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Beside his loving mother-sheep
A little lambkin is asleep;
What does he know of midnight gloom—
He sleeps, and in his quiet dreams
He thinks he plucks the clover bloom
And drinks at cooling, purling streams.
And those same stars the baby knows
Sing softly to the lamb’s repose.

Sleep, little lamb; sleep, little child–
The stars are dim–the night is wild;
But o’er the cot and o’er the lea
A sleepless eye forever beams–
A shepherd watches over thee
In all thy little baby dreams;
The shepherd loves his tiny sheep–
Sleep, precious little lambkin, sleep!

“That is very pretty, indeed!” exclaimed the brass candlestick.

“So it is,” replied the little shoe, “but you should hear it sung by the fairy queen!”

“Did the operetta end with that lullaby?” inquired the cigar-case.

“Oh, no,” said the little shoe. “No sooner had the queen finished her lullaby than an old gran’ma fairy, wearing a quaint mob-cap and large spectacles, limped forward with her crutch and droned out a curious ballad, which seemed to be for the special benefit of the boy and girl fairies, very many of whom were of the company. This ballad was as follows:

BALLAD OF THE JELLY-CAKE

A little boy whose name was Tim
Once ate some jelly-cake for tea–
Which cake did not agree with him,
As by the sequel you shall see.
“My darling child,” his mother said,
“Pray do not eat that jelly-cake,
For, after you have gone to bed,
I fear ‘t will make your stomach ache!”
But foolish little Tim demurred
Unto his mother’s warning word.

That night, while all the household slept,
Tim felt an awful pain, and then
From out the dark a nightmare leapt
And stood upon his abdomen!
“I cannot breathe!” the infant cried–
“Oh, Mrs. Nightmare, pity take!”
“There is no mercy,” she replied,
“For boys who feast on jelly-cake!”
And so, despite the moans of Tim,
The cruel nightmare went for him.

At first, she ‘d tickle Timmy’s toes
Or roughly smite his baby cheek–
And now she ‘d rudely tweak his nose
And other petty vengeance wreak;
And then, with hobnails in her shoes
And her two horrid eyes aflame,
The mare proceeded to amuse
Herself by prancing o’er his frame—
First to his throbbing brow, and then
Back to his little feet again.

At last, fantastic, wild, and weird,
And clad in garments ghastly grim,
A scowling hoodoo band appeared
And joined in worrying little Tim.
Each member of this hoodoo horde
Surrounded Tim with fierce ado
And with long, cruel gimlets bored
His aching system through and through,
And while they labored all night long
The nightmare neighed a dismal song.

Next morning, looking pale and wild,
Poor little Tim emerged from bed–
“Good gracious! what can ail the child!”
His agitated mother said.
“We live to learn,” responded he,
“And I have lived to learn to take
Plain bread and butter for my tea,
And never, never, jelly-cake!
For when my hulk with pastry teems,
I must expect unpleasant dreams!”

“Now you can imagine this ballad impressed the child fairies very deeply,” continued the little shoe. “Whenever the gran’ma fairy sang it, the little fairies expressed great surprise that boys and girls ever should think of eating things which occasioned so much trouble. So the night was spent in singing and dancing, and our master would sleep as sweetly as you please. At last the lark–what a beautiful bird she is–would flutter against the window panes, and give the fairies warning in these words: