ed without scarce moving his lips,
and wore a face as long as the horse's in your father's barn. _Such_ a
boy as he was! Had he been mine I should have tried to get some life
into him somehow.

When his mother was told of his faults, she'd say, "Oh, he'll out-grow
them by and by." I knew better. I knew that his selfishness would grow
as fast as he did; and that when he came to be a man, he would be
unfeeling to the poor, and make hard bargains with them, and wring the
last penny out of their poor, threadbare pockets.

Poor Matthew! he'll never be happy; no--he never'll know the luxury of
making a sad face bright, or of drying up the tear of the despairing;
and when he dies he can't carry his money _with_ him--he has got to
leave it at the tomb door,--and who, do you suppose, will come there to
mourn for him?

Oh, dear children, be _generous_--if you haven't but half a stick of
candy, give _somebody_ a bite of it. Perhaps some child will say "But I
haven't anything _to give_." That's a mistake; that boy or girl isn't
living who has nothing to give. Give your sympathy--give pleasant words
and beaming smiles to the sad and weary-hearted. If a little child goes
to your school who is poorly clad, patched, darned; nay, even
ragged;--if the tear starts to his eye when your schoolmates laugh, and
shun, and refuse to play with him--just you go right up and put your
arms round his neck; ask him to play with _you_. _Love him_;--love
sometimes is meat and drink and clothing. You can all love the sad and
sorrowful. Then never say you have "_nothing to give_."

CITY CHILDREN.

I wonder where all the little children are? I can't find any here in
New-York. There are plenty of young gentlemen and ladies, with little
high-heeled boots, and ruffled shirts, who step gingerly, carry
perfumed handkerchiefs, use big words, talk about parties, but who
would be quite at a loss how to use a hoop or a jump rope--little pale,
candy-fed creatures, with lustreless eyes, flabby limbs, and no more
life than a toad imbedded in a rock,--little tailor and milliner "lay
figures," stiff, fine and artificial.

No; there are no little _children_ here. I'm very sorry;--I love little
children. I used to know some once, with broad, full chests; plump,
round limbs; feet that knew how to run, and hands that could venture to
go through an entry without drawing on a kid glove,--blithe, merry
little children, who got up and went to bed with the sun; w