drug! I wish myself that I were
not sick, and sated, and tired with having every thing in the world
given me."

"Well, Eleanor," said her aunt, "if you really do want unsophisticated
subjects to practise on, I can put you in the way of it. I can show you
more than one family to whom you might seem to be a very good fairy, and
where such gifts as you could give with all ease would seem like a magic
dream."

"Why, that would really be worth while, aunt."

"Look over in that back alley," said her aunt. "You see those
buildings?"

"That miserable row of shanties? Yes."

"Well, I have several acquaintances there who have never been tired of
Christmas gifts, or gifts of any other kind. I assure you, you could
make quite a sensation over there."

"Well, who is there? Let us know."

"Do you remember Owen, that used to make your shoes?"

"Yes, I remember something about him."

"Well, he has fallen into a consumption, and cannot work any more; and
he, and his wife, and three little children live in one of the rooms."

"How do they get along?"

"His wife takes in sewing sometimes, and sometimes goes out washing.
Poor Owen! I was over there yesterday; he looks thin and wasted, and his
wife was saying that he was parched with constant fever, and had very
little appetite. She had, with great self-denial, and by restricting
herself almost of necessary food, got him two or three oranges; and the
poor fellow seemed so eager after them!"

"Poor fellow!" said Eleanor, involuntarily.

"Now," said her aunt, "suppose Owen's wife should get up on Christmas
morning and find at the door a couple of dozen of oranges, and some of
those nice white grapes, such as you had at your party last week; don't
you think it would make a sensation?"

"Why, yes, I think very likely it might; but who else, aunt? You spoke
of a great many."

"Well, on the lower floor there is a neat little room, that is always
kept perfectly trim and tidy; it belongs to a young couple who have
nothing beyond the husband's day wages to live on. They are,
nevertheless, as cheerful and chipper as a couple of wrens; and she is
up and down half a dozen times a day, to help poor Mrs. Owen. She has a
baby of her own, about five months old, and of course does all the
cooking, washing, and ironing for herself and husband; and yet, when
Mrs. Owen goes out to wash, she takes her baby, and keeps it whole days
for her."

"I'm sure she deserves that the good fairies sho