Some one says 'tis Pa all over,
Whereat Pa turns rather red,
And, to scan his features, quickly
To the looking-glass has fled;
But recovers his composure,

When he hears the nurse's story,
Who admits that of all babies
This indeed's the crowning glory!

Aunt Lucretia says she guesses-
Says, indeed, she knows it, pos,
That 't will prove to be a greater
Man than e'er its father was;
Proving thus the modern thesis.
Held by reverend doctors sage,
That in babies, as in wisdom,
This is a "progressive" age.

Uncle Henry looks and wonders
At so great a prodigy;
Close and closer still he presses,

Thinking something brave to see.
Up they hold the babe before him,
While they gather in a ring,
But, alas! the staggered uncle
Vainly tries his praise to sing.

As he stares, the lovely infant,
Nestling by its mother's side,
Opes its little mouth, and singing,
Gurgles forth a milky tide.
Uncle tries to hide his blushes,
Looks about to find his hat,
Stumbles blindly o'er the cradle,
And upsets the startled cat.

Why, O, why such awkward blunders?
Better far have stayed away,

Nor have thrust yourself where woman
Holds an undisputed sway;

Do you think that now they'll name it,
As they mean to, after you?
Wretched mortal! let me answer,
You're deluded if you do!

Round about the noisy women

Pass the helpless stranger now,
Raptured with each nascent feature,

Chin and mouth and eyes and brow;
And for this young bud of promise
All neglect the rose in bloom,
Eldest born, who, quite forgotten,
Pouts within her lonely room.

Sound the stage-horn! ring the cow-bell!
That the waiting world may know;
Publish it through all our borders,

Even unto Mexico.

Seize your pen, O, dreaming poet!

And in numbers smooth as may be,

Spread afar the joyful tidings,

Betsey's got another baby!

Knickerbocker.

IT

SOME ACCOUNT OF A REMARKABLE BABY.

was a peculiarity of this baby to be always cutting teeth. Whether they never came, or whether they came and went away again, is not in evidence; but it had certainly cut enough, on the showing of its mother, to make a handsome dental pro

vision for the sign of the Bull and Mouth. All sorts of objects were impressed for the rubbing of its gums, notwithstanding that it always carried, dangling at its waist, (which was immediately under its chin,) a bone ring, large enough to have represented the rosary of a young nun. Knife-handles, umbrella-tops, the heads of walking-sticks selected from the stock, the fingers of the family, nutmeg-graters, crusts, the handles of doors, and the cool knobs on the tops of pokers, were among the commonest instruments indiscriminately applied for the baby's relief. The amount of electricity that must have been rubbed out of it in a week, is not to be calculated. Still its mother always said, "It was coming through, and then the child would be herself," and still it never did come through, and the child continued to be somebody else.

Charles Dickens.

BANISH the tears of children! continual rains
blossoms are hurtful.

upon the

TWO YEARS OLD.

PLAYING

on the carpet near me,

Is a little cherub girl;

And her presence, much I fear me,

Sets my senses in a whirl;
For a book is near me lying,
Full of grave philosophizing,
And I own I'm vainly trying,
There my thoughts to hold;
But, in spite of my essaying,
They will evermore be straying
To that cherub near me playing,
Only two years old.

Jean Paul.

With her hair so long and flaxen,
And her sunny eyes of blue,

And her cheek so plump and waxen,
She is charming to the view.
Then her voice, to all who hear it,
Breathes a sweet entrancing spirit.
Oh, to be forever near it,

Is a joy untold;

For 'tis ever sweetly telling

To my heart, with rapture swelling,
Of affection inly dwelling-
Only two years old.

With a new delight I'm hearing
All her sweet attempts at words
In their melody endearing,
Sweeter far than any bird's;
And the musical mistaking
Which her baby lips are making,
For my heart a charm is waking
Firmer in its hold

Than the charm so rich and glowing,
From the Roman's lip o'erflowing;
Then she gives a look so knowing,
Only two years old.

Now her ripe and honeyed kisses,
(Honeyed, ripe, for me alone,)
Thrill my soul with varied blisses
Venus never yet hath known.
When her twining arms are round me,
All domestic joy hath crowned me,
And a fervent spell hath bound me,
Never to grow old.

O, there's not, this side of Aiden,
Aught with loveliness so laden,
As my little cherub maiden
Only two years old.

A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON,

Aged Three Years and Five Months.

Thou happy, happy elf!

(But stop-first let me kiss away that tear) Thou tiny image of myself!

(My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) Thou merry, laughing sprite!

With spirits feather light,

Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin, (Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin!)

Thou little tricksy Puck!

With antic toys so funnily bestuck,

Light as the singing bird that wings the air, (The door, the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire!

(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy!

In love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents (Drat the boy! There goes my ink!)

Thou cherub-but of earth;

Fit playfellow for Fays by moonlight pale,
In harmless sport and mirth,

(That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!)