The violin laughed like a child and my dream changed again. I saw a cottage amid the elms and oaks and a little curly-head toddled at the door; I saw a happy husband and father return from his labors in the evening and kiss his happy wife and frolic with his baby. The purple glow now faded from the Western skies; the flowers closed their petals in the dewy slumbers of the night; every wing was folded in the bower; every voice was hushed; the full-orbed moon poured silver from the East, and God's eternal jewels flashed on the brow of night. The scene changed again while the great master played, and at midnight's holy hour, in the light of a lamp dimly burning, clad in his long, white mother-hubbard, I saw the disconsolate victim of love's young dream nervously walking the floor, in his bosom an aching heart, in his arms the squalling baby. On the drowsy air, like the sad wails of a lost spirit, fell his woeful voice singing:

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[(Listen to MIDI version of the above)]
Sheet Music: [Page 1].

It was a battle with king colic. But this ancient invader of the empire of babyhood had sounded a precipitate retreat; the curly head had fallen over on the paternal shoulder; the tear-stained little face was almost calm in repose, when down went a naked heel square on an inverted tack. Over went the work table; down came the work basket, scissors and all; up went the heel with the tack sticking in it, and the hero of the daffodils and pansies, with a yell like the Indian war-whoop, and with his mother-hubbard now floating at half mast, hopped in agony to a lounge in the rear.

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A BATTLE WITH KING COLIC.

There was "weeping and gnashing of teeth;" there were hoarse mutterings; there was an angry shake of the screaming baby, which he had awakened again. Then I heard an explosion of wrath from the warm blankets of the conjugal couch, eloquent with the music of "how dare you shake my little baby that way!!!! I'll tell pa to-morrow!" which instantly brought the trained husband into line again, singing: