And over the rippling tresses Do they watch the sunbeams glide, Till many a lip that quivers, The gray mustaches hide. And many a heart beats faster, As the thoughts of those thousands stray To the little ones singing, playing, In the homes so far away; Little ones singing, playing, Happy and gay and free, Sunny-haired little children They never again may see. Thus do they wait in silence, Till the child to her cottage-door Creeps—as the sunshine, often, From skies that are clouded o’er. Then—as those clouds in anger Meet with deafening din, So the two hostile armies The battle straightway begin. That was hundreds of years since; Scarcely the records tell To which of those hostile armies The glory of winning fell. But though ’twas hundreds of years since. There you may read, this day, How a little child, unwitting, Held them an hour at bay. PINKETY-WINKETY-WEE. Pinkety-winkety-wee! Ten pink fingers has she, Ten pink toes, One pink nose, And two eyes that can hardly see; And they blink and blink, and they wink and wink, So you can’t tell whether they’re blue or pink. Pinkety-blinkety-winkety-wee! Not much hair on her head has she; She has no teeth, and she cannot talk; She isn’t strong enough yet to walk; She cannot even so much as creep; Most of the time she is fast asleep; Whenever you ask her how she feels, She only doubles her fist and squeals. The queerest bundle you ever did see Is little Pinkety-winkety-wee. PUSS IN A QUANDARY. The table is spread, my daughter dear, Let us just climb up—there’s no one near— And help ourselves to the best that’s here. Wouldn’t you like a piece of trout? Ow! but the bones should have been picked out. Here’s a savory dish of meat. Ah, this omelet is a treat! Don’t be dainty—a feast so gay Isn’t granted us every day. (_Enter the master—“Out of that!_ _Scamper! off with you! s-s-s-scat!”_) Oh, the wearisome life of a cat! Mew, mew, meou, ow! I think it’s curious, anyhow. Where people can come and go so free, Why, and I wonder, shouldn’t we? What’s the reason these two-legged fry Are any better than you and I? LENA LAUGHED. Ah, pretty Lena! why is she weeping? What has befallen? What is it creeping All the way, all the way down her pink cheeks? One little, two little, three little tearies; One little, two little, three little streaks! One little, two little, three little brothers Out on a frolic, chasing each other— And ever and ever so many more! Quick, let us catch them—poor little dearies!— Here in this handkerchief, ere they fall o’er.