The Abbeville banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1847-1869, 1853-05-12

| ing, as mpatiently as | did, the question,
"When will she rcturn?" while the clock
continued to repeat, increasingly, Not yet!
not yeti"
knew not what to do, and rushed do
zen times to the door, hoping to see the
coming relief. But the walls of the distant
church and the houses beyond were thick,
and could not look through them. The
brook was laughing in the sunshine, and
murmuring joyously as it gllded over the
stones, and felt strong temptation to pop
the piping part Of baby into it. am sure
the clock cried, mockingly, DO it /! do it"
But the thought of Il coroner's jury re-
strained me; country of Dutch Doors, with
short pipes in their mouths, and skulls two
layers of brick thick.
There was a rooster upon the fence, flap
ping his wings and growing like Trojan
| do believe it was over nv perplexity; the
pigs were grunting in their sty, pulling each
others cars for amusement, and Il COW was
giving nourishment to her calf in distant
field. Suddenly, a bright idea struck me.
| seized an old tobacco pipe that had been
slowed away upon the mantcl-piccc, and,
immeIng the bulb in a tumLlcr OF water,
thrust the stem into baby's mouth. Baby
was no genius. became Sd. lsficd of that
in minute. i is an attribute of genius to
accomplish its desires with imperfect instru-
ments. There was no s.orpagc in the pipe.
l tried it myself.
was at my wits ends, and laid the baby
on the floor, cramming my fingers into my
ears. 1t was Of no USE l could not shut
out the sound. 1t was like thousand tear
piercing pipes" drilling through and through
| was riddled with screams that touched
like galvanic wires on every nerve. The
clatter of three story cotton mill, with a
hundred girls talking of new bonnets through
the din, was nothing to it. All the locomo-
tives in the Union, tortured into state of
agony, would alone compare with it. But
mill and locomotive might be stopped, and
baby could not be quietcd even for mo-
ment. Any thing but Il baby's lungs would
have been worn out by such IN abuse of
power. But their strength only increased,
seeming to acquire new pipes at every blast.
What would not have given for the sight
of pettcoat bearing down to my relief.
Never did Robinson Crusoc on his desert
island gaze more longingly over the ocean
in search of a sail, than did down the road
for a bonnet and curls. Icould have smiled
lovingly on the fattest dowagcr that ever
swetered in the West Indies, or the thinest
scrub that pays her dcvotions to the door
steps. But the feminine, like other useful
commodities, had all vanished, when most
wanted. Even the cat, accustomed to nurs-
ing rs she was, even the cat, sensible crea-
ture. had disappeared. Like the distressed
hero Of a novel, was left to my own re-
sources, and had no resources left. There
was the baby Hopping about on the floor
like porpoisc on Il ships deck, us if lying
on its beam ends was = natural position. l
rightcd it dozen times, but over it went
again, rs if all its ballast had shifted to the
head. brought the shovel and tongs and
the bellows from the fire place, but baby
though took the trouble to blow the bel
lows in the blue-bottle's face, and sent the
threads on the carpets flying about the room.
Even the clothes brush and nutmeg crater
proved no attraction, and broke suspcn-
der button hopping about OH all fours. If
l had stood OH my head, and shook the
pennies out of my pockets, it would have
had no effect. Even lump of sugar would
not bribe it to be quiet. 1t made wry faces
at the mirror, and pitched savagely into the
pillow, turned Indignantly from the tea.ket-
tie, and squared off at the rolling-pin. If
| had given it the carving knife, I do verify
believe that it would have cut off its own
head. and made two squalls instead Of one
but forbore. Give me credit for my mag
naninity! forbore.
For nearly a mortal hour-an age--was
[ thus kept in state of frenzy. My hairs
stood up "like quilts upon the frctful por-
cupine." They have always stubbornly re-
fused to lie down smoothly since. If my
trials had lasted much longer. should cor
tainly have had "gray head upon young
shoulders" Perhaps 1 should have sunk
into the grave with n nervous fever, and had
"Died of baby-nursing," for an epitaph up
on my tombstone. Fortunately for the pub
lie in general, and me in particular, was
spared such catastrophe by the return of
the mother, who burst painting into the room
at the critical moment when my Job-like
patience had miserably pcrshed, by degrees,
as the water leaks from brokcn-hooped
bucked. With what feeling of relief did I
look up at the old clock as it announced to
me, in its most cheerful tones, "She's come
she's come"
Wonld You believe it? but I'm sure you
can't, the facts seems too great an enormi-
ty-that little piece of petversity was as
quiet as lamb in minute! Why the
mother was so deceived, that she actually
called it her "prccious lamb" I heard
her, and was astounded. I wonder she
didn't feel sheepish; I know did. Lamb,