A gray eagle!--over The seas flies the rover; And I ride as his guide, a new world to discover. He bears me on, steady, Through whirlwind and eddy; I cling to his neck, and he ever is ready To pause at my beck. White doves through the ether Come flocking together. How they crowd to me, proud if I smooth one soft feather! O what is the matter? They startle,--they scatter! On the wet window-pane hear my eagle's claws clatter!-- The snow's turned to rain! Tears, why will you glitter? My sisters they titter, And there from her chair mother calls, "What a knitter!" My ball pussy twitches,-- I've dropped twenty stitches,-- My needles all rust,--they will earn me no riches; Alas if they must! _Lucy Larcom._ THE BABY OF THE REGIMENT. [Illustration] We were in our winter camp on Port Royal Island, South Carolina. It was a lovely November morning, soft and spring-like; the mocking-birds were singing, and the cotton-fields still white with fleecy pods. Morning drill was over, the men were cleaning their guns and singing very happily; the officers were in their tents, reading still more happily their letters just arrived from home. Suddenly I heard a knock at my tent-door, and the latch clicked. It was the only latch in camp, and I was very proud of it, and the officers always clicked it as loudly as possible, in order to gratify my feelings. The door opened, and the Quartermaster thrust in the most beaming face I ever saw. "Colonel," said he, "there are great news for the regiment. My wife and baby are coming by the next steamer!" "Baby!" said I, in amazement. "Q. M., you are beside yourself." (We always called the Quartermaster Q. M. for shortness.) "There was a pass sent to your wife, but nothing was ever said about a baby. Baby indeed!" "But the baby was included in the pass," replied the triumphant father-of-a-family. "You don't suppose my wife would come down here without her baby. Besides, the pass itself permits her to bring necessary baggage, and is not a baby six months old necessary baggage?" "But, my dear fellow," said I, rather anxiously, "how can you make the dear little darling comfortable in a tent, amidst these rigors of a South Carolina winter, when it is uncomfortably hot for drill at noon, and ice forms by your bedside at night?" "Trust me for that," said the delighted papa, and went off whistling. I could hear him telling the same news to three others, at least, before he got to his own tent.