BABY RALPH'S LETTER.

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OLDEN-HAIRED, blue-eyed, sweet-mouthed Baby Ralph lay, a cunning little white heap, in his willow cradle.

While he slept, papa and mamma came softly into the room—dropped the lightest and sweetest of kisses on the dear baby face, then stole quietly out and away to the big city. Did Baby Ralph like this? You will hardly think so when you read his letter. Here it is:

"MY OWN PAPA AND MAMMA,—Does you want to hear 'bout me? You thinked I didn't know you runned way off and left your little baby boy all 'lone. But I did. And I waked up and cried—and cried. And Auntie May looked sober—and grandma looked sober—and grandpa whistled—and I cried hard. Then Auntie May put something in my bottle. 'Twas good, and I didn't cry. But Auntie May bringed water, and put some on my face, and I didn't like it. And I cried awful—so awful Auntie May stopped. Wish you's here, 'cause I don't feel good. If my papa and my mamma's here I'd feel gooder—wouldn't fuss any bit. Wish you's here, I do, to kiss your own

BABY RALPH."

Did this bring Baby Ralph's papa and mamma? Yes, indeed. And they took him and Auntie May back to the big city.

BABY RALPH'S LETTER.