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WHERE'S MY BABY?

BY MARY FORMAN.

He was a grand baby, this hero of mine. One of your splendidly-developed, stirring boys, with good powerful lungs, big bright eyes, tiny rings of tightly curling hair, and a frame that might have been a model for an infant Hercules. Not one of the fat, heavy sort, but stout, sturdy, and active. He was ten months old, and looked sixteen, and his name was Freddy Lawson.

Fred Lawson the elder, who was the proud papa of this wonderful baby, was a tall, finelooking man, with a loud voice, a clear ringing laugh, and a heart as tender as a woman's.

Mrs. Lawson was the weest little blue-eyed morsel of a woman that ever fell in love with six feet of manhood (in this case spelt Fred), and Mrs. Lawson's proudest title at the time my story opens, was baby's mother.

There was never such a baby.seen; that was admitted on all sides. The angelic patience with which big Fred trotted, walked, and dandled that boy, was a study for paternal fondness; and as the youngster repaid him by crowing and laughing all day, and sleeping all night, Fred's devotion was not to be wondered at. As for Mrs. Lawson, who went at home by the name of Pet or Petty, words fail to express her maternal tenderness. Such embroidery as her little hands could produce to adorn baby, such dreams for baby's future, such care for baby's comfort can only be shown by a young mother over her first child.

There was still another devoted attendant in the boy's train. This was his nurse, Keziah, or generally called Keezy. She was a redhaired, freckled country girl of fifteen, whose whole soul was bound up in love for her gentle mistress and that baby. Tall, awkward, and ungainly, her gentle touch was only for Freddy, her voice softened for him alone, and her care was so faithful and affectionate that even the loving parents were satisfied to trust Master Freddy with Keezy.

My little hero lived in the country, in the little village of Towerdale some five miles from the town of Duncan; there were many pretty villages within a pleasant riding distance of this town. To the north lay Towerdale, to the south Mount Mayview, and other pretty places east and west, though we have to speak only of these two.

It was Fourth of July, 18, and a grand military parade, review, flag-raising and speechmaking was promised by the good people of Duncan, and from all points the village people flocked to the town. Mrs. Lawson had promised to spend the day with her cousin, Amelia; and at an early hour Master Freddy was bathed and dressed for his ride. Keezy, proud of her charge, whose embroidered dress and pretty hat particularly pleased her, was put on the back seat, with a thousand charges about baby; Fred the elder, and Pet occupied the front seat, and the party started. Cousin Amelia would expect them early, and Freddy must not get sleepy and crush his new hat; so "White Boots" was whipped up, and they drove rapidly in the direction of Duncan.

One of the principal men, in the village of Mount Mayview, on the south side of the town, was Oliver Moseley, a bachelor of about sixty, who lived in the largest house of the place with his housekeeper, Mrs. White. Ill-natured persons did say that this lady was Miss White, until her hair, beginning to turn, suggested that she was far on the road to old-maidism, and that she adopted the matron's title with her caps. Certain it is, that nobody in the village had ever seen Mr. White, and that the lady was never heard to mention her "dear departed."

Now, Mrs. White wanted to see the parade and review, and Mr. Moseley had positively refused to have the carriage sent to town for any such "nonsense." But "a wilful woman will have her way," as Mr. Moseley soon discovered. On the morning of the eventful day Mrs. White found, to her utter astonisht, of course, that there was no sugar in the house? the little village store could not furnish the loaf which Mr. Moseley utrinmpid after trying to drink his coffee unsweetened, the old gentleman surrendered at discretion and ordered the carriage to take Mrs. White to town to buy sugar.

The roads which led from Duncan to Towerdale and Mount Mayview met near the marketplace, and here were assembled so great a concourse of vehicles that Mr. Lawson and Mrs. White were compelled to abandon the idea of driving through the town, and, hitching up their respective horses in the hotel shed, they started on foot to find a good place from which

to view the parade. The crowd was very great ; from miles around the country people had flocked to see the show. Young and old, families and couples; farmers' wagons loaded with the representatives of three generations; smiling young farmers driving their sweethearts in the high or low chaise; young folks on horseback in couples, groups, or single, all were crowding round the market-place to obtain a good stand.

