Part 14 (1/2)
Rockaby, lullaby, all the day long, Down to the land of the lullaby song.
Babyland never again will be thine, Land of all mystery, holy, divine, Motherland, otherland, Wonderland, underland, Land of a time ne'er again to be seen; Flowerland, bowerland, Airyland, fairyland, Rockaby, baby, thy cradle is green.
Rockaby, baby, thy mother will keep Gentle watch over thine azure-eyed sleep; Baby can't feel what the mother-heart knows, Throbbing its fear o'er your quiet repose.
Mother-heart knows how baby must fight Wearily on through the fast coming night; Battle unending, Honor defending, Baby must wage with the power unseen.
Sleep now, O baby, dear!
G.o.d and thy mother near; Rockaby, baby, thy cradle is green.
Rockaby, baby, the days will grow long; Silent the voice of the mother-love song, Bowed with sore burdens the man-life must own, Sorrows that baby must bear all alone.
Wonderland never can come back again; Thought will come soon--and with reason comes pain, Sorrowland, motherland, Drearyland, wearyland, Baby and heavenland lying between.
Smile, then, in motherland, Dream in the otherland, Rockaby, baby, thy cradle is green.
PENNING A PIG.
JAMES M. BAILEY.
Two families in Slawson had a somewhat singular experience several weeks ago. These families live in a double house, and each had a pen with two pigs. Last Friday the woman in one part discovered that her two pigs were free from their pen, and looking after geological specimens at the foot of the yard. She also discovered at the same time that the gate to a cabbage yard adjoining was open, and that the pigs might at any moment become ravished by a view of the glories within.
Her husband being away she hurriedly secured the gate, and then set about to return the truants by the following ingenious plan: Taking a shovelful of corn, she approached as close to the animals as possible, and, holding the tempting morsel near enough for them to learn its inviting character, she screwed her face into an expression of winning sweetness, and backed slowly toward the pen.
It was a beautiful ill.u.s.tration of woman's faith, and we regret to write that it did not work. The pigs took one snuff at the contents of the shovel, just to show that they took some interest in the matter, and, being convinced thereby that there was nothing injurious in the experiment, fell to rooting about again with renewed fervor.
The nearer the woman came to the pen the straighter her face grew, and presently lost every vestige of solicitude, and a.s.sumed instead an expression of medium ferocity. What she may have done will never be known, as at this juncture her husband made his appearance on the back stoop, and, her eye resting upon him, she commenced to apostrophize him in the language married people alone are adepts at.
After requesting somebody to show him the idiot who had left those hogs out that he might punch his head, he drove straight at the truants, and missed them, of course. Then he drove at them again with a clothes pole, and missed them again, although he made another pole by hitting that on a stone. Any one who has helped to drive one or two pigs will readily understand the number of articles that pa.s.sed through the air, and the style of conversation the man kept up during the chase.
Finally, he got one of the animals in a corner, and, being by this time utterly regardless of personal appearance or consequences, threw himself upon the brute, neatly sc.r.a.ping the fence with the top of his head, and falling upon the pig in such a way as to hold in abeyance every one of its muscles except those in the throat. These were at once put into active operation, and the man for a moment thought he had captured a planing-mill.
Then he raised slowly, keeping a tight hold of the animal, and getting on his feet with a pig in his arms, struck out for the pen, preceded by his wife and the other woman, and closely and anxiously observed by all the neighbors for a half-mile around.
In this way the procession laboriously moved. The pig, having worked its head within two inches of the man's ear, was pouring therein a tale of unparalleled distress, which, if not calculated to melt the stoutest heart, actually threatened to split open the stoutest head. The man was utterly powerless to remedy the horror, having both hands engaged, and could only twist his ear a little out of range, and scream at the top of his voice his plans for the future of ”them hogs.”
On reaching the pen, and while in the act of dumping the howling viper over the side, the woman next door made an unfortunate discovery. _His_ hogs were in the pen; the truants were _hers_. The man, who was still holding the pig, and might have, with reason, taken a prominent part in the debate, contented himself by merely expressing a hope that he might be blessed, and then trudged around to the other pen, where he arrived after much unlooked for tribulation, and again hoisted the howling monster up to the top, when the woman next door made another and still more remarkable discovery. Her pigs were in their pen.
”What's that?” screamed the man, who was so fixed he could not very well see into the pen, and was obliged to lift his voice to make himself heard above the din.
”Them ain't my pigs,” screamed the woman.
”Why ain't they?” he yelled.
”Cause my pigs are here,” she shrieked back.