There were German student songs, which she had learned from her brother when he came back from Heidelberg,--merry, jovial ditties, with choruses of “Juvevallera!” and “Za hi! Za he! Za ho-o-o-o-o-oh!” in which we joined with boundless enthusiasm. There were gay little French songs, all ripple and sparkle and trill; and soft, melting Italian serenades and barcaroles, which we thought must be like the notes of the nightingale. And when we called to have our favorites repeated again and again, she would sing them over and over with never failing patience; and not one of us ever guessed, as we listened with all our souls, that the cunning mother was giving us a French lesson, or a German or Italian lesson, as the case might be, and that what was learned in that way would never be forgotten all our lives long. Besides the foreign songs, there were many songs of our mother’s own making, which we were never weary of hearing. Sometimes [Illustration: JULIA WARD HOWE.] she composed a melody for some old ballad, but more often the words and music both were hers. Where were such nonsense-songs as hers? “Little old dog sits under the chair, Twenty-five grasshoppers snarled in his hair. Little old dog’s beginning to snore, Mother forbids him to do so no more.” Or again,-- “Hush, my darling, don’t you cry! Your sweetheart will come by and by. When he comes, he’ll come in green,-- That’s a sign that you’re his queen. “Hush, my darling, don’t you cry! Your sweetheart will come by and by. When he comes, he’ll come in blue,-- That’s a sign that he’ll be true.” And so on through all the colors of the rainbow, till finally expectation was wrought up to the highest pitch by the concluding lines: “When he comes, he’ll come in gray,-- That’s a sign he’ll come to-day!” Then it was a pleasant thing that each child could have his or her own particular song merely for the asking. Laura well remembers her good-night song, which was sung to the very prettiest tune in the world: “Sleep, my little child, So gentle, sweet, and mild! The little lamb has gone to rest, The little bird is in its nest,”-- “Put in the donkey!” cried Laura, at this point of the first singing. “Please put in the donkey!” So the mother went on,-- “The little donkey in the stable Sleeps as sound as he is able; All things now their rest pursue, You are sleepy too.” It was with this song sounding softly in her ears, and with the beautiful hand, like soft warm ivory, stroking her hair, that Laura used to fall asleep. Do you not envy the child? Maud’s songs were perhaps the loveliest of all, though they could not be dearer than my donkey-song. Here is one of them:-- “Baby with the hat and plume, And the scarlet cloak so fine, Come where thou hast rest and room, Little baby mine!