Giving Pet his arm, and bidding Keezy keep close to them, Mr. Lawson elbowed his way forward; his hearty voice, pleasant greeting, and allusion to the lady on his arm, winning for him an easy transit; while close behind him, with both Freddy's hands tugging at her flame-colored locks, came Keezy; her eyes and mouth wide open with anticipation of the sights she had come to behold. An open place was gained at last, and Pet stationed upon the porch of a small store, obtaining a seat for a con-sider-a-tion. Keezy stood near trying to obtain a peep over the heads of the assembled multitude.

"Can you take that baby on the other arm ?"? said a pleasant voice near Keeży; "his hat is right before my eyes."

Keezy turned at the request, to see a very small, tidy elderly lady just behind her, who was trying in vain to look round Master Freddy's hat.

"Freddy, take his hands out of Keezy's hair," said the nurse, trying to move the baby, and proving that a second effort would certainly dislocate her neck.

"Let me try," said Mrs. White; for it was the housekeeper, who was Keezy's neighbor. "What a beautiful child!" she added, as Freddy, taking his hands from Keezy's hair, turned his large dark eyes upon the little old lady, and signified his approbation by a crowing laugh.

"He's a booty," said Keezy. "Ain't him pooty, pooty boy?" she said to the child. "Ain't him dood boy? come to see sojers!" Another crowing laugh from Freddy complete his over Mrs. White's heart. His rosy cheeks, pretty dimples, and merry eyes were captivating enough to move a sterner nature; and his bright good humor was contagious. After a little chat with Keezy, Mrs. White held out her arms to Freddy.

"Come to me! come for a little minute!" she said; and Freddy held out both arms to accept the invitation.

"Here they come !" was buzzed in the crowd, and Keezy was all eyes for the show. Mrs. White, delighted with Freddy's appreciation of

the music and gay uniforms, held him up, moving a little away from Keezy as she saw a vacancy in the crowd, and a chance to get a little nearer to the front line of people. She was almost unconscious of these movements till an alarm was made in the crowd. One of the carriage horses on the outside of the throng had pulled himself loose from his fastening, and was dashing through the people, dragging the vehicle after him, and scattering the good folks right and left. Mrs. White looked round. The tall, gawky nurse was nowhere in sight, and the crowd was pushing, trampling in all directions, threatening to crush her to death unless she moved forward too.

Separated by the alarm in the crowd, it was some time before Mr. Lawson discovered that Keezy was not behind them with Freddy.

"Where's Keezy ?" he said, stopping suddenly, as the alarm subsided.

"Where's my baby? Oh, Fred! Where's our baby?" cried Pet. "She's been killed by the runaway horse !"

"Hush, Pet! Nobody was killed; and see, they have caught the horse. Stay here, and I will find Keezy in two minutes."

Two minutes, five, ten, thirty, sixty passed, and the anxious mother could endure the suspense no longer. She started to return to the market-place, and met her husband returning, pale and breathless, after a fruitless search. A heavy rain now began to fall, to add to their troubles.

"Perhaps she has gone to Cousin Amelia's," said Pet, ashy white with terror.

"Certainly! What a fool I was not to think of it!" said Fred, cheerfully, his handsome face brightening as he spoke. "Come, we will find the carriage and drive over. How it rains!" It rained harder before they reached the house, to meet another shock. The baby was not there. It was useless to talk of staying; the last hope was that Keezy might have started for home, and they drove rapidly out of town, hoping to overtake her. Anxiously they looked through the pouring rain for baby's white dress and Keezy's blue shawl, but in vain ; and when Fred unlocked the house door to find it empty, poor Pet fell fainting at his feet. Leaving her with a lady who lived in the next house, with a few hurriedly spoken words of explanation, Fred put up the carriage, saddled a fresh horse, and dashed off again towards Duncan.

Keezy's despair, when, after running like the rest from the horse, she missed the baby, cannot be described. She was not a very bright

girl, and fright was too much for her intellect to bear. A thousand terrors flitted before her mind, not the least of which was the vengeance she was convinced Mr. Lawson would take upon her for the baby's loss. She well knew the idolizing love of both parents for the boy, and she had lost him. Not knowing a street of the town, after one wild look around her, she turned and fled from the place, uncertain where to go, only anxious to escape from the parents whose treasure she had lost.

All the afternoon, until late in the evening, did the father pursue his inquiries for a girl with a blue shawl and red hair, carrying a baby. Some had seen her early in the day, but the rain had driven people away from the town, and no trace of her was left. It was near midnight when, after leaving an advertisement for the Duncan Daily News, Fred went home. I draw a veil over the scene that followed. The hope that had sustained poor little Pet through the dreary afternoon and evening fell to the ground as he entered the room alone.

In the mean time, where was the baby? Mrs. White's search after Keezy was as unsuccessful as Mrs. Lawson's, and she was still looking for her when William, Mr. Moseley's man, joined her to urge the necessity of returning home before the rain fell.

"But goodness me, marm!" cried the man, "wherever did you get that baby?"

"We must find the nurse, William," said Mrs. White. "Look for a tall red-haired girl with a blue shawl."

"Bless me, marm! there's fifty of 'em here," said William. "There, it's raining! Do come home."

"But the baby?"

"Lay it on the steps somewhere, and let the nurse find it."

"In the rain!" cried the horror-stricken little old lady. "How it pours! Poor little fellow! he will be wet through."

"You'll have to take him home, then, and find out where he belongs to-morrow. You'll never find the nurse now, and folks is all going away with the rain. Wonder how the old gentleman will like a baby!"

Mrs. White wondered, too, and somewhat uneasily; but there seemed no help for it, so she got into the carriage and drove to Mount Mayview. A little moaning, fretting noise from Freddy was but the beginning of trouble. Before half the drive was accomplished it was settled into a shrieking cry, and when they reached home the lovely baby was crimson with his efforts in the screaming and sobbing

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"Will you be quiet, you brat !"

A longer yell, with a gasping sob at the end of it.

"Hush, baby! He's a pretty boy. Hush, little boy; be quiet. 'Itty baby! You imp, be still!"

Only a succession of shrieks answered the appeal, and by this time they were at home.

Mr. Moseley was on the step. Could he believe his ears? A baby, a screaming baby in his carriage, in Mrs. White's arms.

"Where did you get that brat?" he thundered.

"Oh, I'll tell you all about it in a minute," gasped the poor little woman. "Hush, baby." But baby was determined to make all the noise that was made, and only screamed the louder.

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Perhaps he is hungry," said William.

"Of course he is, poor little fellow! Have dinner immediately!" said the housekeeper, in a loud tone, in order to be heard above the darling infant's tones.

Suddenly, with one of the freaks which beset infantile minds, Freddy stopped crying, as abruptly as if he had been choked, and after a few sobbing sighs, dropped his head wearily upon his new friend's arm, and went to sleep. With a sigh of relief Mrs. White unfastened the little hat and cloak, and put him gently upon the velvet-covered sofa, and then went to take off her own bonnet.

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Mr. Moseley would deeply resent the fact being known; but, after watching the little white-robed figure from a distance for some minutes, he approached it softly, and stood looking down upon the little stranger. The round white arms and shoulders, set off by their crimson background, the flushed cheeks, long, wet eyelashes, curling hair, and the attitude of unconscious grace which the child had taken formed a lovely picture, and the artist part of the old gentleman was gratified. His had been a lonely, unloved life, and something in the innocent loveliness of this noble babe stirred a new emotion in his heart as he stood watching the deep respirations and weary sighs of the little slumberer. A smile hovering for a moment on the baby's lips brought a strange moisture to the old man's eyes, and only a feeling of shamefacedness prevented him from kissing Master Freddy.

Mrs. White found him still looking down at

the sleeping boy; and, to her surprise, the only answer made to her communication respecting the child was: "Well, he must stay where he is till to-morrow, at least. It is too late to return to Duncan this afternoon."

