"Yes: if you say your lessons well during the week, you shall not only learn to iron your clothes, but to wash them." "That will be fun!" cried Ellen, clapping her hands, and quite forgetting her burnt finger. DORA BURNSIDE. [Illustration] BIRDIE AND BABY. BIRDIE is a canary-bird of pale gold color. Tiny as he is, he is quite old compared with baby. He was the sole pet of the house long before baby came into the world, and he did as much as any bird could to fill a baby's place. All the bright hours of the day, the door of his cage stood open. He would fly to Aunt Minnie's shoulder while she sat sewing, and sing his sweetest notes for her, or perch on her finger and take the bit of fresh lettuce she brought for him from the table. But after baby came--can you believe it?--this dear little birdie behaved just like a spoiled child. He rolled himself up into a soft yellow ball, and actually moped. Not a note would he sing. Aunt Minnie could not coax him with green leaf or seed. He would insist on making himself unhappy until baby was taken out for an airing. Then he would burst into song again, and seem to feel that he was in his old place,--the only treasure. It was a long time before the poor little bird found out that Aunt Minnie's heart was large enough to love him and her precious baby too. But he is learning it now, and likes to have baby held up to his cage. When Aunt Minnie lets him out into the room, he hops close by the baby; and baby laughs, and stretches out his dimpled hands to catch him; but he is wise enough to keep out of baby's way. Don't you think it is nice for Aunt Minnie to have such treasures? E. P. B. A NAUGHTY BABY. HE'S a very naughty baby, For he will not shut his eyes And go to sleep, though I have done My best to hush his cries. I've trotted him, I've patted him, I've given him some food; But nothing that I do for him Will do him any good. I've sung a little lullaby, The one that mother sings; One that to weary little ones, Sweet slumber, always brings. I've scolded him, I've shaken him, All sorts of things I've tried; But the naughty, noisy baby-man Will not be pacified. He screams so loud he frightens me; He's getting worse and worse. I do wish mother would come home, Or get this boy a nurse. I'll toss him up, I'll tumble him, Play "creep-mouse," and "bo-peep," Perhaps if I can make him laugh, The laugh will make him sleep.