Year: 1875

EVERYBODY knows Tot. That is an un-


lucky house, barred out from all good
fellowship, on whose threshold you can


not find the dusty print of his little foot,


or the glass of whose windows glitters too


costly and clear for the mark Of his fin


gers. The odd point about him is, that


you find him wherever you 60. Puck, or


that daintiest spirit, Ariel, were but logy


fellows beside him. They never were


found in more than one place at time !;


they had to travel post when they set out


to girdle the earth IN forty minutes. But


if you 60 into the stateliest mansion on


Murray Hill, there is Tot in his fleece of
finest lace; and when you take shelter
out in the hut on the prairie, there he is


the warm corner of it, swaddled in yel-
low flannel. Nothing can be more COM
mon or familiar than his rosy little face
and chubby legs; there is not house
hold in the world tc nich they have not
brought work and auxIety and care; but
nothing can be more uncommon or un-
familiar than the tender, awed sense
with which from day to day we always
meet them. We all nurse Tot, and cod
die him and scold him; his teething and
his collie, his cap and worn shoes are real
things; but somehow, withal, he is not
real. There is worldwide conviction
that he is of diviner origin than we,
something lent to us-alien to our
workday world. The callous, drunken
wretch, hardened to all exhortation or
entreaty, looks at the laughing face of
the dear baby, and touches its hand, and
a human pain and desire struggle up
through the burnt brain, fresh and pure,
the remembrance of his mother, of the
innocent boy he was, the man he might
have been. Go into your next neighbor's
house and see what manner of king is
Tot. There may be legion Of aches
and pains and worries, the great grief of
a mortal illness, debts Pouring in with
every postman's knock in shoals of vel
low envelopes, despair above stairs
and insolent ill-temper in the kitchen;
but what does Baby know of it? He is
kept in the warmth and light. Heart
sick mother and surly cook sing and
laugh for him. 1t is the old story of the
den of wild beasts and the little child
that led them. There is our friend,
young Slott, who married that silly
daughter of Fish, the sugar-dealer. 1t
was pretty fair type of an average
society marriage. Stott is an enter
tanning fellow for haif-hour, good
Judge of cigar, tells story
well, fair shot at billiards, had
the usual distaste of men Of his caliber
for any part Of business except the
drawing of his salary. Miss Fish had
led the German with him all winter; he
thought her taste in dress better than
that of any other girl of the set, and
was struck with her appreciation of his
favorite operas and plays. 1t seemed
quite natural for them to marry. Two
or three months ago this wonder, Tot,
came to them. The little red thing,
peering out of its flannels, created a
human soul, as it seemed, IN both Of
them. They found traces of each other
in it; it was an ordinary baby to other
people, but to them mystery, miracle;
it bound them together with strange
new love for each other; it bound them
both to an awful unknown life beyond.
1t has worked by this time an odd
change in them both. Mrs. Stott spends
her days in the nursery, and has given
up millinery for medical books. Stott
has gone energetically to work, IN
tends that boy of his shall kave as fair a
start in life as any other fellow" There
is certain gravity, common-sense and
self-respect apparent in Stott, too, which
hints that the change lies at the root of
things.-Neso York Tribune.