not give them. Cherish and love your parents, for they are the dearest earthly friends you can have.

Well, our children—as we managers always call them—had a fine Christmas dinner. Bless their little hearts! they got lots of roast turkey and pumpkin pie that day, as well as the best of us. The evening of the next day was to be the festival.

The kind ladies from Trinity Chapel had sent us a tall tree, upon which we meant to hang our presents. The important thing was, to have the presents for all; and to make sure of this, I, for one, wrote an appeal, and mustering up my courage, marched down town with it the week before to some of the newspaper offices, which is not very pleasant to do, for you have to mount to the very top story; and it is pretty inky in every direction—all except in the good editors' hearts, which were full of loving kindness, warm and glowing. I made a speech to each of these gentlemen, and was very polite, and told them all about the orphans. You can see for yourself what dear old darlings they were! for every one of them put this notice in their papers for me, and all I had to pay were two words, which were "Thank you."

Here is the notice: "Will all the mothers please to remember in these holiday times, the Orphan's Home in Forty-ninth street, near Lexington Avenue? The poor little inmates of this institution depend solely on those who love children to make Christmas a day of rejoicing to them, and thus presents of skates, balls, common jack-knives, kites, tops, marbles, and books, for boys; and dolls, tea sets, cheap work-boxes, jumping ropes, books, etc., for girls—would be eagerly and gratefully received, and each mother who feels nightly the 'little tight clasp' of her sweet little Kate or dear little Harry, will surely remember with loving pity the desolate orphans, in whose hearts, at such times of rejoicing, notwithstanding the kindest treatment, the sorrowful cry must arise, 'I have no mother—my mother is dead!' And so we beseech you, mothers, remember these orphans."

Early in the morning, after Christmas Day, the managers went to the Home to make preparations for the evening. We worked like bees, to get the great room ready. At the lower end were arranged the benches, which went up, one above the other, nearly to the ceiling, as I told you. On these the little orphans were to sit.

Exactly opposite, at the other end, we fastened the tremendous Christmas Tree, that was sent us from Trinity Chapel. Then the presents began to pour in! Dolls, drums, balls, tops, books, and all sorts of pretty things; and we mounted step ladders, and tied them to the branches of our tree. I should think there were hundreds of cornucopias—so many kind people had sent candy, and a great many bags of blue and pink tarleton filled with candy. Ah! then I found out that there were plenty of good mothers and loving hearts in the city of New York.

When we had covered the tree in every direction, we stopped, and stared at each other; and then I said, "Dear me! what shall we do with all that is left!"

"I think we shall have to spread them out on a large table," said our kind and lovely first directress, who had been with the orphans from the very beginning, when the charity was only the little grain of mustard seed; and who loved them like her own children.

Just at that moment, the matron came in and said that the congregation of the Bishop Wainwright Memorial Church in Hammond street, had sent us a large tree and some lanterns.

You may believe that we were perfectly delighted with this news; and the tree was soon hauled in. Then we had to move our tree so as to make a place for the new one; on which it was decided to fasten with the others a number of most beautiful little lanterns, with fine artistic designs painted on them, that had been brought in by the kind, good daughter of our excellent Bishop. She was one of the managers, and took the most unwearied interest in the children. She and some of her friends had made these lanterns.

So the pretty things were carefully fastened to the branches of the new tree, with tapers inside ready for lighting, and the rest of our presents were soon flourishing up there too, making such a grand show, that I thought the children, when they saw it all, would certainly go crazy with delight.

It was now quite late in the afternoon, and we were pretty tired; and after taking one last look around, to see if everything had been done, the doors were locked, and we went to our homes to dinner.

When I got back, the children were all ready, dressed as neat as new pins, and sitting on the grand, wide flight of stairs in the hall. Their eyes were sparkling, and they had hard work to sit still, knowing that there was something wonderful for them, locked up in the great room.

Some of the company we had invited, had come; and very soon after, there was quite a crowd of ladies and gentlemen, and their children, standing wherever there was room, and looking with affectionate interest at our orphans.

A small platform had been put in the middle of the hall, on which were placed a desk and chair. This was for the Bishop; but as he could not come, the Rev. Dr. Hobart was made chairman.

We had prayers, and the children sang a beautiful hymn. Then the annual report was read, telling the company what a pleasant time we all had enjoyed in our new Institution; how well and happy the children had been, and how grateful we were to God, and the kind friends, who had given such a beautiful and comfortable home to these desolate orphans. After the report, the trustees and managers were elected for the next year; and then Dr. Weston, one of the assistant ministers of Trinity Parish, and the chaplain of our famous Seventh Regiment, made a capital address, which pleased the children very much, for it was very short as well as very good. After him came Dr. Dyer, who always looks as grave and dignified as possible; but who loves children dearly, and knows perfectly well how to tell them entertaining stories, and make them laugh, while he keeps on his grave face the whole time. He also made an excellent address.

It was not intended, this time, to be amusing, for he spoke to the children of the freezing night outside, in which many a poor little beggar might be shivering, without food or shelter, while they were in this Home, which the warm love of the ladies, through the blessing of God, had obtained for them: but that this was not all—the greatest of their blessings was, that there they were taught to know and love their Saviour, who had died for them, and him, and all the people upon earth.

Then he turned to the company present, and said it was their sacred duty to take care of helpless orphan children, and he hoped they would each make a resolution that night to support one orphan child the coming year.

I told his wife that he was a perfect darling for saying this; but I did not dare to say so to him. I only hope the good people made a determination to adopt his suggestions. Then the children, and all of us, sang the Doxology, and then the grand time came. The large sliding doors of the great room were pushed back, and the children, coming down from the stairs, were marshalled two by two, while the company looked on.

Of course the children were to go in first. It would never have done for us to have had the first look. Certainly not; so I said, "They are the officers to night; we must march behind."

Many a little hand