A CHILD’S FAVOURITE

Only an old wooden dolly, With an arm and a leg a-missing, The point of her nose rubbed off, I suppose, Through too much washing or kissing. In a frock of faded satin, With tinsel lace tarnished and tattered; Her “coal-scuttle” bonnet holds, alas! A head that’s a trifle battered. Oh, no, she has not lost her locks, She never had curls black or golden; A doll’s wig was safely painted on In the days that you call “olden.” You laugh, and think her “too funny;” Yet once she was just as much cherished As your dolly is—by a wee girl Whose dolly-days long ago perished.