Poppies' paleness; round, large eyes
Ever greet with new surprise;

Minutes filled with shadeless gladness,
Minutes just as brimmed with sadness;
Happy smiles and wailing cries,
Crows and laughs, and tearful eyes;
Lights and shadows, swifter born
Than on wind-swept Autumn corn.

Ever some new tiny notion,
Making every limb all motion;
Catchings up of legs and arms,
Throwings back and small alarms,
Clutching fingers, straightening jerks,
Twining feet whose each toe works,
Kickings up and straining risings,
Mother's ever new surprisings;
Hands all wants, and looks all wonder,
At all things the heavens under.

"Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings

That have more of love than lovings,
Mischiefs done with such a winning
Archness, that we prize such sinning;
Breakings dire of plates and glasses,
Graspings small at all that passes,
Pullings off of all that's able
To be caught from tray or table.

"Silences-small meditations,

Deep as thought of cares for nations,
Breaking into wisest speeches
In a tongue that nothing teaches,
All the thoughts of whose possessing
Must be wooed to light by guessing.

"Pleasure high above all pleasure;
Gladness brimming over gladness,
Joy in care, delight in sadness;

Loveliness beyond completeness,
Sweetness distancing all sweetness,
Beauty all that beauty may be;
That's Baby May-that's my baby."

CARE OF INFANTS.

Although it comes not within our province to dwell at any length upon the care of infants, yet we cannot forbear offering a few suggestions taken from the experience and life of one of the most intelligent and truest mothers this country has ever produced. She says: "The duty of a mother to her babe begins indeed before its birth. Every irritable feeling should then be restrained, and overflowing joy and hope be the daily aliment of life. Exercise among the beautiful works of nature, the infusion of fresh social feeling, and the contemplation of the most cheerful subjects, should be cherished and practised by those who have the glorious hope of introducing into this world a being never to die; who, already a part of themselves, adds warmth and frequency to their prayers, and whom, 'having not seen, they love!'

The first months of infancy should be a season of quietness. The unfolding organs require the nursing of silence and of love. The delicate system, like the mimosa, shrinks from every rude touch. Violent motions are uncongenial to the new-born. Loud, sharp sounds, and even glaring colors, should be excluded from the nursery. The visual and auditory nerves, those princely ambassadors to the mind, are still in embryo.

"The first months of infancy are a spot of brightness to a faithful and affectionate mother; a dream of bliss, from which she wakes to more complicated duties; a payment for past suffering, a preparation for future toil. I heard a lady, who had brought up a large family, say it was the 'only period of a mother's perfect enjoyment.' At its expiration comes dentition, with a host of physical ills. The character begins to develop; and sometimes to take on the tinge which occasional pain of body or fretfulness of temper imparts. The little being takes hold upon this life of trial. Soon, its ignorance must be dispelled, its perceptions guided, its waywardness quelled, and its passions held in check. Yet, were I to define the climax of happiness which a mother enjoys with her infant, I should by no means limit it to the first three months. The whole season while it is deriving nutriment from her, is one of peculiar, inexpressible felicity. She has it in her power so immediately to hush its moanings, to soothe its sorrows, to alleviate its sickness, that she is to it as a tutelary spirit.

Mothers, be not anxious to abridge this halcyon period. Do not willingly deprive yourselves of any portion of the highest pleasure of which woman's nature is capable. Devote yourselves to the work. Have nothing to do with the fashionable evening party, the crowded hall, the changes of dress that put health in jeopardy. Be temperate in all things. Receive no substance into the stomach that disorders it; no stimulant that affects the head; indulge no agitating passions. They change the aliment of the little child. They introduce poison into the veins, or kindle fever in its blood.

"During the first sacred year, trust not your treasure too much to the charge of hirelings. Have it under your superintendence, both night and day. When necessarily engaged in other employments, let it hear your cheering, protecting tone. Keep it ever within the sensible atmosphere of maternal tenderness. Its little heart will soon reach out the slender radicles of love and trust. Nourish them with smiles and caresses, the 'small dew upon the tender grass.' When it learns to distinguish you by stretching its arms for your embrace; when, on its little tottering feet, it essays to run toward you; above all, when the first effort of its untaught tongue is to form your name, Mother, there is neither speech nor language by which to express your joy! No, no, the poverty of words will never be so unwise as to attempt it."

CHILDREN.

"Children are what the mothers are,
No fondest father's proudest care
Can fashion so the infant heart
As those creative beams that dart,
With all their hopes and fears, upon
The cradle of a sleeping son."

-ROBERT SAVAGE LANDOR.

O love children is the dictate of a nature

pure and healthful. When not prompted by kindred blood, it is a spontaneous tribute to their helplessness, their innocence, or their beauty. The total absence of this love induces a suspicion that the heart is not right. "Beware," said Lavater, "of him who hates the laugh of a child." "I love God and every little child," was the simple, yet sublime sentiment of Richter. The man of the world pauses in his absorbing career, and claps his hands to gain an infant's smile. The victim of vice gazes wistfully on the pure, open forehead of childhood, and retraces those blissful years that were free from guile. The man of piety loves that docility and singleness of heart which drew from his Saviour's lips the blessed words, "Of such is the kingdom of heaven."

Elliot, the apostle of the Indians, amid his labori