that they have not all got seats. I see the wan girl still standing against the wall, and there is her brother—a sociable little fellow, all dressed in corduroys—who is making funny faces at me across the room, at which some other little boys burst out laughing. But the infants on the dolls’-benches, at the other end, are the best fun. There they are—three, four, five years old—whispering and chattering, and tumbling over one another. Sometimes one infant falls suddenly forward, with its nose upon the table, and stops there quite contentedly; sometimes another disappears entirely under the legs, and is tugged up by its neighbours. A certain number of the infants have their dinner every day, the mistress tells me. Mrs. —— has said so, and hers is the kind hand which has provided for all these young ones; while a same kind heart has schemed how to shelter, to feed, to clothe, to teach, the greatest number of these hungry, and cold, and neglected little children. As I am replying to the advances of my young friend in the corduroys, I suddenly hear a cry “Ooo! ooo! ooo!—noo spoons—noo spoons—ooo! ooo! ooo!” and all the little hands stretch out eagerly as one of the big girls goes by with a paper of shining metal spoons. By this time the basins of soup are travelling round, with hunches of home-made bread. “The infants are to have pudding first,” says the mistress, coming forward; and, in a few minutes more, all the little birds are busy pecking at their bread and pudding, of which they take up very small mouthfuls, in very big spoons, and let a good deal slobber down over their pinafores. One little curly-haired boy, with a very grave face, was eating pudding very slowly and solemnly—so I said to him: “Do you like pudding best?” _Little Boy._ “Isss.” “And can you read?” _Little Boy._ “Isss.” “And write?” _Little Boy._ “Isss.” “And have you got a sister?” _Little Boy._ “Isss.” “And does she wash your face so nicely?” _Little Boy, extra solemn._ “No, see is wite a little girl; see is on’y four year old.” “And how old are you?” _Little Boy, with great dignity._ “_I_ am fi’ year old.” Then he told me Mrs. Willis “wassed” his face, and he brought his sister to school. “Where _is_ your sister?” says the mistress, going by. But four-years was not forthcoming. “I s’pose see has walt home,” says the child, and goes on with his pudding. This little pair are orphans out of the workhouse, Mrs. K—— told me. But somebody pays Mrs. Willis for their keep. There was another funny little thing, very small, sitting between two bigger boys, to whom I said— “Are you a little boy or a little girl?” “Little dirl,” says this baby, quite confidently. “No, you ain’t,” cries the left-hand neighbour, very much excited. “Yes, she is,” says right-hand neighbour.