young man, "isn't three dollars very high?"

Mary very prudently said nothing, but taking the little bonnet, tied it
on the little head, and held up the baby. The man looked, and without
another word down went the three dollars--all the avails of last week's
butter; and as they walked out of the shop, it is hard to say which
looked the most delighted with the bargain.

"Ah," thought I, "a little child shall lead them."

Another day, as I was passing a carriage factory along one of our
principal back streets, I saw a young mechanic at work on a wheel. The
rough body of a carriage stood beside him, and there, wrapped up snugly,
all hooded and cloaked, sat a little dark-eyed girl, about a year old,
playing with a great, shaggy dog. As I stopped, the man looked up from
his work, and turned admiringly towards his little companion, as much as
to say, "See what I have got here!"

"Yes," thought I; "and if the little lady ever gets a glance from
admiring swains as sincere as that, she will be lucky."

Ah, these children, little witches, pretty even in all their faults and
absurdities. See, for example, yonder little fellow in a naughty fit. He
has shaken his long curls over his deep-blue eyes; the fair brow is bent
in a frown, the rose leaf lip is pursed up in infinite defiance, and the
white shoulder thrust angrily forward. Can any but a child look so
pretty, even in its naughtiness?

Then comes the instant change; flashing smiles and tears, as the good
comes back all in a rush, and you are overwhelmed with protestations,
promises, and kisses! They are irresistible, too, these little ones.
They pull away the scholar's pen, tumble about his paper, make somersets
over his books; and what can he do? They tear up newspapers, litter the
carpets, break, pull, and upset, and then jabber unheard-of English in
self-defence; and what can you do for yourself?

"If I had a child," says the precise man, "you should see."

He _does_ have a child, and his child tears up his papers, tumbles over
his things, and pulls his nose, like all other children; and what has
the precise man to say for himself? Nothing; he is like every body else;
"a little child shall lead him."

The hardened heart of the worldly man is unlocked by the guileless tones
and simple caresses of his son; but he repays it in time, by imparting
to his boy all the crooked tricks and callous maxims which have undone
himself.

Go to the jail, to the penitentiary, and