The Baby-House Famine

At the baby-house door sits my sweet little Kitty,
In her apron lies Kitty, her namesake, asleep;
The dollies look out of the baby-house parlors,
And the baby-clothes lie on the floor in a heap.

Are the cares of your housekeeping quite overwhelming?
Are the children unruly, and servants a bore?
But they sit dressed for callers; and down in the kitchen
Sits placid old Dinah with eyes on the floor.

If you’re tired of playing, run out to the garden;
There’s green grass to play on, the sunshine is bright;
Or Aunty will read you a nice little story,—
Take her lap for your bed, dear, and play it is night.

Then the dear little face grew exceedingly solemn,
And in the brown eyes were two wee little tears;
The dollies—believe me—looked anxious and troubled;
Miss Kitten gaped sadly; O, what were your fears?

Dear Aunty, my children are dying of hunger;
Just look at Miss Anna! she’s grown very thin;
I’ve not had a party for such a forever,—
And to see them all starving! It’s really a sin.

Well, the last that I saw of the dolls in affliction,
They sat round their table, mamma at the head;
She seemed very hungry, but they sat there smiling,
And when Kitty finished they all went to bed.