HELPING MOTHER.

I shall help mother when I am grown big; When I am old enough, oh! wont I dig, Plough with the horses, and call out "Gee-ho!" Plant the potatoes, fell timber, and mow? Then I shall fetch the cows home to the byre, Carry such fagots to make mother's fire, Reap and make hay—Hush! who calls? I shant go! Its only to play with the baby, I know. A boy who is seven is too big to do that, Can't mother nurse her, or give her the cat? Oh, what a bother! She's calling me still— "Come and take the baby off my hands, Bill." "I must get your father's socks finished to-night, And I can't while the little girl pulls the thread tight; There—lift him up, play at ball or Peep-bo— You will help mother then very greatly you know." Bill waited a moment. Then into his mind Came a thought,—"Little boy, if you don't feel inclined To help mother now, when you easily can, I'm afraid you won't do it when you are a man." So he brightened his face till the baby smiled too; Hid himself in the cupboard and called out "Cuckoo." And on his knee fed her with delicious cream, And helping mother was not so bad it would seem.