The poor old lady wrung her hands and wept, while the children clung round their grandmother, with half-averted faces, trembling and silent. Mr. Pease said to her, “Mary, you may either go with me, or I’ll send for an officer and have you carried to the station-house. Which will you do?” Mary cursed and raved, but finally put on the dress the old lady handed her, and consented to go with them. A carriage was soon procured, and Mary helped inside--Mr. Pease lifting in the baby and the two little girls, and away they started for the Five Points House of Industry. “Oh, mother!” exclaimed the younger of the girls, “how very pleasant it is to ride in this nice carriage, and to get away from that dirty place; we shall be so happy now, mother; and Edith and the baby too: see, he is laughing: he likes to ride. You will love sister Edith and baby, and me, _now_, wont you, dear mother? and you wont frighten us with the hatchet any more, or hurt dear grandmother, will you?” Arriving at Mr. Pease’s house, the delight of the little creatures was unbounded. They caught hold of their mother’s faded dress, saying, “Didn’t we _tell_ you, mother, that you would have a pleasant home here? Only see that nice garden! you didn’t have a garden in Willet Street, mother!” Reader, would you know that mother’s after history? Another “Mary” hath “bathed the Saviour’s feet” with her tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Her name is no longer written Mary _Magdalena_. In the virtuous home of her aged mother, she sits clothed in her right mind, “and her children rise up and call her _blessed_.” NANCY PRY’S SOLILOQUY. I wonder if that is the bride, over at that window? Poor thing, how I pity her! Every thing in her house so bran new and fresh and uncomfortable. Furniture smelling like a mahogany coffin; every thing set up spick and span in its place; not a picture awry; not a chair out of its orbit; not a finger mark on the window panes; not a thread on the carpet; not a curtain fold disarranged; china and porcelain set up in alphabetical order in the pantry; bureau drawers fit for a Quaker; no stockings, to mend; no strings or buttons missing; no old rag-bags to hunt over; no dresses to re-flounce, or re-tuck, or re-fashionize; not even a hook or eye absent. Sauce pans, pots, and kettles, fresh from the “furnishing house;” servants fresh; house as still as a cat-cornered mouse. Nothing stirring, nothing to do. Land of Canaan! I should think it would be a relief to her to hear the braying and roaring in Driesbach’s Menagerie. Well, there’s one consolation; in all human probability, it is a state of things that won’t last long. FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. “I love God and every little child.”--_Richter._