For two hours Freddy slept peacefully, and woke with his peculiar crowing laugh, just as the late dinner came upon the table. Mr. Moseley, to his own astonishment, took him in his arins, and gave him his watch, delighted to see how tenderly he held it.

"Let me take him now, sir; dinner is ready," said the smiling housekeeper.

Crash! The watch was hurled across the room; and, coming in contact with the small mantel clock, struck that against a mirror, a piece of which knocked over an expensive glass vase, while Freddy laughed aloud at the noise ali this destruction occasioned.

Mrs. White trembled; but Mr. Moseley said: "My fault for giving him the watch." And sat down to dine.

"What do you give the boy, Mrs. White?" "I am sure I don't know. Soft things, I guess; he's got no teeth; I never fed a baby in my life."

"Take care; he 'll grab that knife."

This weapon removed, Freddy made a dash at a tumbler, succeeded in upsetting that down into his bosom, and began to scream.

"Give him something to eat," roared the old gentleman. "Here's some mashed potatoes;

they're soft."

The baby was hungry, and a mouthful of food quieted him.

"He must like it; see how he eats," said Mrs. White, as she gave the child spoonful after spoonful of the white, soft food.

"Here's some soft bread with gravy on it; try that," said Mr. Moseley.

Baby made a hearty meal. All the soft food on the table was tried, and met with his approbation. Squash succeeded potatoes and bread dipped in gravy, and some strawberries nashed in cream and sugar completed the repast.

A crowing, romping evening with his two old friends, and at about nine o'clock Master Freddy fell asleep, and was laid in his clothes on the housekeeper's bed. An hour later the whole household retired, and still the baby slept.

It was near midnight when Mrs. White was awakened by the crying of the child beside her. At first she was bewildered by the sound, but after a moment she recollected the little stranger, and began to pat and soothe it. All in vain; the cry was one of pain, and, after

some minutes passed in a futile attempt to quiet him, Mrs. White rose, and lighted a lamp, drew on a wrapper and pair of slippers, and took the baby in her arms. Some instinct told her that this was a cry, not of fretfulness, but of pain. The poor child's hands were hot and his face flushed, while his screams of agony were varied by moans that went straight to his new nurse's heart. She had no idea what to do. She shrank from the thought of awaking Mr. Moseley, and then she doubted if he knew anything about the matter himself. Meantime, while she was walking up and down, trying in vain to still the baby, the old bachelor was dressing himself, after tossing about, endeavoring not to hear the yells in the housekeeper's room.

"What's the matter? Gracious, what a row!" followed his thundering knock at Mrs. White's door.

"Come in! Oh, sir, the poor baby's sick! I'm sure he's got the croup, or the measles, or some of those things babies have."

"Sick! nonsense! he screams like a young hyena! Most likely he 's hungry again!"

"Seems to me babies do eat in the night. They do; I remember hearing, now, and they give them a drink of milk!"

"Is there any milk in the house?"

"Yes, in the cellar. If you will take him, I'll get some."

"No; you keep him," said the gentleman, shrinking back; "I'll go for it."

But baby positively refused to drink the milk; the improper food he had already taken was torturing the poor fellow, who writhed and screamed with pain.

Mrs. White walked him till she was ready to drop; then she rocked him, trotted, petted, and scolded. All useless; pain conquered all her blandishments and threats, and baby screamed on. Then the old gentleman tried his skill, until, wearied out, he tossed Master Fred on the bed with an impatient-"There! scream it out, you little imp!"

And baby obeyed! Shriek followed shriek, moan came after moan, yells were piled up, each one more intensly shrill than the last, till Nature came to aid baby, and he threw the improper mess from his poor little stomach upon Mrs. White's snowy counterpane. The vomiting eased him, and, tired out, he slept soundly.

Morning found the old gentleman cross and the old lady crosser over their broken rest, and they came to breakfast with savage glances at the innocent cause of their trouble. All his merriment was gone; he was only a pale, fret

ful baby, and his moaning cry was only an aggravation of his former injurious conduct.

