nny?"
Yes--no--_no_, said I, courageously, it gives me the heart-ache. Oh, I
see as you do, that their clothes are clean and whole, and that they
are drilled like a little regiment of soldiers, (heads up,) but I long
to see them step out of those prim ranks, and shout and scamper. I long
to stuff their little pockets full of anything--everything, that other
little pets have. I want to get them round me, and tell them some
comical stories to take the care-worn look out of their anxious little
faces. I want to see them twist their little heads round when they hear
a noise, instead of keeping them straight forward as if they were "on
duty." I want to know if anybody tucks them up comfortably when they go
to bed, and gives them a good-night kiss. I want to know if they get a
beaming smile, and a kind word in the morning. I want to know who
soothes them when they are in pain; and if they _dare say so_, when
they feel lonely, and have the heart-ache. I want to see the tear roll
freely down the cheek, (instead of being wiped slyly away,) when they
see happy little ones trip gaily past, hand in hand, with a kind
father, or mother. I want to know if "Thanksgiving" and "Christmas" and
"New Year's" and "_Home_" are anything but empty sounds in their orphan
ears.

I know their present state is better than vicious poverty, and so I try
to say with my friend, "it is a pleasant sight;" but the words die on
my lip; for full well I know it takes something more than food, shelter
and clothing, to make a child happy. Its little heart, like a delicate
vine, _will_ throw out its tendrils for something to _lean
on_--something to _cling to_; and so I can only say again, the sight of
those charity orphans gives me the heart-ache.

DON'T GET ANGRY.

"I hate you," Aunt Fanny, said a little boy, pouting and snapping his
boots with the little riding whip in his hand; you laughed to-day at
dinner, when I burned my mouth with my soup, and I never shall love you
again--_never_!--said the little passionate boy.

_Now_, Harry, _what a pity_!--and my pocket handkerchiefs all in the
wash, too! That's right--laugh;--now I'll tell you a story.

I've been to the State Prison to-day, and I almost wish I hadn't
gone--such a sick feeling came over me when I saw those poor prisoners.
Oh, Harry! how pale and miserable they looked, in those ugly, striped
clothes, with their heads closely shaven, working away at their
different trades, with a stout m