The cat-bird, at morn or evening, sings
With liquid tones like gurgling water;
But sweeter by far, to my fond ear,
Is the voice of my little daughter.
Four years and a half since she was born,
The blackcaps piping cheerily,—
And so, as she came in winter with them,
She is called our Chicadee.
She sings to her dolls, she sings alone,
And singing round the house she goes,—
Out-doors or within, her happy heart
With a childlike song o'erflows.
Her mother and I, though busy, hear,—
With mingled pride and pleasure listening,—
And thank the inspiring Giver of song,
While a tear in our eye is glistening.
Oh! many a bird of sweetest song
I hear, when in woods or meads I roam;
But sweeter by far than all, to me,
Is my Chicadee at home.
* * * * *
THE ILLUSTRIOUS OBSCURE.
A SECOND LETTER FROM PAUL POTTER, OF NEW YORK, TO THE DON ROBERTO WAGONERO, COMMORANT OF WASHINGTON, IN THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA.
22,728, Five Hundred and Fifty-First St., } New York, June 1, 1858. }
Dear Don Bobus,—I see that you have been Christian enough to send my last letter to "The Atlantic Monthly," and that the editors of that famous work have confirmed my opinion of their high taste by printing it. Your disposition of my MSS. I do not quarrel with; although it must be regarded in law as an illegal liberty, inasmuch as the Court of Chancery has decided that a man does not part with property in his own letters merely by sending them; but I ask permission to hint that your conduct will acquire a certain graceful rotundity, if you will remit to me in current funds the munificent sum of money which the whole-souled and gentlemanly proprietors—pardon the verbal habits of my humble calling!—have without doubt already remitted to you. Pecunia prima quaerenda, virtus post nummos. Mind you, I do not expect to be as well paid as Sannazarius.