-humble though they be--and (often, God knows,) _few joys
enough_.

A PEEP FROM MY WINDOW.

"Oh, stop! stop! Pray don't beat that child so," said I to a strapping
great woman in front of my window. "What has she done? What is the
matter? Don't strike her."

"Well, then tell her not to meddle with me again," said the virago,
shaking a stick at the child. "I got to that barrel of cinders on the
sidewalk, _first_, and had put my stick in it, to see if I could get
anything out worth saving; of course, if I came first, I had the first
right to what I could find; and then she came up and put _her_ stick in
it, without saying 'by your leave.' I'll teach her better manners"--and
the stick descended again on the child's shoulders.

"Run in here, run in here," said I. "I'll take care of you;" and I
opened the door for her. Poor little thing--all tears, and rags, and
dirt; her little bare feet cut and bruised with the stones, and her
hair streaming all over her face. You would have pitied her, too. She
gazed about the room, looked at the fire, then wistfully at the
breakfast table, from which I had just risen.

"You shall have some," said I, giving her a cup of hot coffee and some
egg and roll; "eat away, as much as ever you can."

She didn't need a second invitation, but swallowed the food as if she
were famished. She put on the shoes and stockings I gave her, and then
she told me that her father was killed on the railroad; that her mother
had four little children beside herself; that they lived in a cellar in
---- street, where the water often came in and covered the floor; that
her mother had a dreadful bad cough; that her baby brother was very
sick, and that they had nothing to eat except what they got begging.

"Why did you hunt in that old barrel?" said I.

"To find bits of coal, to burn. Sometimes the servants in the big
houses don't sift it, and then we find a great many pieces to carry
home and burn. Oh dear! that was such a _nice_ barrel, that the women
beat me for coming to!"

"Never mind the barrel," said I; "do you want this? and this? and this?
and this?"--giving her some old dresses, "and this loaf of bread, and
this bit of money for your mother?"

"Oh yes--yes. She will be _so_ glad!" And off she skipped, down street,
drawing her ragged shawl over her head.

Directly after, thinking of an errand I wished to do, I put on my
bonnet and walked out.

I had passed several blocks, when I came to an