own at all manners of odd moments, made to go to
bed when the children went to bed, to get up when they got up, be
bathed when they were bathed, dressed when they were dressed, taken out
in all weathers, stuffed into their satchels when they went to school,
left about in corners, dropped on stairs, forgotten, neglected, bumped,
banged, broken, glued together,--anything and everything it suffered,
until many a time it said sadly enough to its poor little self, "I
might as well be a human being at once and be done with it!" And then
it fell to thinking about human beings; what strange creatures they
were, always going about, though none carried them save when they were
very little; always sleeping and waking, and eating and drinking, and
laughing and crying, and talking and walking, and doing this and that
and the other, never resting for long together, or seeming as if they
could be still for even a single day. "They are always making a noise,"
thought the wooden doll; "they are always talking and walking about,
always moving things and doing things, building up and pulling down,
and making and unmaking for ever and for ever, and never are they
quiet. It is lucky that we are not all human beings, or the world would
be worn out in no time, and there would not be a corner left in which
to rest a poor doll's head."

WATCHING.

Dear father's ship is very near,
We'll blow him kisses, baby dear,--
He may come home to-day.
A happy wind that journeys south
Seems just to linger round my mouth,
Then bear a kiss away.

Come, baby, I will hold you--so,
We'll watch the waves that outward go,
And call, "Come back to-day!"
For father's heart seems always near,
And who can tell but he may hear,
Or know the words we say?

All round and up the cottage wall
The honeysuckle's grown so tall,
It sees above the gate;
The flowers came hurrying up so sweet--
We told the little seeds they'd meet
Dear father,--and they wait.

We first shall see a speck of white,
Far, far away, there where the light
Has swept the morning dim;
So silent will his coming seem,
'Twill be like waking from a dream
To wave our hands to him.

And then, and then he'll hoist you high,
And swiftly pass the people by,
Just stopping here and there
To shake the neighbours by the hand,
And tell them of the southern land,