"Mrs. White, we have got rid of that baby!" cried the old gentleman, gleefully; and from the newspaper read aloud Mr. Lawson's advertisement. "Order the carriage, and drive over immediately after breakfast. I don't want him in the house another night!"

Mrs. White shuddered at the idea, and ordered the carriage.

"There's a woman at the door who has been asleep in the barn on. the open lot over the way, asking for a piece of bread," said William, opening the door of the dining-room. "She's got red hair and a blue shawl, marm, and I thought-"

Mrs. White was gone. There at the door stood the cause of all her misery, Keezy, poor Keezy, who had wandered to the old barn, and now, faint with hunger, stood begging a bit of bread. One rapturous cry, and she was at Mrs. White's feet, and ten minutes later the whole party were on their way to Towerdale.

My pen cannot paint the parents' joy when their treasure was once more safely in their home. Keezy was forgiven; and Mr. Moseley never made but one remark about it; he said: "Mrs. White, the next time you go to a parade don't offer to hold a baby."

LADIES ON THE POINT OF MARRIAGE.

How truly important a thing it is to have all worldly concerns fully understood between the fair bride and bridegroom, prior to the wedding! In rich families, or where there are large estates, these affairs are regularly arranged by the lawyers; and should there be (by bare possibility) any dispute after marriage, deeds of settlement can be readily referred to. This is, however, but the adjustment of that highly desirable matter that has been termed "filthy lucre." All the lawyers in the world, putting their imposing heads together, could not control the effect of opposite tempers; and as it is undeniable that young lovers, in their period of courtship, are totally blind to each other's imperfections, it is not until after what is called "the honeymoon" has passed that the little thorns appear which inflict the first wounds on matrimonial bliss, and, if neglected to be soothed and healed at once, grow into more serious maladies. Young brides, it is at this critical juncture, or puncture, that your tact, your best good humor, must be exerted! The admiring man on whom you have bestowed

your hand will be too much gratified in observing this conduct not to meet it more than half way, own perhaps his hasty remark, kiss off a soft, indignant tear, and mutual forgiveness of each early petty offence may prevent the growth of many a future grievance.

Although riches have been pronounced a blessing, how often does it occur that the wife who brings money on her side is disappointed -nay, disgusted, in what she fancies may be the niggardly appropriation of the finances? Why ought not she to have a new carriage like Mrs. or Mrs. ? Has not the fortune flowed in from her family? When this notion has found its way into the female head, farewell to matrimonial bliss! The wife remonstrates, and, nine times out of ten, she is the most expert in argument, and her defeated helpmate walks off moodily to the hall of selfishness, his club-where in splendor he endeavors to regain good humor amongst the loungers and idlers that haunt the establishment, and where, if in pique he determines to dine, his palate is tickled with, perhaps, superior cookery to that of his own domicile.

We have been led to these remarks by the accidental perusal of an existing and authentic document, which, if only descriptive of the manners of the period in which it was written, is curious and entertaining.

We cannot imagine that any wife of the present day would propose such preposterous stipulations as those of Elizabeth Spencer, heiress of Sir John Spencer, Lord Mayor of London, some time about the year 1630, and who was married to William, Lord Compton. The lady had made few previous demands, but not long after the conclusion of the nuptial ceremony, she sent her husband a modest and consolatory letter, which is yet extant, and from which the following items, among many others, are verbally taken. It may not be impertinent to add that Lord Compton, as might reasonably be conjectured, after the receipt of such a letter as the following, reaped little comfort from his wife, and less from her large fortune.

EPISTLE FROM LADY ELIZABETH COMPTON TO LORD

COMPTON (LITERALLY RENDERed).

"MY SWEET LIFE: Now I have declared to you my mind for the settling of your state, I suppose it were best for me to bethink or consider with myself what ALLOWANCE WERE MEETEST for me; for, considering what care I have had of your estate, and how respectfully I dealt with those, which both by the laws of of God, of nature, and of civil polity, wit, re

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