Transcriber’s Note
  Italic text displayed as: _italic_




[Illustration: Baby eating]

[Illustration: Baby in dress]




  Mammy’s Baby.

  ILLUSTRATED BY

  IDA WAUGH,

  VERSES BY

  Amy Ella Blanchard

  WORTHINGTON CO. NEW YORK.

  Copyright 1890 by Worthington Co.
  NEW YORK.




[Illustration: Baby holding cane over head]

“SEE HOW STRONG I AM.”


    So strong are you, my baby?
      I see that very plain;
    For you can hold above your head
      Papa’s big, heavy cane.

    Why, soon you can be lifting,
      For your mamma, the chairs;
    Or bringing heavy books to her,
      Or helping her up-stairs.

    Then you can mail her letters,
      And run her errands, too;
    There is no end of all the things
      My baby soon will do.

    You soon will be quite manly,
      Too soon, mamma thinks, dear;
    For she’d like to keep her baby
      Many, many a year.




[Illustration: Baby ready to cry]

CARE.


    Mamma has gone for a moment,
        And all the world is awry,
    For it takes so very little
        To make this baby cry.




[Illustration: Baby doesn’t care]

DON’T CARE.


    All alone they have left him
        With only tables and chairs,
    And so he laughs and plays to himself,
        And never a bit he cares.




[Illustration: Two kittens]

TWO NAMELESS KITTENS.


    Two little kittens, quite aristocratic,
    Lived in a rummagy, cobwebbed attic.
    They were no commonplace cats, if you please,
    But sleek-coated, fine-furred, thorough Maltese.
    Said one to the other, “It is a shame
    That we two kittens have never a name.
    We belong to no one, none belongs to us,
    Though I’ve heard some call our mother ‘Ma’am Puss.’”
    “Hark!” said the other, “here mother comes now.
    We’ll both of us set up a dismal meow.
    If she boxes our ears, or gives a cuff,
    Or asks if we haven’t had food enough,
    We’ll tell her our grief is deeper than that,
    We think it a shame that so proud a cat
    Should have two children with no names, at all.
    And then we will mew and cat-er-waul,
    Till she tells us how she came to be named.
    We will let her know that we feel ashamed.”
    With a waving tail, and a stately tread,
    In came the mother cat, stopped short, and said,
    “What has happened, children, since I went out?
    What in the world is this fuss about?”
    “O, mother, mother! we cannot be blamed;
    Tell us, dear mother, why we are not named;
    We are so ashamed, oh, what shall we do!
    Meow, meow! O, dear mother! Meow, meow! Mew, mew!”
    “Well,” said their mother, “blood will tell, I’m sure;
    Such ambitious kittens show Maltese, pure.
    Let me think, my dears, of some right good plan;
    Now, keep very still, for I must and can.”
    Then, softly licking one little, grey kit,
    By the nape of the neck she picked up it,
    And marched off grandly, came back for the other,
    And laid it down gently beside its brother.
    On the bed of her mistress, Florence Flippet,
    One on her muff, and one on her tippet,
    Then sat down, placidly washing her face,
    Well pleased that her kits were in a good place.
    “I declare!” said Florence, “what is on my bed?
    A tail—paws—claws—and a little grey head,
    Two new kittens, as I live. I declare!
    I wonder who on earth could put them there.
    Oh, they’re yours, Ma’am Puss; well, they are too sweet.
    I will keep them both; to make them complete
    Each shall have a ribbon, one red, one blue.
    Indeed, Ma’am Puss, I’m much obliged to you.
    They shall have milk whenever they can sip it,
    I’ll call one Muff, and the other one Tippet.”
    Ma’am Puss winked slyly, not saying a word,
    Rubbed against her mistress, and softly purred.
    That is all about it, for so, you see, it came
    These aristocratic kittens each had a name.

[Illustration: Girl with three kittens]




[Illustration: Four kittens in basket]

IN MISCHIEF.


    Four little kits in a basket,
      O, the naughty kits!
    Scattering the things about the floor,
      Pulling them to bits.

    Here is a ball of worsted,
      O, the naughty kits!
    It is the very ball that Belle
      Uses when she knits.

    There is a ball in a tangle,
      O, the naughty kits!
    Here is some silk all in a snarl,
      There a pair of mitts.

    One of these frolicsome kittens—
      O, the naughty kits!
    Has tried the baby’s stocking on,
      To see how it fits.

    Belle, meanwhile, in the parlor,
      O, the naughty kits!
    Never dreams of this frolic;
      By the window sits.

    When she comes back and finds you,
      O, you naughty kits!
    I’ve an idea you’ll be frightened
      Nearly out of your wits.




[Illustration: Baby on back with feet and hands up]

GRANDMA’S BABY.


