152 



NEW ENGLAND FAEjNIER. 



March 



LADIES' DEPARTMENT. 



CUTTING ROBBIE'S HAIR. 



CY MARY E. BRYAX. 



And SO this little household flower of ours must 

 be shorn of some of its r5uperlluous beauties. Even 

 roses and geraniums must be pruned sometimes, 

 and these uncut, silken rings, with the golden 

 sunshine of three summers entangled in their 

 meshes, must make the acquaintance of scissors at 

 last. Grandpapa says so, and adds that if it is not 

 done shortly, the low plum boughs will make 

 another Absalom of Robbie, sometime, when the 

 blue-eyed gander is in hot pursuit. 



There is no denying that the curls need trim- 

 ming ; they arc too many and too thick, and they 

 make the little head droop uneasily to one side, 

 like a half-blown moss rose-bud under the weight 

 of its own moss, and straggle sometimes into the 

 mouth and eyes. Yes ; they must be cut ; but it 

 seems such a pity ! Little curls that we have 

 twined around our fingers when all wet from the 

 morning bath ; little curls that we have played 

 with M'liile singing the evening lullaby ; little 

 curls that our tears have fallen upon when the 

 baby eyes were shut in sleep ! — ah ! only mothers 

 know how dear such curls are to mothers' hearts. 



Here are the scissors. Robbie must sit very 

 still, now, while his hair is being cut. Why, sir, 

 why do you smile and look at me so beamingly 

 with your blue eyes ? IIow do you know that I am 

 not going to cut off that saucy head of yours 

 with these great, sharp, cruel scissors ? O, holy 

 faith of childhood ! If we could only trust our 

 God, as implicitly as babes do in their mothers ! 

 "Except ye become as little children, ye shall not 

 enter the kingdom of Heaven." 



Be very still, now, while I comb out these 

 threads of shining floss. The mother is the first 

 barber to her boy ; no other fingers can perform 

 the sweet office so gently; but when fifteen or 

 twenty years have llown, rougher hands will comb 

 and cut these locks, all bronzed by suns and 

 winds, and clustering above the brow of manhood. 

 The white-aproned, clean-handed barber will then 

 arrange them in the latest style of trimming ; 



pomading, perfu no ; my boy will not be a 



dandy ! by these strong limbs and the sturdy look 

 in those eyes — no. 



But to think the down of manhood will gather 

 on this cherry upper lip and on chin and cheek, 

 dimpled as thaugh by the touch of an angel's finger. 

 To think that this round neck of alabaster will be 

 choked up with a man's necktie, and these lily- 

 bud feet will Avear high-heeled boots, and . 



Faugh ! I will not think of it. I cannot realize 

 that this fair baby of mine — kut three summers 

 out of Paradise, and still smiling in his sleep, re- 

 membering what the angels said there — shall 

 ever be so metamorphosed. 



And yet the boy's babyhood is rapidly fleeting, 

 and the severing of these ringlets seems like cut- 

 ting the golden thread that links his infancy to his 

 childhood. O, Robbie, I can call you "baby" but 

 little longer. You blue-eyed elf, you are already 

 rebelling at being treated as one. You had rather 

 run, now, after your painted Avagon, than lie in 

 your rose-curtained crib, and hear me sing of the 

 baby whose cradle was the tree-top, and whose 

 nurse was the wind. You Avill not wear your co- 



rals, because gi-andpa says they are for babies, not 

 for men ; you had rather hunt hens' nests than 

 play bo-peep ; and when I hold out my arms to 

 you, as you stand in the door-way twirling your 

 hat, you turn your head on one side, like a half- 

 tamed bird a-perch on one's finger, Avhile your 

 dancing eyes seem to say, "You'll see, you'll see ! 

 I'll soon take flight !" Pretty soon you Avill not 

 believe in the wolf that talked to Iled-Riding- 

 Hood, and will lose faith in Santa Clans. 



I cannot keep the bud in its sheath ; I cannot 

 stay the little bark that slips so ra]i;dly down the 

 hurrying stream of life. Soon, the rill v.ill broaden 

 into a river, and the realm of roses and sunny 

 skies be passed. And the gold of these ringlets 

 shall be dimmed by time, and the roses perchance 

 cbop from these pretty cheeks, and sorrow and sin, 

 it may be, cloud the clear, blue heaven of these 

 innocent eyes. 



There ! I am crying. How grandpapa would 

 laugh if he caught me, and say it was because I 

 wanted the curls to stay and make a girl of his 

 boy. See ! there are tears glistening in these 

 sunny clusters of hair, like dew among the golden- 

 blossomed jessamine vines, and your eyes are 

 looking at me with wide-opened wonder, and your 

 red lip beginning to quiver with ready sympathy. 

 O, Robbie ! even if the worst should come, and I 

 should have to lay this bright head with its locks 

 of undimmed lustre under a coflSn-lid, and see the 

 grass grow between my darling and the bosom he 

 once slept upon, I should still thank God for hav- 

 ing given him, for having crowned my life with 

 the holy blessing of motherhood ; for it is such 

 little arms as these around our necks, Robbie, 

 that make us feel strong to do, and to sufl"or ; it 

 is drawing such little heads as these close, close 

 to our breasts, that keeps the hearts of some of us 

 mothers from breaking. 



There ! that is grandpapa's step upon the stair 

 — and the task is just completed — the little lamb 

 is shorn. Look at this bright heap of glistening 

 silk, such as Persian looms never Avove into rich- 

 est fabric. Here is "golden fleece" for you, such 

 as never the lover of Medea sought. You did not 

 know that such a glittering wealth grew on your 

 little head — did you, blue-eyed Ixaby P 



No, you must not clutch it with those destruc- 

 tive fingers. Go — grandpa is calling you — let him 

 see his little man ; but leave me these — the first 

 curls cut from my baby's head. I will put them 

 away to remind me, in other days, of his sweet, 

 lost infancy. — Southern Field and Fireside. 



Blowing out a Candle. — There is one small 

 fact in domestic economy which is not generally 

 known, but which is useful as saving time, trouble 

 and temper. If the candle be blown out holding 

 it above you, the wick will not smoulder down, 

 and may "therefore be easily lighted again, but if 

 blown uj^on downward, the contrary is the case. 

 Scientijic Artisan. 



Snow Corn Cakes. — Take any desired quan- 

 tity of Indian meal and sugar, and salt to the taste, 

 stir in Avith a spoon, twice or three times its bulk 

 of snow. Fry a little on a hot griddle, if it cooks 

 too dry to turn Avell, add more snow : if too wet to 

 be light, add more meal. Cook the same as buck- 

 wheat cakes. 



