BABY EFFIE.
Do you see this little baby? Her name is Effie, and her young mother is dead. Well, partly on that account, and partly because she is just the loveliest, and brightest, and sweetest baby that ever was born, she rules every one in the house. How? why, by one smile or cunning little trick, she can make them all go and come, fetch and carry, rise and sit down, all the same as if they had no will but hers. For instance, you may say, now at such a time I will go to such a place; but if that baby catches sight of you going out, and makes up a little grieved mouth because you are going, unless you could coax her to forget it, with a piece of the moon, or some such wonderful thing, you would very likely stay at home with her. If you say your side aches, and really, Effie grows so fat on her good sweet milk, that youmust let nurse carry her more, even if shedoeswhimper a little; and you may reallymeanto do it; but oh, why has she such a dear little red mouth, and such a distracting way of fixing her lips, and such a pleading look in her soft eyes, and such a musical little coax to make believe talk, unless it be that her dimpled feet shall always be on your obedient neck? You can’t look at her as if she were only a rag baby. And very likely you’d get thinking, too, that nobody could tie her bonnet, or cloak, save yourself, or button her little red boots right; so that no fold of her mite of a stocking should double under her ridiculous little toes.
Perhaps you think it is a very simple thing to wash and dress little Effie. That shows how little you know. Now listen. That baby has four distinct little chins that you must watch your chance to wash between her frantic little crying-spells; then she has as many little rolls of fat on the back of the neck, that have to be searched out, and bathed; and all the time you are doing this you have to be talking little baby talk to her, to make her believe you are only playing, instead of washing her. Then baby won’t have her ears ornose meddled with; and if you interfere with her toes, she won’t put up with it a minute; and it takes two people to open her chubby little fists when it is time to wash them. Then you haven’t the least idea of the job it is to get one of her stiff little vexed arms out of her cambric sleeve; or how many times she kicks while you are tying on her tiny red shoe. Then she is just as mad as can be when you lay her over on her stomach to tie the strings of her frock; and she is still more mad if you lay her on her back. And besides, she can stiffen herself out, when she likes, so that “all the king’s men” couldn’t make her sit down, and at another time she will curl herself up in a circle, so that neither they nor anybody else could straighten her out; then you had better just count the garments that have to be got off and on before this washing and dressing business is done; and then every now and then you have to stop to see that she is not choking or strangling; or that you have not put any of her funny little legs or arms out of joint, or hurt her bobbing little head. Now, I hope you understand what a delicate job it is. But when the last string is tied, and little Effie comesout of this daily misery into scarlet-lipped, diamond-eyed peace, looking fresh and sweet as a rosebud, and dropping off to sleep in your arms, with quivering white eyelids and pretty murmurings of the little half-smiling lips, while the perfect little fat waxen hands lie idly by her side, ah—then you should see her!
You would understand then, how hard it is to keep from spoiling her; not by loving her too much;thatnever hurt anybody; but by giving her everything she wants, whether it is best for her or not, just because it is so heart-breaking to see the tears on her cheeks.Thatwould never do, you know, not even for little motherless Effie; for how is she ever to become good, if she can get everything she wants by crying for it? She can’t understand that now, but by and by she will; and then those who have care of hermustlearn to sayno, no matter how pretty and coaxing she is, if she should want a hammer and a watch to play with; yes, even though she should cry about it.
Nobody can tell whether Effie is loveliest sleeping or waking. Poor little dear; when she is asleep she often makes the motion of nursingwith her lips, just as if her mother were living, instead of dead, and she were lying on her warm breast. And then, too, she often smiles till little dimples come in her cheeks, and her lips part, and show her four little white teeth, which have troubled her so much in coming, and which look so like little pearls. And sometimes in her sleep she kicks her little fat leg, with its pretty white foot, and pink toes, out on the coverlet, just as if she were fixing herself for a pretty picture that some artist might paint her. And when she wakes, she puts her little cheek up against yours to be loved and kissed, and—but dear me, you will think I am quite a fool, if I go on this way; and I shouldn’t wonder; for it reallyistrue that I am never tired of telling dear little Effie’s perfections all the same as if she were the only lovely baby that was ever born; although every house holds half a dozen, more or less; still perhaps you might as well not say tomethat any of them can begin to compare with little Effie.
But really, after all, I can’t stop till I tell you how much that child knows. I am not certain that it would do to tell state secrets before her; for though she can’t talk, and though she sits onthe floor, playing with her toys, I sometimes feel, when she drops them, and looks up with her sweet, earnest little face, as if she had lived another life somewhere, and her grown-up-soul had come back and crept into that little baby’s body. Sometimes, when I look at her, I wish, oh! so much, that I could always keep all sorrow, and all suffering from her, and make her whole life happy; but this cannot be. Besides, I know, that He who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, will surely care for little motherless Effie.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTESSilently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES