into a room very carefully
darkened.

"How are you, my dear?" said my father, with compassionate tenderness,
as he groped his way to the bed.

A faint voice muttered: "Better now, and so happy!" And at the same
moment Mrs. Primmins pulled my father away, lifted a coverlid from a
small cradle, and holding a candle within an inch of an undeveloped
nose, cried emphatically, "There--bless it!"

"Of course, ma'am, I bless it," said my father, rather peevishly. "It is
my duty to bless it--Bless It! And this, then, is the way we come into
the world!--red, very red,--blushing for all the follies we are destined
to commit."

My father sat down on the nurse's chair, the women grouped round him.
He continued to gaze on the contents of the cradle, and at length said,
musingly, "And Homer was once like this!"

At this moment--and no wonder, considering the propinquity of the
candle to his visual organs--Homer's infant likeness commenced the first
untutored melodies of nature.

"Homer improved greatly in singing as he grew older," observed Mr.
Squills, the accoucheur, who was engaged in some mysteries in a corner
of the room.

My father stopped his ears. "Little things can make a great noise," said
he, philosophically; "and the smaller the thing; the greater noise it
can make."

So saying, he crept on tiptoe to the bed, and clasping the pale hand
held out to him, whispered some words that no doubt charmed and soothed
the ear that heard them, for that pale hand was suddenly drawn from his
own and thrown tenderly round his neck. The sound of a gentle kiss was
heard through the stillness.

"Mr. Caxton, sir," cried Mr. Squills, in rebuke, "you agitate my
patient; you must retire."

My father raised his mild face, looked round apologetically, brushed his
eyes with the back of his hand, stole to the door, and vanished.

"I think," said a kind gossip seated at the other side of my mother's
bed, "I think, my dear, that Mr. Caxton might have shown more joy,--more
natural feeling, I may say,--at the sight of the baby: and Such a baby!
But all men are just the same, my dear,--brutes,--all brutes, depend
upon it!"

"Poor Austin!" sighed my mother, feebly; "how little you understand
him!"

"And now I shall clear the room," said Mr. Squills. "Go to sleep, Mrs.
Caxton."

"Mr. Squills," exclaimed my mother, and the bed-curtains trembled, "pray
see that Mr. Caxton does not set himself on fire. And, Mr. Squills, tell
him not to b