COUNSEL TO THOSE THAT EAT

With chocolate-cream that you buy in the cake
Large mouthfuls and hurry are quite a mistake.
Wise persons prolong it as long as they can
But putting in practice this excellent plan.
The cream from the chocolate lining they dig
With a Runaway match or a clean little twig.
Many hundreds,—nay, thousands—of scoopings they make
Before they've exhausted a twopenny cake.
With ices 'tis equally wrongful to haste;
You ought to go slowly and dwell on each taste.
Large mouthfuls are painful, as well as unwise,
For they lead to an ache at the back of the eyes.
And the delicate sip is e'en better, one finds,
If the ice is a mixture of different kinds.
Unknown.

HOME AND MOTHER

Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
There, baby. (Oh, how the wild winds wail!)
Hush, baby. (Turning to sleet and hail;
Ah, how the pine-tree moans and mutters!—
I wonder if Ellen will think of the shutters?)
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
Rest thee. (She couldn't have left the blower
Down in the parlor? There's so much to show her!)
By-by, my sweetest. (Now the rain's pouring!
Is it wind or the dining-room fire that's roaring?)
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
How lovely his forehead!—my own blessed pet!
He's nearly asleep. (Now I mustn't forget
That pork in the brine, and the stair-rods to-morrow.)
Heaven shield him forever from trouble and sorrow!
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
Those dear little ringlets, so silky and bright!
(I do hope the muffins will be nice and light.)
How lovely he is! (Yes, she said she could fry.)
Oh, what would I do if my baby should die!
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
That sweet little hand, and the soft, dimpled cheek!
Sleep, darling. (I'll have his clothes shortened this week.
How tightly he's holding my dress; I'm afraid
He'll wake when I move. There! his bed isn't made!)
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
In thy soft cradle
Peacefully lie.
(He's settled at last. But I can't leave him so,
Though I ought to be going this instant, I know.
There's everything standing and waiting down-stairs.
Ah me, but a mother is cumbered with cares!)
Mary Mapes Dodge.

LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, An' wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep; An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about, An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you Ef you Don't Watch Out! Onc't there was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs— An' when he went to bed at night, away up stairs, His mammy heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him bawl, An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all! An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press, An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess; But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout! An' the Gobble-uns'll git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin, An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin; An' onc't when they was "company," an' ole folks was there, She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide, They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side, An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about! An' the Gobble-uns'll git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo! An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray, An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,— You better mind yer parents, and yer teachers fond and dear, An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, Er the Gobble-uns'll git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! James Whitcomb Riley.

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS