Democratic Sentinel, Volume 3, Number 31, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 September 1879 — Kissing the Baby. [ARTICLE]

Kissing the Baby.

While Col. Allen was discussing national finances, Col. Tom Crittenden quietly slid off the platform and circulated among the crowd. He wore a delicate white duck suit, blue necktie ai d patent-leather pumps, and was the cynosure of all female eyes on the premises. Col. Tom, with an eye to business, began ogling the babies. “Oh, you sweet little darling,” said Col. Tom, addressing a fuzzy, pop-eyed brat that lolled lazily in its mother’s arms under one of the trees; “how old is it, ma’am?” “Four months, sir,” said the fond mother. “A little girl, eh?” said Col. Tom. “No, a boy,” replied the mother. “Ah, yts, now that I come to look at it more closely, I detect the strong, manly features of a boy,” the Colonel hastened to say. “Please may I kiss the little cherub?” Col. Tom shut his eyes and exploded an osculatory sound on the fuzzy face, and the child put up a big lip and threatened to cry. “He if such a beautiful child,” murmured Col. Tom, “such eyes, such a head, such an expanse of forehead,such a mouth, such a wealth of complexion, such a sweet, tranquil expression!” “La me, you don’t really think so, do you?” simpered the flattered mother. “I never saw a sweeter little cherub,” said Col. Tom; “I believe I shall have to kiss him again.” Having gone through a second osculatory martyrdom, Col. Tom assumed a seraphic look—a look calculated t© strike taffy to the most hardened feminine heart, and got right down to business. “I am a candidate for Governor,” said he, “and nothing would give me greater joy than to feel that I have the support of the father of this sweet babe. Come, let me hold the little darliDg in my arms. I do think he is just the sweetest little angel I ever saw.” The flattered mother gave up the fussy baby with profuse apologies about its not being well dressed, etc., hoped it wouldn’t trouble the gentleman, etc., glad to know he admired it so much, etc. The fuzzy baby writhed and squirmed and grew red iu the face, and wrinkled itself all up and belched a trifle, and then lay calm and composed on Col. Tom’s strong right arm. “The little precious!” cried Col. Tom. ‘You’ll tell his father how much I thought of the little cherub, won’t you, ma’am? And you’ll tell him I'm a candidate for Governor, eh, ma’am?” The poor woman’s face dropped, and big, salt tears came into her eyes. Oh, sir,” she said, “you don’t know what you ask—my poor husband died of the jaunders two months ago.” There was a far-off look in Col. Tom Crittenden’s golden-glinted eyes as he gently but firmly dumped that fuzzy baby on the bereaved woman’s lap and walked straight back to the platform and replaced himself on a bench. — St. Louis Times-Journal.