en he wrote:--

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.
How did you come to us, you dear?
God thought of you, and so I am here.

The Owlet is twin to that quaint little bird, so its name flew to her
and stayed. This babe has round eyes with long curling lashes. When she
is good, these round eyes beam, and every one forgets that anything so
fascinating can ever be other than good. When she is naughty the case is
exactly reversed. This baby's proper name is Lullitha, which means
Playfulness, and illustrates a side of her character undiscovered by the
visitor who only sees the Owlet sitting on her perch with serious,
watchful, unblinking eyes, regarding the intruder. But most babies are
complex characters, and are not known in an hour.

The Teddy-bear is a fine child with perfect lungs, a benevolent smile,
and an appetite. Her ruling passion at present is devotion to her food.
She feels unjustly treated because we do not see our way to feed her
lavishly at her own five meal-times and also at the meal-times of all
the other babies in the nursery.

On Sunday morning, when we are in charge, we hear her views upon this
subject expressed in a manner wholly her own. She has just drained her
own bottle, and is indignantly explaining that it is not nearly enough,
when another bottle arrives for another baby, and this is too much for
Teddy's equanimity. We all know how hard it is to keep up under the
shock of adversity. Teddy does not attempt to keep up; she invariably
topples over. But the way she does this is instructive. She sits stiff
and straight for one brief moment, her milky mouth wide open, her hands
outstretched in despairing appeal; then she clasps her head with her
hands in a tragic fashion, absurd in a very fat infant, sways backwards
and forwards two or three times till the desperate rock ends suddenly,
as the poor Teddy-bear overbalances and bursts with a mighty burst. But
the storm is too furious to last, and she soon subsides with a gusty sob
and a short snort.

Poor little injured Teddy-bear! If it were not for her splendid health
we might believe her oft-repeated tale of private starvation. "They only
feed me when you are here to see! Other times they give me nothing at
all!" She tells us this frequently in her own particular language, but
the sturdy limbs belie it. This babe in matters of affection and
mischief is as strenuous