d
laughed and cried together.

Then, Mrs. ---- said "she would take grandma, too:" and that she should
help her to take care of Annita and Pietro. When the little rogues
heard this, they wiped away their tears, and smiled, and showed their
little white, glittering teeth, and kissed Mrs. ----'s hands, and said,
"We will go."

So, we got a carriage, and took them all in, to Mrs. ----'s house in
Fourth street, where they were washed, and dressed, and ate some nice
hot supper; and before I came away, they were asleep in a cunning
little trundle-bed, with their little curly heads nestled on the same
pillow, and their little cheeks close together, and just as rosy as if
they had never shivered, half naked, in that old smoky room.

And Mrs. ----'s husband, who is an artist, stood there over them, with
his pencil in his fingers, taking a sketch of their little Italian
faces; and by and by he will finish a beautiful picture of Pietro and
Annita, in the old ragged dresses in which they were found; and if he
paints their little dimpled shoulders and cunning little legs and feet
half as pretty as they really are, I know you will say with me, that
the "Little Emigrants" are worth looking at, and _worth loving_.

ALL ABOUT THE DOLANS.

Tobacco! tobacco! If there's anything I hate worse than a dandy, it is
tobacco. Such a headache as I have this morning, all for that vile pipe
that Bridget Dolan's husband was smoking, when I went over to see her.

Charley, I believe if an Irishman hadn't a potato to put in his
blarney-ing mouth, he would own a pipe and a puppy. Jim Dolan had both.

Now, Bridget Dolan was full clever enough to have been a born Yankee,
and, of course, was a great deal too good for Jim Dolan. She had more
children than you could count, if you were in a hurry, and a baby in
her arms, year in and year out. For all that, she is never out of
patience trying to keep their elbows and knees and toes in, and make up
for what Jim wastes in smoking and drinking. I verily believe Bridget
would fight anybody who said he was not the best husband in the
world,--black and blue spots on her arms to the contrary. Well, if she
has patience to put up with it, it is no affair of yours or mine; all I
have to say is, that her name ought to be Job, instead of Dolan.

Last night I thought I would go over to see her; so, I lifted up my
dress and waded through the alley, and after getting away from a
drunken woman, who insisted u