Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1886-06-23
The Pretty Baby.

''Isn't he pretty baby, John? See, just
look at him." and the mother holds up the
tiny creature to papa, who kisses and fond
les him lovingly.
''Yes, Kate, he is pretty baby, but Tom
was pretty baby, too, you remember"
Eyes, Tom was pretty baby-everybody
said so," and she glances across the room
at sunny faced 4-year-old, "but Willie is
not like Tom. Willie's hair is light and his
eyes," looking wistfully into the baby's
face ''are dark, and so deep, that when
look in them am almost afraid, they have
such far-away light, they seem to see
something we cannot"
"Oh, nonsense! don't think that. He'll
grow up to be a fine fellow. But, Kate, 1
wouldn't think so much about him; he's a
DEAR good little fellow, but I wouldn't wor-
ship him; it isn't right
LAS if could help it" the mother says,
reproachfully, pressing the slight form
closer and looking into the dark eyes yearn-
ingly.
A month passes away, and one day they
stand beside small, white casket, within
which the pretty baby is sleeping. All, the
mothers eyes were sharp, and when friends
said, "what beautiful, bright eyes he has,"
she saw the far away look and knew it as
the light that never was on land or sea.
"Oh, John. Johnn she moaned, 81 knew
he wasn't long for this world. l could see
it in his eyes. Oh, my pretty babyw
eyes, dear, you were right" says papa,
and there is a quiver in the firm voice; 'ff
it had pleased God to have left him with us,
we would have cared for him the best we
could, but we must give him up, for it is
His will, and He knows what is best for
us''
eyes, 1 know it." and she stoops and
cuts tiny wisp of hair from the baby's
head. "Oh, John, you said / worshipped
him. l did, oh, l did, and, God forgive
me, I can't be sorry for it now; he was such
a dear, pretty baby"
Years pass on. Other babies are born.-
They are all pretty babies, every one who
sees them says that, but none are like the
baby with the far-away look. AS they grow
up they love to gather around mothers
chair, and she never tires telling of the
dark-eyed baby who went to live with God.
And. when with childish curiosity they open
the Bible to look at the pictures, and find
between the leaves a tiny wisp of hair tied
with white satin ribbon, they touch it
reverently and whisper beneath their breath:
''The pretty baby"
Years still pass on. The children grow to
be sturdy men and women, and as the
uUbutr WdlClltS lu6Ul sue SOIn6UlInes LQlQKS,
eff he had lived, he would have been such
beautiful man," and then she smiles and
is glad that in Heaven there is no time, and
no matter how the others may change, he
is still the pretty baby.
One day they gather around her bed, and
looking in each others faces mournfully
whisper:
''She is dying"
She stretches her thin hand toward the
table on which the old Bible rests, and they
say:
"The baby s hair"
They place it in her hand. She kisses it
tenderly and a bright light comes into the
dim old eyes, and they say:
"What does she see?"
She smiles and whispers: ''The pretty
baby"
They place the wisp of hair on her breast
and fold the wrinkled hands upon it, and
tenderly lay her by the side of the pretty
baby.--De Detroit Free Press.