;
For I'm her little toddlekins,
And you're her little man.
And Nell will bring the basket,
For she's the biggest daughter,
And I'll keep rubbing, rubbing,
And you'll pour in the water.
And now we'll have to hurry,
Because it's getting late ;
Poor dolly is n't dressed yet,
But dolly'll have to wait.
I'll pour, and you can rub 'em,
Whichever you had rather;
But seems to me, if I keep on,
We'll get a quicker lather.
Maybe when mother sees us
Taking so much troubles,
She'll let us put our pipes in

And blow it full of bubbles.
But now we'll have to hurry,
Because it's getting late;
And dolly is n't dressed yet,
But dolly 'll have to wait.

Hearth and Home.

BABY'S LETTER.

DEAR ole untle, I dot oor letter:
My ole mammy, she ditten better.
She every day little bit stronger,

Don't mean to be sick berry much longer.

Daddy's so fat, can't hardly stagger;
Mammy says he jinks too much lager.
Dear little baby had a bad colic,

Had to take tree drops nassy paleygolic.

Toot a dose of tatnip, felt worse as ever.
Sha'n't take no more tatnip, never!

Wind on stomit, felt pooty bad,
Worse fit of sickness ever I had!

Ever had belly-ate, ole untle Bill?
'T ain't no fun now, say what oo will.
I used to sleep all day and cry all night;
Don't do so now, 'cause 't ain't yite.

But I'm growin', gettin' pooty fat,

Gains 'most two pounds, only tink o' dat!
Little flannen blankets was too big before,
Nurse can't pin me in 'em no more.

Skirts so small, baby so stout,

Had to let the plaits in 'em all out.
Got a head of hair jes' as black as nite;
And big boo eyes, yat ook mighty bite.

My mammy says, never did see

Any ozzer baby half as sweet as me.
Grandma comes often, Aunt Sarah too;
Baby loves yem, baby loves oo.

Baby sends a pooty kiss to his untles all,
Aunties and cousins, - big folks and small.
Can't yite no more, so dood-by,
Bully ole untle with a glass eye.

MY LOST BABY.

COMES little Maud and stands by my knee,
Her soft eyes filled with a troubled joy;
And her wondering heart is perplexed to see
Her babyhood lost in our baby boy.

For Maud was a babe but a week ago,

A gentle, lovable, clinging thing;

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 dark, indefinite-colored eyes;

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,
Poor little babe of a week gone by;
Find for a moment a haven of rest,
Clasping my neck with a satisfied sigh.

Alas! I have lost her, she is no more
The baby girl that I loved to press
Close to my heart; she's a woman before
This animate atom of helplessness.

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
More than my heart could dream of,

Or jewels my hand could hold,

For that worthless toy, I should answer,
You cannot buy the tears

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
That prowess or brain could win,
I prize that worn old plaything

For the memories shrined therein.

There may be hope in the future
With its dreams too bright to last,

But they lack the consecration

That clings round thoughts of the past.

II.

She came when the May-time scattered
May-buds upon holt and lea:

And the glint of the sunshine seemed sweeter,
And a new song was sung by the sea.

'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!
And it scarce seems days ago

That she crowed and laughed in the summer,
And faded in winter snow.

It seems like a vision remembered
Of a death in unrestful sleep,

When fearsome thoughts come upon you
As storms brood over the deep.

And whenever I hear the laughter
That rings from a child at play,
I think of our dear dead snowdrop,-
And it seems but yesterday.

III.

The May-time had changed to summer,
And the roses of autumn come,
The birds sung blithe in the branches,
But blither the birdie at home.

The cynic may sneer at the feeling,
For a cold, hard creed is rife;
But I know that my love for my darling
Was my purest thought in life.

She grew with the summer's fruitage,
But in warm autumnal days,
She faded, it seemed like the leaflets
That strewed the woodland ways.

It was hard to mark, and still harder
To think that the hopes we kept
Must be buried away with old fancies,
And dreams that in silence slept.

Were we never to see her joyous
In childhood's innocent play?
Ah, no! she was called, and left us -
And it seems but yesterday.

At last

IV.

how well I remember

The long and lingering night, When we watched by the tiny cradle Till the morning's earliest light;

And then when the desolate morning
Shone cold through the winter bars,
Lo! God had taken our snowdrop
To blossom beyond the stars.

It was hard to bow in submission
When we thought of the vacant place,
And there within the cradle

The white little baby face.

Only one thought could comfort,
The echo of words divine,
That, tender as any mother,
By the waters of Palestine,

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
Just by the cottage door,
Waiting to kiss me when I came
Each night home from the store.

Her eyes were like two glorious stars,

Dancing in heaven's own blue

Papa," she 'd call like a wee bird,
"I's looten out for oo!"