St Nicholas [serial] . t convenient to her. Above all, if he daresien his mouth to complain of any of these tortures,5 delicate little body will be trotted on her hardtees till it will be nothing short of a miracle if hisccious little life is not worried out of him. calm Oriental baby in his tray or basket; ie Chinese baby in his cage ; the baby of Burmah, ked or wrapped in silks, smoking at two and 1 irried at ten : the baby of the Cradle and the Kindling Asylum of Paris ; the Lima baby in its hammock, and the stolid Indian papoose on itsboards,—each and every one is happier and better
St Nicholas [serial] . t convenient to her. Above all, if he daresien his mouth to complain of any of these tortures,5 delicate little body will be trotted on her hardtees till it will be nothing short of a miracle if hisccious little life is not worried out of him. calm Oriental baby in his tray or basket; ie Chinese baby in his cage ; the baby of Burmah, ked or wrapped in silks, smoking at two and 1 irried at ten : the baby of the Cradle and the Kindling Asylum of Paris ; the Lima baby in its hammock, and the stolid Indian papoose on itsboards,—each and every one is happier and betteroff than our poor little mother-abandoned Americanbaby, left to ignorant and careless nurses. The mother-baby,—the happy little travelerwho is not left to the mercies of a nurse, whosethrone is his mothers arms, whose pillow is soft,and whose needs are wisely met,—he is the hap-piest of all. Fair, fat, and hearty, the sorrows ofbabyhood come not near him. He truly is the one born with a silver spoon in his 77- By M. M. D. ING, dong ! Ding, dong ! Seventy-six will soon be gone ;Seventy-seven s coming on,—Ding, dong ! Ding, dong ! Tell us, year, before you go,— Ding, dong ! Ding, dong !Why at last you hurry so,Though at first so very slow ? Ding, dong !Cant you wait a little longer,Till the baby-year gets stronger?Ding, dong ! Ding, dong ! Why cant years come back again,Just the same as they have been ? Ding, dong ! Ding, dong !Big folks say t would never do,None would live the past anew ;But I d like it,—would nt you ? Ding, dong ! Ding, dong ! Just the same ? No, I must beBetter with each year, you see,Old year! Dont you pity me?Ding, dong ! Ding, dong,Ding ! 184 POPPETS. [JanuaI POPPETS. By Amalie La Forge. It was a calm, still evening. The broad bosomof the Thames was scarcely ruffled by the littlebreeze that stirred the drooping sails of some of theriver craft. Over the city and over the forest ofmasts, the round full moon was rising. Touchingthe dome of
Size: 895px × 2793px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthordodgemar, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1873
