My Dearie BY FRANK L. STANTON. She's kissin' of my cares away- An' when in storms no stars I see She sees the bright tears fallin' fast, Bobbie's Exchanges BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS. I wish I owned a motor-car-a slashing big red-dragon. I'd swap it in a minute for a handsome horse and wagon. And then I'd take that horse and cart, delaying not a minute, And swap 'em for a new canoe, with nice soft cushions in it. And then I'd take that new canoe-I wouldn't wait a jiffy And swap it for a puppy dog with manners fine and sniffy. And then I'd take that sniffy dog for fear that I'd be bitten, And swap it off with someone who preferred it to a kitten. And then I'd take that kitty-cat and sell it for a quarter. The which I'd swap for one big pail of fizzy sode-water. Pretty Peggy BY CAROLINE WELLS. His gold beams a-spinning, I asked of the sun "Only once," he replied, "too many I spun, I asked of the sky if his stars were all right, He said, "I had two which were rather too bright, I asked of some fays who were cutting out flowers, They said: "We had scraps of these popies of ours, I said to the rain, "What becomes of the drops I artfully coaxed him to spill them all out, And that is the reason, I haven't a doubt, Kissing No Sin Some say that kissin's a sin; Suppose I put my babe to sleep In a nest in a tree-top high, Where the wind would blow it to and fro And sing this lullaby: "Rest, Rest, babe in a nest! Little white bird in a tree! The old tree shall keep a watch o'er thy sleep, The little leaves guard over thee; And one little leaf lays its palm on thy brow Soft, cool little leaf— Go to sleep, baby-now! now! soon ceaseth thy grief. "Sh! Sh! Sh!" says the leaves-that is their lullaby; But old tree-mother and green little leaves, My baby still would cry. II. Suppose I put my babe to sleep In a tiny boat on the sea, Where the waters would move it softly with love, And sing this melody: "Waft! waft, wee little craft, Afloat on the silver sea! Rock on the deep, white little one! Sleep! Canst trust thyself with me. For each little wave holds a star in its hands, And a far-off wind brings a song from the lands,— "Sh! Sh! Sh!" breathe the waves-that is their lullaby; But kind sea-mother and gray little waves, My baby still would cry. III. Suppose I put my baby to sleep Where I can watch the golden head Now Rosy-lips! Now Finger-tips! Now Weary-lids we rest! Thou and mother the whole night through; At last my hungry arms are filled; With a smile on my lips for thy little hands, |