THE BABY'S JOURNAL.

Hawke's Bay Herald, Volume 13, Issue 1071, 3 August 1869, Page 3

THE BABY'S JOURNAL.

• I as* here. And, if that is s what they call the world, 1 don't think much of it. It's a . very flannelly.' world, and smells of paregoric awfully. It's a dreadfully light , world too, and makes* me blink, I tell, you. And I don't,kno\y what todo with, my. hands; I think I'll dig my fists in my .eyes. , No. I won't. I'll scrabble at the corner of my blanket and chew it up and, then I'll holler; whatever happens, I'll, holler. And the more paregoric they give me the louder I'll -yell. That old nurse puts the spoon in the corner of my mouth, m a very , uneasy. ( way, and keeps. tasting my milk herself all the while. ... She spilled snuff in it last-night, and when I hollered, she trotted me. That comes of.beihg.a ( two days' old baby. Never mind, when I'm a man I'll, pay her back, good. There's a pin sticking in me now and if I say a word about it I'll be trotted or fed, and I would rather .not have catnip tea. I'll, tell ypu who I am. I found out today. I heard iblks say, "Hush, don't wake up Emmeline's baby." .That's me, I'm "Emmeline's baby;" and I suppose that pretty, white-faced woman, over on the pillow is : Emmeline. No, I was mistaken, for a chap was in here just now and wanted to see Bob's baby, and looked at me, and said I was a funny little toad, and looked just like Bob. He smelt of cigars, arid Tm not used to them. I wonder who else I belong to. Yes, there's another one— rthat's "Gancna," Emmeline told me, and then she took me up and held ;me against her soft cheek,' amd said it was " Ganma's baby, so it was." I • declare I don't know who I belong to ; but I'll holler and may be I'll 'find'. oiit. There 'conies Snuffy with catnip tea. The idea of giving .babies catnip tea when they are crying, for information ! I'm going to sleep. I wonder if I don't look pretty red in the face ? I wonder what Snuffy has in that big black bottle, and why she don't give Ganma's baby some. Here's Bob; he's one of the people I belong tp, you know. He kisses me and scratches me with his mouth—l don't wear a moustache myself. I like Ganma. She treats me like a gentleman, and parts my hair on the side. Snufly parts it in . the middle. ii. I'm a year old, and I've got a name. I'm Jo ; and Uncle Jo gave me a silver cup this morning, but they won't let me have it to bang on the table. Ganma would give ifc to me in a minute, and I think some day when I catch her alone I'll get it. ■Cousin Lizzie is staying here. She is a nice girl, only she won't let me pull her hair. I think she might — such long, soft, yellow curls. She won't let Uncle Joe touch a curl either. He just lifted one up the other day, and she drew it away and bent over her head and kissed me ever so much, and Uncle Jo walked away. Oh ! I've got the prettiest mamma ; her eyes shine so bright, I declare I am proud of her. I've had lots of toothache, and I've raised a few teeth ; but they don't come out as Ganma's do though. My pretty mamma tells me to show my toofies, and then I have to grin for everybody. I bit Bob's finger yesterday, but he didn't seem to mind it.

Pve got short clothes, and cousin Lizzie is teaching me to dance. Uncle helps her too. When lam through my lesson, she catches me up and kisses me, and then Uncle Jo kisses me too, right on the same spot. "Isn't that queer? I've got a little sister. She looks pretty well for a girl. I remember when I did not look any better. Cousin Lizzie has a new bright ring on her finger ; I guess Uncle Jo gave it to her. She don't scold any more when he pulls her curls now. Oh ! ain't I glad I've got a Ganma ? for Cousin Lizzie forgets me now sometimes. But Ganma don't forget me — not sbe— and she isn't so taken up with the girl baby that she can't remember a fellow that used to be No. 1. She says my nose is out of joint, but it don't feel broken.

I knew it was a sorrowful world when I came, and this is why I cried. I've tried to-day to wake dear mama, and I cannot. She will not speak to me or move or , open her bright, eyes. She will not even turn when the baby cries. Both her little hands a'e laid upon her breast, and full of flowers. And Cousin Lizzie and Ganma are all in black frocks, and I've got black ribbons on. And Bob sits by her with his head in his hands ; and Uncle Jo cries as he stands beside them both and lays his hand on his shoulder and says, "God help you, brother." And all the while the sun is shining in the street, and the people go by as they always do. The canary might know this was no time to sing — when dear mama will never wake again.