sweet faces, that as they sat there
singing, with their soft eyes looking upwards, I felt as if I had
almost rather they would die there, than go home through those dreadful
streets, into those wretched cellars, and hear the shocking words I had
heard, as I passed along through them.

I was so glad to learn from Mr. Pease, that some of these little
children, who had no parents, lived there in the house with him, and
that he kept the others in the _day time_, giving them their dinners at
noon. Poor, little innocent children! I looked at one little face after
another, and I _couldn't make it right_ that they should have to live
where they can't help sinning,--where they are _taught_ to be
wicked,--where they are whipped and beaten for _not_ being
wicked,--because rich people love silks and jewels too well, to give
Mr. Pease money to find them bread and shelter, and take them away.

Oh, if the rich ladies and gentlemen who live in fine houses, had only
seen those poor children as _I_ did, and heard their sweet voices, I
can't believe that they would suffer them to remain in such a sinful
and wretched condition. Some of them _have_ sent money, which has
helped Mr. Pease to buy a place in the country, where he means to carry
all the children he can get, away from that vile neighborhood.

Is not that nice? How I should like to see them running over the
fields, when work is done; tumbling about under the trees, growing
brown and rosy and healthy; listening, not to curses and oaths, but to
the warble of some dear little bird, praising God in his own sweet way,
for _his_ share of light and air and sunshine!

And now, as you sit in your happy homes, where you hear only kind,
good, pure words,--where you never tremble at your father's footfall,
or creep under the bed _for fear of your own mother_,--where you are
never hungry, or thirsty, or cold,--where you meet only loving smiles,
and go to sleep with the hand of blessing on your bright young
head,--oh, remember the poor little outcast ones still forced to live
at the Five Points; and if you cannot give them money to help them
away, fold your hands and pray God every night to "keep them from the
evil that is in the world."

HATTY'S MISTAKE.

"I am so glad it is Saturday afternoon!"--and little Hatty tossed off
her bonnet, and shook out her hair, and skipped up to her mother, who
sat making the baby's new red frock,--"I am glad it is Saturday; I
don't see the use o