WINNY. Whoso receiveth one such little child in my name, receiveth me. A light and busy foot astir In her small housewifery, the blithest bee Down on the green flats north of the Capitol used to be seen a small white cottage, half hid among fruit trees. It had a little flower-yard before, and a little vegetable garden on one side, and a poultry-yard with a small hen-house and woodshed behind. The cottage had but four rooms—a little parlor and a kitchen on the ground-floor, and two chambers up stairs. The front chamber was occupied by the master of the house and his wife, and the back chamber by their daughter, a little girl of twelve years old. The name of the master and mistress of this humble home was Simpson, and the name of their little girl was Lizzie. At this time Mr. Simpson was an honest, merry, soft-hearted man enough, though lately engaged in a heart-hardening calling, viz. that of constable 19 (305) for the ward. When Mr. Simpson first engaged in this business, he felt a great deal of sympathy for the sin and misery constantly before his eyes as a constable; but as his sensibilities were those of nature, and not of religion, they soon gave way before habit; and after ten years of familiarity with crime and suffering, Mr. Simpson was a very different man, as you will see by contrasting two acts of his life. Mrs. Simpson had been a healthy, cheerful, handsome girl, when she was married, but by drinking strong tea and coffee, and eating hot bread, and wearing tight clothes, and breathing bad air, she had destroyed her health, and was now almost entirely confined to her parlor and her arm-chair, by day, with dyspepsia. But Lizzie Simpson was a hearty, handsome, merry little girl, with black eyes and black curls, red cheeks, white teeth and smiling lips! I'll tell you a secret. Lizzie had chanced to read in some paper that strong coffee and tea, hot bread, bad air, idleness, and neglect of cleanliness, were bad for health, cheerfulness, and beauty, and in consequence, of course, bad for morals; and she had, unlike too many little girls, profited by what she read-and Lizzie was very clean, very temperate, and very, very industrious. So, of course, she was healthy, handsome, and cheerful. Lizzie was her father's housekeeper and her mother's nurse. Lizzie cleaned the house, cooked the meals, fed the chickens, and milked the cow, when she was twelve years old. It is true her father helped her a great deal. He chopped the wood, and brought the water, and took care of the garden. So Lizzie was never weary of work -work was her play. Every little girl has a want, or fancies a want. Lizzie wished for a pet; oh! she wanted a pet so much. own cow. middle of summer, She set the table out One warm day, in the Lizzie got tea ready early. under the trees in the front yard, and gathered some ripe raspberries to eat with milk from their And she carried her mother's rockingchair out and set it at the table, and persuaded her mother to come out and sit in the cool shade and pleasant air. They were sitting there, waiting for the father, when he opened the little wicker gate, and came in. He sat down to tea. He was looking very serious. When Mrs. Simpson asked him what was the matter, and if he was in trouble, he answered, "Oh, no, no," and chased the gloom from his brow. He was then a kind-hearted man, and never liked to worry the invalid with bad news if he could help it. Presently he turned to Lizzie, and said cheerfully— "I've got a pet for you, darling." "Oh! thank you, dear father! But what is it?" "Guess, now, daughter." "A tortoise-shell pussy-cat?" "No; guess again." "A canary bird-any bird?” "No; try again.” "A little puppy?" "No; once more." "I'm sure I don't know. 'Tisn't a monkey?" "It is a baby!" "A baby! Oh! father, I have given up playing babies a long time, and given them all away!" said Lizzie, with a look of mortification and disappointment. "But I'm not talking about doll-babies. I have got a real baby-a living baby-a poor orphan baby, four weeks old, for you! "Oh! father! Oh! father!" exclaimed Lizzie, with inexpressible surprise and joy, “do tell me if it is so, sure enough! a live baby, and for me?" "Yes, indeed, Lizzie, it is just so, and no other way. I have found in a prison a little living orphan baby, and I give it to you for your own, to do what you please with." "Oh! shall I not love it? Oh! this is so much better than a pussy-cat or a puppy! Oh! isn't it droll? Isn't it delightful? But pshaw ! presently I shall wake up with the sun shining in my face, and find out that I have overslept myself, and been cheated by a morning dream!" said Lizzie, with a bewildered look. "And if you were asleep, don't you think this would wake you?" inquired her father, giving her arm a sharp pinch. Lizzie screamed, laughed-confessed herself awake. “Well, I have been listening to all this, thinking may be you were joking; now tell me all about it," said Mrs. Simpson. "Surely, mother, surely," replied her husband. Then he began, and told how a short time before, by virtue of his office, it had been made his duty to arrest and put in prison a slave woman; how while in jail she had given birth to |