Weekly Trinity journal., 1877-12-01
AN INFANTILE INFANT TALE.
CHAPTER |.

AHA1
Mr.. Cutler was busy writing in his stu
dio.
Papa" said little Jem, "me and
Frisk want 90 hair to play wild"
Mr.. Cutler, wore a wig, and Frisk was
the pet Spitz.
Mr. Cutler placidly removed the wig
from his polished Uranium and handed it
to little Jenny.
Another plaintive voice was now heard
under his chair, and pair of tiny, bread
and buttered hands stole over the broad
expanse of Mr.. Cutler's snowy vest and
clean shirt bosom.
Papa" asked little Wobbles, "may
I paint 90 bald head ?"
"But am writing. Wobbles dear, and
it will disturb me-"
81 want to paint 90 head" again muir
INJURED the plantive voice.
The soft heart of the father was touch
ed. He bent his form until his brow, with
his great rear expanse showing the glacial
attrition Of time, came within reach of
Wobbles' brush and box of ter-colors.
As the child laid on shade after shade,
and stripe after stripe, little Tipsy clam
bered on the desk and overturned the ink
on NJ. Callers manuscript, while Hep
zibah, the little two year-old, ran the
steel pens into Mr.. Cutters calf. At that
moment the door opened, and Mrs. Cut
Ter, bearing the twins, gazed upon the
scene, while the tears Of JOY ran down her
face.
Beautiful indeed is that household
where parents strive to make a genuine
home for their children.
CHAPTER II.
Mamma" said little Jenny, ~
want to go to heaven"
"But you can't go now, dear"
"But l want to go. want to go to-
night. | will go ~ said the child.
Mrs. Cutler awoke Cutler pater, who
was snoring the snore Of the just: "Cuter
dear" she said, Jenny dear wants to
go to heaven"
Let him co." said Cutler, turning in
bed, still three-fourths asleep, and not at
all himself.
"Cutler, you're brute |" shrieked the
mother. Then she tainted, and the seven
inexpressibles, awakened from sleep, set
up howl in concert.
CHAPTER III.
mamma, dim me some matches, ;" said
little Tommy, the third inexpressible.
Mrs. Cutler gave Tommy box of match
es.
Papa" shouted a merry little voice,
Sammy wants tum tunpowder."
"What do you want with guupowder?"
asked Mr.. c.
"Oh, wc's doin' to do tumting."
Mr.. G. smiled benevolently, kissed the
child's ruddy cheeks, and sent immedi-
ately to the village store for canister of
powder.
"AIammo," piped the treble of little
Jo," II wants tum kersine."
"What do you want with kerosene,
dear ?" asked Mrs. Cutler.
Oh, we don' to have 'lumination."
Mrs. G. handed little Jo the gallon can
of kerosene, who presented a comical sight
as his little bow-legs bent under the load.
The seven inexpressibles were soon bus
lily engaged in II corner of the garden
Mr. and Mrs. Cutler looked on with do
light and parental satisfaction.
"Our cup ofbiss is full, is It not, dear?"
said Mr.. c. to Mrs. G.
"It is, indeed, Josephus, brimful," said
Mrs. G. to Mr.. G.
Suddenly out of the cluster of the seven
inexpressibIes came vivid flash, loud
report, and the air was filled with frag-
monts of inexpressibles.
They have gone" calmly remarked
Mr.. c. picking up a section of an mex
pressible.
eyes, little Jenny said he would go to
heaven tonight, but | didn't think he'd
take the rest with him." said Mrs. G.
Dearest, we are young yet" said Mr..
c. to Mrs. G., with an expressive wink.
from PWch.