Des Arc weekly citizen., 1867-08-17
A Chapter on Babies,
BY A cHILDLEss MOTHER.

"A baby in the house is well-spring of pleasure" Then the houses of our ambitious little village must be well watered, for such crop of babiesas we show this season has rarely been ex- hibited since Barnum's favorite har- vest few years since. Indeed our excessive efforts and improvements in this direction led one ameteur judge to observe, in the classic language of Young America, that ''if we were a oIe-horse, we were certainly not a one-baby concern"
 Our district has ever been celebrated for it's choice flowers and elegant bo- quets. Several gentleman have proved that our blackberries are likely 10 be- come as renowned as the time-honored pippin of the older States, and now we may add with truth that our babies are as "plenty as blackberries,' and quite as worthy of notice. We have large babies and small babies; light babies and dark babies; quiet babies and noisy babies; boy babies and girl babies-all sorts of babies, except ugly babies and cross ies--fortunately, all our babies are both good and hand somel
 As we poor childless wives meekly go from house to house, we learn that each new baby that is presented for our inspection is heavier, pretticr, more forward and more excellent than any other mothers baby. Mrs. Slouch's baby is nice little creature, but so small!, "Mrs. Sims baby is & cum ming fellow, but what hoad!" 'The Tumble Bugs babies are always dumpy and the new one has such stsry (not starry) eyes.' "Mrs. Finders baby is a darling little girl; but did you see its nose!' Whereas this baby-that is the baby we are holding in our awk- ward, unaccustomed arms--is just the dearest, loveliest, cunningest litt.e creature that ever was born. We stific down rebellious sigh as we think of our own quiet home, where cradle cares and cradle joys never intrude where no gentle aby-breathing ever freight the air with sweet anxieties where no babies soft murmur of satis- fled content or helpless complaining is ever to break the unnatural still of a childless home. We look on this mo- ther's baby, and our yearning becomes prayer for faith to know that "God doeth all things we'll"
 What fine thing it is that each mo- ther thinks so well of her baby. We cannot help smiling at this over admi- ration, which sees no defect in the little soft bundles of pink flesh and white cambric. We listen as the pretty lady, duly arranged in an elegant deshabille recounts the peculiar cxcellencics of her new treasure and we can see mo- thing more beautiful and interesting than a happy smile of perfect content with which, as the nurse holds out the baby, the convalescent turns back the blanket and discloses the little face aud tiny arms. What if the mother's eyes were not so enchanted; what would become of all the unlovely babies what would be the fate of those un. slightly little monsters that are born iu this troublous world?
 It is delightful weakness, this inor. dinate affection-we win not degrade 1t by the name of instinct, but allow il the noble one ofaffectionate judgment The generality of mankind may talk, comfort in the thought that, however unloved or nnappreciated they have been, each one was, for a time, at least and to one person, the most attractive the most interesting and the most i'm portant of the human race. Beautiful manifestation of glorious nature il this instinct of maternal love. From the highest to tho lowest order of ere ation, fervently may we bless God fo such a transcendent gift. No elevation of rank, no degradation of siu, can ex tinguish the spark; and though it b perverted or exaggerated, still there i ever in its partiality patience. self-for getfulness, holy beauty that mus compel respect