The fust baby has bekum one ov the fixed stars ov life; and ever since the fust one was born, on the rong side of the gardin ov Eden, down tew the little stranger ov yesterday, they hav never failed tew be a budget ov mutch joy--an event ov mutch gladness. Tew wake up some cheerful morning, and cee a pair ov soft eyes looking into yours--to wonder how so mutch buty could have been entrusted to you--to sarch out the father, or the mother, in the sweet little fase, and then loze the survey, in an instant of buty, as a laffing Angel lays before you--tew pla with the golden hare, and sow fond kisses upon this little bird in yure nest--tiz this that makes the fust baby, the joy ov awl joys--a feast ov the harte. Tew find the pale Mother again bi yure side, more luvly than when she was wooed--tew see a new tenderness in her eye, and tew hear the chastened sweetness ov her laff, as she tells something new about "Willie"-tew luv her far more than ever, and tew find oftimes a prayer on yure lips--tiz this that makes the fust baby a fountain ov sparkling plezzure. Tew watch the bud on yure rosebush, tew ketch the fust notes ov yure song-bird, tew hear the warm praze ov kind frends, and tew giv up yure hours tew the trezzure--tiz this that makes the fust baby a gift that Angels hav brought yu. Tew look upon the trak that life takes--tew see the sunshine and shower--tew plead for the best, and shrink from the wust--tew shudder when sikness steals on, and tew be chastened when death comes--tiz this--oh! tiz this that makes the fust baby a hope upon arth, and a gem up in heaven. LXXXIV. LAUGHING.