CHARLIE’S STORY.

I was sitting in the twilight, With my Charlie on my knee,— Little two-year-old, forever Teasing, “Talk a ’tory p’ease to me.” “Now,” I said, “talk me a ’tory.” “Well,” all smiles,—“now, I will ’mence. Mamma, I did see a kitty,— Great—big—kitty,—on the fence.” Mamma smiles. Five little fingers Cover up her laughing lips. “Is ’oo laughing?” “Yes,” I tell him, But I kiss the finger-tips; And I beg him tell another. “Well,” reflectively, “I’ll ’mence. Mamma, I did see a doggie,— Great—big—doggie,—on the fence.” “Rather similar,—your stories,— Aren’t they, dear?” A sober look Swept across the pretty forehead; Then he sudden courage took. “But I know a nice, new ’tory,— ’Plendid mamma! Hear me ’mence. Mamma, I did see a elfunt,— Great—big—elfunt,—on a fence.”