DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH.
Dear Mamma, I've been laughing
For Uncle Ben and Pa,
And then for sister Lizzie
I talked "ar-g o-o" and "gar;"
And then a "little story"
For Dick and Cousin Jane,--
And now you, Mamma, want me
To laugh and talk again.
I'd like to do it,
Mamma, but if I even try,
I am so weary with it,
I'm sure I'd only cry!
Don't let them try, dear Mamma,
to make me laugh and crow,
I'll do it when I'm able,
for babies always do.
BYE-BABY-BUNTING.
BYE-BABY-BUNTING,
The Indians live by hunting,
And bring home many a beaver-skin
To wrap the little pappoose in.
And mother-squaw the baby'll tie
Fast on a board, and swinging high,
Will hang it up among the trees
To rock-a-bye with every breeze;
But our dear baby, snug and warm,
Shall rock-a-bye on mother's arm.
TO BED WITH THE CHICKENS.
