Hush-a-by, Dolly!  My baby are you,
    Yellow-haired Dolly, with eyes of bright blue;
    Though I say “Hush!” because Mother does so,
    You wouldn’t cry like her baby, I know!

    Hush-a-by, Baby!  Mamma walks about,
    Sings to you softly, or rocks you without;
    If you slept sounder, then I might walk too,
    Sing to my Dolly, and rock her like you!

    Hush-a-by Dolly!  Sleep sweetly, my pet! 
    Dear Mamma made you this fine berceaunette,
    Muslin and rose-colour, ribbon and lace;
    When had a baby a cosier place?

    Hush-a-by, Baby! the baby who cries. 
    Why, dear Mamma, don’t you shut baby’s eyes? 
    Pull down his wire, as I do, you see;
    Lay him by Dolly, and come out with me.

    Hush-a-by, Dolly!  Mamma will not speak;
    You, my dear baby, would sleep for a week. 
    Poor Mamma’s baby allows her no rest,
    Hush-a-by, Dolly, of babies the best!

    [Illustration]

    A HERO TO HIS HOBBY-HORSE.

    Hear me now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces! 
    Time is it that you and I won something more than races. 
    I have got a fine cocked hat, with feathers proudly waving;
    Out into the world we’ll go, both death and danger braving.

    Doubt not that I know the way—­the garden-gate is clapping: 
    Who forgot to lock it last deserves his fingers slapping. 
    When they find we can’t be found, oh won’t there be a chorus! 
    You and I may laugh at that, with all the world before us.

    All the world, the great green world that lies beyond the paling! 
    All the sea, the great round sea where ducks and drakes are sailing! 
    I a knight, my charger thou, together we will wander
    Out into that grassy waste where dwells the Goosey Gander.

    Months ago, my faithful steed, that Goose attacked your master;
    How it hissed, and how I cried!  It ran, but I ran faster! 
    Down upon my face I fell, its awful wings were o’er me,
    Mother came and picked me up, and off to bed she bore me.

    Months have passed, my faithful steed, both you and I are older,
    Sheathless is my wooden sword, my heart I think is bolder. 
    Always ready bridled thou, with reins of crimson leather;
    Woe betide the Goose to-day who meets us both together!

    Up then now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces! 
    Time it is that you and I won something more than races. 
    I a knight, my charger thou, together we will wander
    Out into that grassy waste where dwells the Goosey Gander.

THE DOLLS’ WASH.