a blow.

Her little child lies there sleeping. She is glad he is not old enough
to know his father's shame. Sometimes she even prays the babe may die.
She knows, were she taken away, how much it must suffer. Then, she
remembers the time when its father was steady and kind and industrious,
and she thinks of those who roll about in carriages, on the money taken
from _her_ husband's pocket, and that of other poor victims like him.
And then the angry flush mounts to her temples, and she says, "Is there
_no law_ to punish these wicked rumsellers?" Poor thing! that wailing
cry has gone up from Maine to Georgia--from many a houseless wife and
shivering child!

God hears it! I had rather be in _their_ place than the rumseller's.

Well, now it is quite dark, and I must light my lamp and shut my
shutters, or some of those folks may be peeping in and taking notes of
_me_!--who knows? Wouldn't that be a joke?

THE ENGLISH EMIGRANTS.

It was very weary on ship board. Julien and Victor had spied out all
there was to be seen the first week they set sail, and the sailors had
told them all the stories they could possibly think of. Mrs. Adrian
(their mother) was too sick to leave the cabin, and the little boys
were getting very impatient to reach shore.

How would America look? What sort of houses did they have there? What
sort of children? Would they be good play-fellows? These were the
things little Julien and Victor were thinking about.

Their father was thinking of the price of provisions, and about house
rent, and the probabilities of his finding customers for his tailoring
work; and whether they should all have to live in the shop, and whether
his sickly wife would thrive under the changeable climate, and whether
they should make a _home_, or always be like "strangers in a strange
land."

And their mother; she was thinking of the gray-haired old father who
had blessed her for the last time, and of the sunny homes of England,
with their wealth of shrub and tree and blossom, and of a dear little
girl whom she left sleeping in a quiet church-yard, between whom and
herself the swift blue waves were building up a wall of separation.

Land ho! shouted the old tars.

Land ho! echoed the merry little boys.

And this was America! this New-York! How very odd and strange
everything was! How anxious the people all looked! How slender!--how
pale!--and what a hurry they all seemed to be in! How they jostled
about, as if th