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I  want  her  to tiss  me and  tiss  me,
                                             An'  tall  me  her p’ecious  XjuIij.


                                          I  dess  my  dear  papa  will bin’  me
                                             A  'ittle  dood titten  some  day;
                                          Here’s  nurse  wid  my  mamma’s  new  baby;
                                             I  wis'  she would tate it away.

                                          Oh !  oh !  what tunnin'  red  fin’ers !
                                             It sees  me  'ite  out of its  eyes ;
                                          I  dess  we will  teep  it atid  dive  it
                                             Some  cany  whenever  it kies.

                                          I  dess  I  will  dive  it  my  dolly
                                             To play  wid  in os’  every  day;
                                          An'  I  dess,  I  dess— Say,  B’idget,
                                             Ask  Dod  not  to  tate it away.




                                        LITTLE  TOMMIE S  FIRST  SMOKE.

                        I 'V E  been  sick.
                             Mamma  said  ’moltin’  was  a  nasty,  dirty,  disgraceful  habit,  and
                          bad for  the  window  curtains.
                          Papa  said  it  wasn’t.   He  said all  wise  men  ’moked,  and  that  it was
                        good  for  rheumatism,  and  that  he  didn’t care  for  the  window  curtains,
                        not a— that  thing  what busts and  drowns  people;  1  forgot  its  name,
                        And  he said  women  didn’t know  much  anyway,  and that they couldn’t
                        reason like  men,
                          So  next  day  papa  wasn’t  nice  a  bit—-that  day  I  frew  over  the
                       accawarium,  and  papa  ’panked me— and  I felt  as if T  had the  rheuma­
                       tism  ever*  time  I  went to  sit  down, and  so  I  just  got  papa's  pipe  and
                        loaded  it  and  'moked  it,  to  cure  rheumatism  where papa  ’panked  me.
                          And  they  put  mustard  plaster  Oil  my  tummick  till  they  most
                        burned  a  hole  in  it,  I  guess.
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