quite too
late for the manuscript volume which a guest from the city has been
reading aloud for the amusement of the group.

Perhaps you have lost nothing, however. I have obtained permission to
give it you for a more leisurely perusal. I hope it will please you.

When a stranger goes to your door seeking your regard and patronage, you
naturally look for some note of introduction, which generally reads
somewhat after this fashion:

"Any attentions you may bestow upon my friend ----, will confer
an especial favor upon

"Yours truly,

"---- ----."

BROOKLYN, October 27, 1855.

THE ELM-TREE TALES.

* * * * *

JENNIE GRIG:

THE STREET-SWEEPER.

* * * * *

NANNIE BATES:

THE HUCKSTER'S DAUGHTER.

* * * * *

ARCHIBALD MACKIE:

THE LITTLE CRIPPLE.

JENNIE GRIG,

THE STREET SWEEPER;

OR THE

VICISSITUDES OF LIFE.

JENNIE GRIG.

CHAPTER I.

Poor little girl! How sadly came her wailing tones on the frosty air,
while the multitudes that hurried past were hidden from the chilling
blasts by warm and furry garments!

There were some humane ones who lifted her softly from the ground, and
bore her carefully to the nearest apothecary's, to examine the extent of
her injuries--and a slight figure clad in the deepest weeds, followed
after and held the child's hand, and bathed her forehead, while the
surgeon bound up the broken limb.

"She was such a pinched wee thing to be sweeping those dangerous
crossings," said the lady; "no wonder the heedless crowd jostled her
down, and nearly crushed her tiny body."

"Is not her consciousness returning, doctor?" continued she, addressing
the surgeon, as a slight flush was beginning to be perceptible upon the
little girl's cheek.

The child had lain in a kind of stupor from the time of the accident,
and now, as her dark eyes slowly opened, she gazed faintly upon the
curious faces that were gathered around her, until she met the sweet
yet sorrowful glance of the strange lady--then, bursting forth into a
wild and bitter sobbing, she cried, "Who now will help my poor weak
mother, and my sick and dying father!--nine pennies only have I earned
to-day, and all is lost in the muddy street--oh! who will get them bread
and coals, now their Jennie c