among the jam pots and preserves. There two little dimpled hands made trip after trip to a rose-colored mouth, bearing burdens of mingling sweets that dripped from cheek, and chin, and waist, and skirt, and shoes, subduing the snowy white with the amber of the peach, and the purple of the raspberry, as he ate the forbidden fruit. Then I watched him glide into the drawing room. There was a crash and a thud in there, which quickly brought his frightened mother to the scene, only to find the young rascal standing there catching his breath, while streams of cold ink trickled down his drenched bosom. And as he wiped his inky face, which grew blacker with every wipe, the remainder of the ink was pouring from the bottle down on the carpet, and making a map of darkest Africa. Then the rear of a small skirt went up over a curly head and the avenging slipper, in lightning strokes, kept time to the music in the air. And I said: _There_ is "_Paradise Lost_." The sympathizing, half angry old nurse bore her weeping, sobbing charge to the nursery and there bound up his broken heart and soothed him to sleep with her old time lullaby: [Illustration: PARADISE LOST.] "Oh, don't you cry little baby, Oh, don't you cry no mo', For it hurts ol' mammy's feelin's fo' to heah you weepin' so. Why don't da keep temptation frum de little han's an' feet? What makes 'em 'buse de baby kaze de jam an' zarves am sweet? Oh, de sorrow, tribulations, dat de joys of mortals break, Oh, it's heb'n when we slumber, it's trouble when we wake. Oh, go to sleep my darlin', now close dem little eyes, An' dream uv de shinin' angels, an' de blessed paradise; Oh, dream uv de blood-red roses, an' de birds on snowy wing; Oh, dream uv de fallin' watahs an' de never endin' spring. Oh, de roses, Oh, de rainbows, Oh, de music's gentle swell, In de dreamland uv little childun, whar de blessed sperrits dwell." "Dar now, dar now, he's gone. Bless its little heart, da treats it like a dog." And then she tucked him away in the paradise of his childish slumber. [Illustration: OLD BLACK "MAMMY."] The day will come when the South will build a monument to the good old black mammy of the past for the lullabies she has sung. I sometimes wish that childhood might last forever. That sweet fairy land on the frontier of life, whose skies are first lighted with the sunrise of the soul, and in whose bright-tinted jungles the lions, and leopards, and tigers of passion still peacefully sleep. The world is disarmed by its innocence, the drawn bow is relaxed, and the arrow is returned to its quiver; the AEgis of Heaven is above it, the outstretched wings of mercy, pity, and measureless love! THE PARADISE OF THE BAREFOOTED BOY. [Illustration]