MABEL AND THE BUST.

Upon the floor our little Mabel sits,
Gazing, with wonder and delight,
Upon a marble bust. She cons it o'er,
With visage keen and bright,
Till cautiously upon the stone she lays
Her dimpled fingers white.

A tiny frown drives all the smiles away.
She scans the image with a rueful stare,
Then turning from it with a quivering lip,
The fickle baby wails in deep despair.
"What is it that disturbs my little pet?"
She cannot pull his hair!

W. G.