"My darling's kisses cannot be sold, But gladly he'll kiss a soldier bold." He lifts up the babe with a manly grace, And covers with kisses its smiling face. Its rosy cheeks and its dimpled charms, And it crows with delight in the soldier's arms. "Not all for the captain," the troopers call; "The baby, we know, has a kiss for all." To each soldier's breast the baby is pressed By the strong rough men, and kissed and caressed. And louder it laughs, and the lady's face Wears a mother's smile at the fond embrace. "Just such a kiss," cried one warrior grim, "When I left my boy I gave to him;" "And just such a kiss on the parting day, I gave to my girl as asleep she lay." Such were the words of these soldiers brave, And their eyes were moist when the kiss they gave. ANON. "Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?" "Yes sir, yes sir three bags full; One for my master and one for my dame, And one for the little boy who lives in the lane." Tommy Bangs looks quite smart, Driving along in his new goat cart, But Tommy's not one of your selfish boys, With every baby he shares his joys, Takes them to ride and lets them drive, Of course, they like Tommy The best boy alive. THE LOST DIAMOND SNUFF BOX. The grand old kingdom of England, in the course of the mossy centuries you can count over its head, has had its times of gloom and depression at dangers that looked near, and its times of shouting and rejoicing over dangers its brave men have driven away quite out of sight again. One of the deepest seasons of gloom was when the French Emperor, Napoleon, had conquered one country after another, until there was scarcely anything but England left to attack; and one of the proudest times of rejoicing was when the "Iron Duke" Wellington, and the bluff old Prussian, Blucher, met him at Waterloo, defeated his armies and drove him from the field. There were bonfires, and bell-ringings then, and from that day onward England loved and cherished every man who had fought at Waterloo--from the "Duke" himself down to the plainest private, every one was a hero and a veteran. In one of the humblest houses of a proud nobleman's estate, a low, whitewashed cottage, one of these veterans lived not so very many years ago. He had fought by his flag in one of the most gallant regiments until the last hour of the battle, and then had fallen disabled from active service for the rest of his life. That did not seem to be of so very great consequence though, just now; for peace reigned in the land, and with his wife and two beautiful daughters to love, his battles to think over, and his pension to provide the bread and coffee, the old soldier was as happy as the day was long. It made no difference that the bread and the coffee were both black, and the clothes of the veteran were coarse and seldom new.