    Big, blue eyes and fuzzy head,
    Lips like cherries, rosy red,
    Cunning feet, with wee, pink toes,
    Rose-leaf hands, and tiny nose,
    Dimpled elbows, shoulders, knees,
    Round her wrists a little crease,
    One white tooth just peeping through
    When she tries to say “Goo-goo!”
    What if ev’ry one must walk
    All a tip-toe, scarcely talk,
    When she takes her morning nap?
    That is nothing. Though a lap
    Is the only place at night
    That will suit her fancy quite.
    Though she screams and shrieks with rage,
    Did you do less at her age?
    What if she must clutch and tear
    From its roots her grandma’s hair?
    If your watch will keep her quiet,
    Why, my dear, of course you’ll try it.
    Bang the tongs, she’s fond of music.
    Does she cry? _You_ would, were _you_ sick.
    Spoiled, you say? You think so, maybe.
    But, you see, she’s Grandma’s baby.




[Illustration: Young girls looking at baby in stroller]

TOO PRECIOUS.


    You want my dolly, Baby?
        I really must say, No.
    I love it quite too much, you see,
        To ever let it go.

    For now ’tis fresh and lovely,
        But I’m afraid, my dear,
    If once I let you have it,
        ’Twould soon look very queer.




[Illustration: Black lady holding white baby]

MAMMY’S BABY.


    Dis chile? Why, bless you, honey!
        She sutt’nly is dat sweet
    You wouldn’t need no sugar,
        Ef she was made to eat.

    An’ smart! de smartes’ baby
        Dere is in all dis town;
    She got her toofies long befo’
        Dat no count Hay’et Brown.

    An’ loves her mammy, don’ she?
        Law, bless de honey chile!
    She know ez well ez I do
        What makes her mammy smile.

    She this go tug at mammy,
        And try to pull her hyar,
    An’ try to poke out mammy’s eyes,
        But mammy ain’ gwine cyar.

    Now tell de lady what yo name,
        An’ den how big you is;
    Now kiss yo hand to lady,
        So she know how you’s riz.

    Now come with old Betheuk,
        She gwine to take you home,
    An’ may be you learn howdy
        De nex time dat you come.




[Illustration: Girl with basket of eggs]

HUNTING FOR EGGS.


    How many eggs has Birdie found?
    One she saw lying on the ground,
    Four in a new nest hid away,
    All snug and dark, beneath the hay.

    Three were down by the currant bush,
    Close to the fence, where tall weeds push,
    Crowd through the rails, and climb about,
    But birdie saw the hen come out.

    Under the south porch steps were two,
    For out of there old Top-knot flew,
    She fussed, and clucked, and cackled so,
    That Birdie knew just where to go.

    And one lay down in Billy’s stall
    Among the corn, and that was all.
    How many were there? Let us see;
    I’ll count with you, you count with me.

    First, four will go into a cake
    That old Aunt Phoebe wants to bake.
    The coffee one will clear, you know.
    For grandma’s breakfast two must go.
    Three in the muffins, add to seven,
    And one is left—that’s just eleven.




[Illustration: Bunch of rabbits]

THE RUDE RABBIT.


    There were some little rabbits that once lived in a wood;
    Some were gray, and some were white, and all were very good
    Except one little rabbit, who was so impolite
    That his mother had to scold him from morning until night.

    He never thought of waiting at meal-time for the rest,
    But always first began to eat, and tried to get the best.
    He would reach across the table, and sometimes, I must own,
    He even helped himself before his mother could sit down.

    Then how he interrupted, if a friend across the way
    Came to call upon his mother, perhaps to spend the day.
    He would never walk behind her, in a nice, respectful way,
    But would rush right in, and never wait with what he had to say.

    He never would say “Thank you,” and scarcely ever “Please,”
    And when he wanted anything, he’d tease, and tease, and tease.
    He’d the rudest way of calling his mother to come down,
    And, without knocking, walked in rooms as if they were his own.

    And these are only half the things this little rabbit did;
    He never seemed to learn enough to do as he was bid,
    Till no one ever asked him to visit or to ride,
    And they’d look at him most scornfully, because he had no pride.

    And when this little rabbit a full-grown rabbit was,
    He had to live all by himself, quite unbeloved, because
    He was so rude nobody cared to have him within sight—
    To think of what a difference, had he but been polite.




[Illustration: Boy sliding down snowdrift]

SNOWDRIFTS.


        Over you go
        Into the snow,
    Eyes are bright, cheeks in a glow.
        Out he crawls,
        Now snow-balls
    Fly against the trees and walls.

        O, this is prime,
        Now’s the time
    To run and tumble, race and climb.
        When we are old,
        Snow will seem cold,
    And we’ll not be overbold.