class="i6">Repent for her sins, and behave!"

The children thought this a capital verse, and Johnny came very near exclaiming, "Bully for you." Very luckily, he recollected himself in time, for his mother would have sent him to bed in "double quick," if he had uttered this vulgar, slang expression.

"I had a talk with my ten naughty boys today," said Aunt Fanny.

"Why, where in the world did you find so many together?" cried Harry. Who ever heard of such a quantity of bad children in a bunch?

"I ought to have said," she answered, "that they were reported to me some time ago, as being very bad; but I did not find them so dreadful as I expected; besides which, my heart softened to them, and I made excuses for them to myself, because they are all orphans."

"Then it must have been at the Orphan's Home," cried the children, for they knew Aunt Fanny was one of the managers.

"Yes, it was there; and I believe I will write a little history of how there came to be this Home for Orphans; and you can work it up in your mittens."

"Oh, yes, do! how long will it take you? We'll write to George that these mittens have listened, with their fingers and thumbs for ears, to your "Orphan's Home" story. They will be the most interesting mittens of all: more so, than those we got by our little play."

The children wished George had ears a hundred miles long, so he could hear all these wonderful and charming stories too; but as they did not know of any cornfield where such long ears were to be found, they had to take it out in wishing; and thinking what a hundred thousand pities it was that the fairies had all gone to No Man's Land, or they would have had a fine, long pair of ears for George's use, marching to Washington, straight through Baltimore, without stopping to inquire whether they might come.

Soon after, Aunt Fanny went home. She had been very busy the latter part of the month of December, writing letters for the "Great Union Fair," which had been held in the city. All her letters were to children. I wonder if the children who got these letters, suspected who wrote them. I wonder if the little one who got this "poetry letter," tried to find Aunt Fanny out.

Aunt Fanny could not send the promised story until the last week in January: but when it came, there was great rejoicing; and the children settled themselves quicker than ever they did before, to hear the interesting account of

THE ORPHAN'S HOME.

"And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name, receiveth me."—Matthew xviii. 5.

Darling Children:

As I sat here thinking how to begin my story of the "Orphan's Home," our Saviour's beautiful parable of "the grain of mustard seed" came into my mind; and that you may see how well it applies to what I am about to relate, I will copy it here.

"Another parable put he forth unto them, saying:

"The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man took and sowed in his field:

"Which, indeed, is the least of all seeds; but when it is grown, it is the greatest among herbs; and becometh a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof."

Just like a grain of mustard seed did this great charity begin.

More than ten years ago, a poor man lay in a miserable bed, dying. His little children were weeping at his bedside, for their mother had gone to heaven long before; and they did not know who to look to for food and shelter, when they should be orphans.

"Oh, that I could take you with me, my poor little children!" moaned the dying father.

Just then a lady entered the room. She had accidentally heard of the man who had been ill so long, and she had come in to help him.

She spoke to him in a voice of so much kindness, that he started up, crying, "Oh, madam! I want nothing for myself! but I would get on my knees to you for my children. I cannot die peacefully, thinking of the poverty and dreadful temptations to which they will be exposed. Left alone, orphans and penniless, who is to teach them the way to heaven?"

"Take comfort, my poor friend," said the kind lady, "your children shall not suffer want."

"But will they be taught to know and love their Saviour?" he asked, looking at her with an expression of intense anxiety.

"Yes, I will see that they are religiously brought up."

"Promise me!" he said in a hoarse whisper, for the excitement had exhausted him, and he lay panting for breath.

"I promise," answered the lady solemnly.

A thankful smile flitted over the wasted features; and looking up, he murmured, "Thank God, I die happy."

The Little Grain of Mustard Seed.

A comfortable room was hired, and the children were placed in the care of a kind and pious woman. The little orphans soon became contented and happy. You see them in the picture, playing on the floor. The good woman went out to make some purchases, which the boy just coming in has brought; a young girl is staying with the children until their kind nurse returns.

This is the grain of mustard seed. But before long, more children became inmates of this one room, and the Right Reverend Bishop Wainwright and the other good people became interested in this truly Christian work. They soon found that there was no home for destitute, outcast children, when their natural parents were taken away, who belonged to the Church by baptism. There were not enough Orphan Asylums in this city; for numbers were brought to them, who could not get into these other institutions, because they were full. It seemed as if God himself had called upon them in behalf of these little ones. And thus it was that this institution began.

Then the good Bishop Wainwright, who is now gone home to heaven, became President; Rev. Dr. Hawks, Vice-President; and a number of excellent clergymen and gentlemen were the managers, while as many ladies were formed into a Ladies' Committee.

The grain of mustard seed had sprung up, and its leaves unfolding more and more, made it necessary to find a larger space for it to grow. So a three-story house in Hammond street was taken, and before long, twenty happy children were living there.

Oh, how hard the ladies worked in those few first years! The money came slowly in; but they never grew fainthearted. More and more poor little orphans came to their door, begging for a home, and the living care which their own mothers, dead and gone, could never