evening and kiss his happy wife and frolic with his baby. The purple
glow now faded from the Western skies; the flowers closed their petals
in the dewy slumbers of the night; every wing was folded in the bower;
every voice was hushed; the full-orbed moon poured silver from the East,
and God's eternal jewels flashed on the brow of night. The scene changed
again while the great master played, and at midnight's holy hour, in the
light of a lamp dimly burning, clad in his long, white mother-hubbard,
I saw the disconsolate victim of love's young dream nervously walking
the floor, in his bosom an aching heart, in his arms the squalling baby.
On the drowsy air, like the sad wails of a lost spirit, fell his woeful
voice singing:

[Illustration: (Sheet Music)]

With my la-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye ba-by,
Danc-ing the ba-by ev-er so high; with my
La-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye ba-by
Mam-ma will come to you bye and bye.

It was a battle with king colic. But this ancient invader of the empire
of babyhood had sounded a precipitate retreat; the curly head had fallen
over on the paternal shoulder; the tear-stained little face was almost
calm in repose, when down went a naked heel square on an inverted tack.
Over went the work table; down came the work basket, scissors and all;
up went the heel with the tack sticking in it, and the hero of the
daffodils and pansies, with a yell like the Indian war-whoop, and with
his mother-hubbard now floating at half mast, hopped in agony to a lounge
in the rear.

[Illustration: A BATTLE WITH KING COLIC.]

There was "weeping and gnashing of teeth;" there were hoarse mutterings;
there was an angry shake of the screaming baby, which he had awakened
again. Then I heard an explosion of wrath from the warm blankets of the
conjugal couch, eloquent with the music of "how dare you shake my little
baby that way!!!! I'll tell pa to-morrow!" which instantly brought the
trained husband into line again, singing:

"La-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye baby, dancing the baby ever so high,
With my la-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye baby, mamma will come to you bye and bye."

The paregoric period of life is full of spoons and midnight squalls, but
what is home without a baby?

The bow now brooded like a gentle spirit over the violin, and the music
eddied into a mournful tone; another year intervened; a little coffin
sat by an empty cradle; the prints of baby fingers were on the window
panes; the toys were scattered on th