"Tell me your name, my little maid:
I can't find you without it."
"My name is Shiny-eyes," she said.
"Yes; but your last name?" She shook her head:
"Up to my house 'ey never said
A single word about it."
"But, dear," I said, "what is your name?"
"Why, didn't you hear me told you?
Dust Shiny-eyes." A bright thought came:
"Yes, when you're good. But when they blame
You, little one,—is it just the same
When mamma has to scold you?"
"My mamma never scolds," she moans,
A little blush ensuing,
"'Cept when I've been a-frowing stones;
And then she says [the culprit owns],—
'Mehitabel Sapphira Jones,
What has you been a-doing?'"
Anna F. Burnham.
WHEN McGUE PUTS THE BABY TO SLEEP.
We have a foine tinement, close be the bridge,
Wid three pairs of stairs and a farm.
The farm's on the roof, but it's ilegant just
For to kape the small childer from harm.
The railin' is high. Shure it's tired they get
From playin' "puss corner" an' "peep,"
An' 'twould do your heart good in the twilight to see
Ould McGue put the baby to sleep.
McGue is my man, an' a daisy he is,
For after the gas-house shuts down
He comes wid his pail (faith, the coal on his face
Gives the shake to the boys of the town).
Then he sits down wid me, an' his poipe, an' his chair,
Comfortable, cosey, an' deep,
Wid the kid in his arms; it would break you to see
Ould McGue put the baby to sleep.
