THE BABIE.

NAE shoon to hide her tiny taes,

Nae stockin' on her feet ; Her supple ankles white as snaw,

Or early blossoms sweet.

As if he could but would not speak.
And now, O monarch absolute,
Thy power is put to proof; for lo !
Resistless, fathomless, and slow,
The nurse comes rustling like the sea,
And pushes back thy chair and thee,
And so good night to King Canute.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

Her simple dress o' sprinkled pink,

Her double, dimplit chin, Her puckered lips an' baumy mou',

With na ane tooth within.

BABY BELL.

Her een sae like her mither's een,

Twa gentle, liquid things ; Her face is like an angel's face,

We're glad she has nae wings.

She is the buddin' o' our luve,

A giftie God gied us : We maun na luve the gift owre weel,

'T wad be nae blessing thus.

HAVE you not heard the poets tell
How came the dainty Baby Bell

Into this world of ours ?
The gates of heaven were left ajar :
With folded hands and dreamy eyes,
Wandering out of Paradise,
She saw this planet, like a star,

Hung in the glistening depths of even,
Its bridges, running to and fro,
O'er which the white-winged angels go,

Bearing the holy dead to heaven. She touched a bridge of flowers, those feet, So light they did not bend the bells of the celestial asphodels, They fell like dew upon the flowers : Then all the air grew strangely sweet ! And thus came dainty Baby Bell

Into this world of ours.

We still maun lo'e the Giver mair,

An' see Him in the given ;
An' sae she 'll lead us up to Him,
Our babie straight frae Heaven.

J. E. RANKIN.

"THE HOUSEHOLD SOVEREIGN."

FROM "THE HANGING OF THE CRANE."

She came, and brought delicious May.

The swallows built beneath the eaves;

Like sunlight, in and out the leaves
The robins went the livelong day ;
The lily swung its noiseless bell;

And o'er the porch the trembling vine

Seemed bursting with its veins of wine. How sweetly, softly, twilight fell! O, earth was full of singing-birds And opening spring-tidc flowers, When the dainty Baby Bell

Camo to this world of ours !

SEATED I see the two again,
But not alone; they entertain
A little angel unaware,
With face as round as is the moon;
A royal guest with flaxen hair,
Who, throned upon his lofty chair,
Drums on the table with his spoon,
Then drops it careless on the floor,
To grasp at things unseen before.
Are these celestial manners ? these
The ways that win, the arts that please ?
Ah, yes; consider well the guest,
And whatsoe'er he does seems best;
He ruleth by the right divine
Of helplessness, bo lately born
In. purplo chambers of the morn,
As sovereign over thee and thine.
IIe speaketh not, and yet there lies
A conversation in his eyes;
The golden silence of the Greek,
The gravest wisdom of the wise,
Not spoken in language, but in looks
More legible than printed books.

0, Baby, dainty Baby Bell,
How fair she grew from day to day!
What woman-nature filled her eyes,
What poetry within them lay!
Those deep and tender twilight eyes,

So full of meaning, pure and bright

As if she yet stood in the light
Of those oped gates of Paradise.
And so we loved her more and more:
Ah, never in our hearts before

Was love so lovely born :
We felt we had a link between
This real world and that unseen-

The land beyond the morn;

And for the love of those dear eyes,
For love of her whom God led forth
(The mother's being ceased on earth
When Baby came from Paradise), –
For love of Him who smote our lives,

And woke the chords of joy and pain,
We said, Dear Christ! our hearts bent down

Like violets after rain.

She only looked more meek and fair !
We parted back her silken hair,
We wove the roses round her brow,
White buds, the summer's drifted snow,
Wrapt her from head to foot in flowers !
And thus went dainty Baby Bell

Out of this world of ours !

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

NO BABY IN THE HOUSE.

And now the orchards, which were white
And red with blossoms when she came,
Were rich in autumn's mellow prime;
The clustered apples burnt like flame,
The soft-chcekod peaches blushed and fell,
The ivory chestnut burst its shell,
The grapes hung purpling in the grange ;
And time wrought just as rich a change

In little Baby Bell.
Her lissome form more perfect grew,

And in her features we could trace,

In softened curves, her mother's face. Her angel-nature ripened too : We thought her lovely when she came, But she was holy, saintly now :Around her pale angelic brow We saw a slender ring of flame!

No baby in the house, I know,

'Tis far too nice and clean.
No toys, by careless fingers sticwn,

Upon the floors are seen.
No finger-marks are on the panes,

No scratches on the chairs ;
No wooden men set up in rows,

Or marshalled off in pairs ;
No little stockings to be darned,

All ragged at the toes ;
No pile of mending to be done,

Male up of baby-clothes ;
No little troubles to be soothed ;

No little hands to fold ;
No grimy fingers to be washed;

No stories to be toll;
No tender kisses to be given ;

No nicknames, “Dove” and “Mouse ; No merry frolics after tea,

No baby in the house!

God's hand had taken away the seal

That held the portals of her speech ; And oft she said a few strange words

Whose meaning lay beyond our reach. She never was a child to us, We never held her being's key ; We could not teach her holy things :

She was Christ's self in purity.

CLARA G. DOLLIVER

WHAT DOES LITTLE BIRDIE SAY?

FROM "SEA DREAMS.

It came upon us by degrees,
We saw its shalow ere it fell,
The knowledge that our God had sent
His messenger for Baby Bell.
We shuddered with unlanguaged pain,
And all our hopes were changed to fears,
And all our thoughts ran into tears

Like sunshine into rain.
We cried aloud in our belief,
“O, smite us gently, gently, God !
Teach us to bend and kiss the rol,
And perfect grow through grief.”
Ah, how we loved her, God can tell ;
Her heart was folded deep in ours.

Our hearts are broken, Baby Bell i

What does little birdie say
In her nest at peep of day?
Let me fly, says little birdie,
Mother, let me fly away.
Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till the little wings are stronger.
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away.

What does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and fly away.
Baby sleep, a little longer,
Till the little limbs are stronger,
If she sleeps a little longer,
Baby too shall fly away.

At last he came, the messenger,

The messenger from unseen lands : And what did dainty Baby Bell ? She only crossed ner little hands,

ALFRED TENNYSON.