Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

But should she clench her dimpled fists,
Or contradict her betters,
I'd manacle her tiny wrists
With dainty golden fetters.

And if she dared her lips to pout--
Like many pert young misses--
I'd wind my arm her waist about,
And punish her--with kisses!

THE BABY IN THE TRAIN.

_Let babies travel--leave me lonely--
In carriages "For Babies Only"!_

HOW merrily, how cheerily we ride along the rail!
We think not of the driving rain, nor care about the gale!
I'm comfortably seated in a snug back corner seat,
With woolly rugs about my knees, and warmers at my feet:
I've all the morning papers in a heap upon my lap,
I read and calmly contemplate, and think about a nap;
A nap indeed? Impossible! You'll find it all in vain,
To have the slightest slumber with the Baby in the Train!

His rule is autocratic, and his language it is terse,
He freely fists his dear Mama, and domineers o'er Nurse!
He wrinkles up his forehead like an ancient chimpanzee's,
And babbles of the "puff-puff," and prattles of "gee-gees:"
He guggles and he struggles, and he will not stand not sit,
But he gives an imitation of an apoplectic fit.
I am not very captious, and I wish not to complain--
But _what_ a crying grievance is the Baby in the Train!

I wish to feign the friendly, but most shrewdly I reflect--
In silly finger-snapping I must lose my self-respect:
Can I crow or can I chuckle with a countenance serene?
Is "kitchee-kitchee" fitted for my gravity of mien?
Can I talk of "doggie-oggies," or prate of "ittle dears"?
Is "peep-bo" fit amusement for a person of my years?
And though I do my very best to try to entertain,
I'm thought a vile impostor by the Baby in the Train!

He knows that I am longing to make faces on the sly,
How spitefully I'd pinch him if no guardians were nigh!
He clutches at my watch-chain, he smiles upon my suit,
He tries to eat my eye-glass, he jumps upon my boot;
He takes away my walking-stick, he crumples up my _Punch_;
He burrows deep in paper-bags in foraging for lunch;
And cups of milk, at stations oft, how eagerly he'll drain,
With sighs of satisfaction, will this Baby in the Train!

O bold Directors, build a car to take such household pets!
And fit it up with cots and cribs and rocking basinettes,
And lullabies and picture-books and bon-bons, cakes, and toys,
To soothe the savage bosoms of these little girls and boys.
Brim high the cup with caudle then! Let Soothing Syrup flow!
Let roasted mutton deck the board, and milky rice also!
And let all Railway Companies immediately maintain
A separate compartment for the Baby in the Train!

MISS SAILOR-BOY.

_I pause and watch the boats pass by,
And paint her portrait on the sly!_

HER age is twelve; half bold, half coy--
Her friends all call her "Sailor-Boy"--
With sweet brown eyes beyond compare,
And close-cropped, curling, sunny hair;
Her smart straw hat you'll notice, and
See "Jennie" broidered on the band,
Her sailor's knot, and lanyard too,
With jersey trim of navy blue;
Her short serge frock distinctly shows
Well shapen legs in sable hose
And symphonies in needlework,
Where dimpled pearly shadows lurk--
Which, as she swings her skirts, you note
Peep out beneath her petticoat.
This sunburnt baby dives and floats,
She manages canoes or boats;
Can steer and scull, can reef or row,
Or punt or paddle, fish or tow.
The lithest lass you e'er could see
In all Short-petticoaterie!

MAPLEDURHAM LOCK, _August_.

A PRIVATE NOTE.

PICKED UP ON THE TENNIS LAWN.