l," so many things say,--
The wind, that has played in the grasses all day,
The pretty red squirrels you never can catch,
And the kitten, that tries all your playthings to snatch.

When bird, bee, and blossom
Their bright eyes must close,
Is Ethel awake?
Go to sleep like a rose.

CHARLOTTE M. PACKARD.

[Illustration]

BABY'S EXPLOIT.

IN the first place baby had her bath. Such a time! Mamma talked as fast
and as funny as could be; and the baby crowed and kicked as if she
understood every word.

Presently came the clean clothes,--a nice, dainty pile, fresh from
yesterday's ironing. Baby Lila was seven months old that very May
morning; but not a sign had she given yet of trying to creep: so the
long white dresses still went on, though mamma said every day, "I must
make some short dresses for this child. She's too old to wear these
dragging things any longer."

When baby had been dressed and kissed, she was set down in the middle of
the clean kitchen-floor, on her own rug, hedged in by soft white
pillows. There she sat, serene and happy, surveying her playthings with
quizzical eyes; while her mamma gathered up bath-tub, towel, and
cast-off clothes, and went up stairs to put them away.

Left to herself, Lila first made a careful review of her treasures. The
feather duster was certainly present. So was the old rattle. Was the
door-knob there? and the string of spools? Yes; and so was the little
red pincushion, dear to baby's color-loving eyes.

[Illustration]

She was slowly poking over the things in her lap, when mamma came back,
bringing a pot of yeast to set by the open fire-place, where a small
fire burned leisurely on this cool May morning. She put a little tin
plate on the top of the pot, kissed the precious baby, and then went out
again. Baby Lila was used to being left alone, though seldom out of
mamma's hearing. At such times she would sit among the pillows, tossing
her trinkets all about, and crowing at her own performances. Sometimes
she would drop over against a pillow, and go to sleep.

But this morning Lila had no intention of going to sleep. She flourished
the duster, and laughed at the pincushion; then gazed meditatively at
the bright window, and reflected gravely on the broad belt of sunshine
lying across the floor. That speculation over, she fell to huggin