BY COL. S. D. HARRIS. baby in Nettie's lap, who had by this time seated herself on a stool inside the doorway. Then the EADER, you remem- woman hastened to supply us from a spring which ber that in the bubbled up just back of the cottage, waiting on us spring of 1851, the with so much good will that we felt, though we great cynosure of all had been born so far apart, we were already eyes was the Crystal friends-so mysterious is the unseen bond which Palace in Hyde Park; and that a good many of our unites all who feel the paternity of a common American people, being dazzled with the promise God. of such a bright star, turned their faces Eastward for the first time in their lives, and determined to go on a pilgrimage to the shrines of royalty. Not only were we friends, but confidants; for when the good Frau learned that we were Americans, she told us that her brother was in America, After our little party had seen all the wonders and that he had spoken so favorably of the country, of the Crystal Palace and many more of the lions in his letters, that several families of that neighin and about London, we determined upon a trip borhood were only waiting to obtain the means, up the Rhine to see how that would compare with to go and try their fortunes, where, he told them, the Hudson, the St. Lawrence, or our own beautiful they could soon earn a house and land of their Ohio; which we had so often admired in the beauty own, and be their own masters, instead of paying of Spring, and the glory of Autumn, as we floated between a double panorama of magnificence and grandeur. We had proceeded up the Rhine only as far as Coblentz, and concluded to stop a few days and ruralize, till the steamer came down from Mayence to take us on its return passage. Nettie and Lu wanted to visit the vineyards back from the river; so I set out with them, one morning, and after clambering over the rocky steeps upon which stand the castle of Ehrenbreitstein, we strayed back for a few miles, among the most lovely of sloping hill-sides, such as we get glimpses of below Brockville on the St. Lawrence, or at Newburgh and above, on the Hudson, or at almost any point on the Ohio, from Wheeling to Cairo. Nettie was much taken with the little cabins of the vinegrowers, and declared that as she had only seen high life in London, she would take a peep into the low life of Germany, and give an airing to what she could remember of the lessons of Herr Schmidt, her German master. There were a dozen of these cottages at the foot of a hill, the sides of which were all covered with grape vines, belonging to Baron D. Most of the men and women were busy with clumsy hoes working in the mellow soil, or with strips of matting tying up the truant vines. Our walk had made us thirsty, and we stoppod at the door of the first cottage and asked for wasser. The good Frau had a sickly looking babe in her arms, which she was just going to deposit upon a blanket, on the earth floor of the hut, while she brought the water, when Nettie held out her hands and said, "Gieb das mier." The pale woman smiled as she laid the such high rent, always living on the lands of the rich, and being obliged to do their bidding. She said her husband's name was Gotfried Schiller; she feared it would almost break his heart to leave his native soil, since he had always lived on that same domain. But for the sake of his eight children he would go, for he did not know what would become of them where they were, if their parents should be taken suddenly away, before they were old enough to take care of themselves. Then Gotfried came in, and we were soon on as good terms with him as with his wife. He asked a great many questions about America-how a poor man could get along here-if the snakes would bite the children when they chanced to go out of doors, and if the wild Indians would come from the wood, while the men were at their work, and kill the women, and carry off the children to roast for a great feast! Nettie and Lu were so amused by these questions that they both laughed merrily, and clapped their hands; which put to flight all the poor man's fears, and he joined in the laugh, saying that he believed the Baron had told him such stuff to discourage him from going to America. Wilhelm was Godfried's oldest son-a manly youth of twenty. Wilhelm liked the idea of going to the new country, but-but, how could he leave Madeline? or how could he manage to take her along? Now Madeline lived in the same neighborhood, and was a right pretty girl, and but for her plain, coarse frock, and her lack of bonnet and shoes, she might have passed for a beauty in a much higher circle. She was full of native grace, and had such winning ways, that she drew our hearts out toward her at once. In Germany marriage is not a cheap and free institution as it is in our country. The bridegroom must give bonds to secure the public against being burdened with his children, should he have any; then to go through all the legal forms costs some fifty thalers; and this looked like a hopeless obstacle in the way of poor Wilhelm and Madeline, since it would take all they could earn in two years, to pay their passage to America. "What shall we tell them?" said Nettie, turning her eyes half rougishly and half pleadingly on me. "Ask Madeline if she can trust Wilhelm," I responded. "Oh yes!" said the girl, frankly, "I can trust him with my life!" "Well then," said I, "tell them to put off the marriage till they get to America; then it will only cost them two or three thalers, and no security to be given." "Is that so?" inquired Wilhelm doubtingly. "That is true," said Nettie. I put my hand upon my breast and nodded assent-and Wilhelm and Madeline exchanged such happy glances that we felt the case was settled. By this time, all the little Schillers had gathered about the door, with their fat, dirty faces and brown bare legs, and unkempt flaxen locks; and Gotfried opening a little pit on the side of the cabin, took out a jug of last year's vintage, in which we pledged the whole family in general, and wished Wilhelm and Madeline a safe voyage to America. Then we hastened back to Coblentz, where we found our friends in great tribulation lest we should be too late for the steamer, which was then hourly expected. We were glad to set our faces homeward, for we had already stayed away longer than we had leave of absence for, and the three weeks that lay between us and our dear treasures on this side the Atlantic, seemed like a long, long time. Oh, "Homeward Bound" is a joyful word, when a good home and kind friends are waiting to receive the wanderer. (TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.) FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. OUR BABY EVALINE! BY W. E. PABOR. Hushed to sleep, in the cradle lies Our sweet baby, Evaline; From the plains of Paradise; And they sing There is a river Left in charge of us awhile, Ere ye take away her smile! Says the Good Book, are revealed Is that she shall pass from earth, Who hath washed our souls from sin. Edited by Trace Greenwood PHILADELPHIA, APRIL, 1855. The Emigrants. WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. A TRIP UP THE RHINE. BY COL. S. D. HARRIS. (CONCLUDED.) That year passed by, another, and last autumn I found myself after a short tour in New England, on the good steamer Mississippi, just ready to start for Cleveland and Sandusky. The storm of the Autumnal Equinox had been threatening us for two days, and that night the wind came ominously over the murky waters from the west. Several boats near us seemed [No. 4. until the lights in the harbor looked dim in the distance, and then, scarcely able to hold my coat on for the wind, went below. A fancy struck me that I would see what the company was like before I turned in; so after walking through the cabins, I went to the steerage, which was full of emigrants, who were disposing of themselves for the night-some upon rough bedding of their own, some flat upon the floor with a bundle for a pillow, and some sitting upon boxes and leaning against the side of the boat. In the midst of the steerage, and close by the gratings above the mouth of the furnace, was a group of half a dozen little children, looking wonderingly at the great light which shone up from its cavernous depths, as though it came from the work-shop of old Pluto himself. I paused a moment to look at their chubby, bronzed faces, and then passed on to the bow, where some sheepfancier had a group of fine Merinos from Vermont, which he was taking West. But I could not dismiss the picture of the children over the grating, with the lurid glare of the furnace upon their faces. I stopped again close beside them, and they looked up into my face"Poor wanderers," said I to myself, "you have had a long journey from fatherland, and this is the last night of your travel-God grant you a happy to-morrow." Near this group, in a nook formed by the storeroom and the steward's office, sat upon a heavy chest a young man and woman, evidently much pleased with each other's conversation. I did not like to seem rude, but occasionally stole a glance at them. Their bronzed faces had not the stolid look which marked those of most of their companions, and impressed me very pleasantly. I went to my cabin and laid down, but somehow I could not sleep: not that I cared for the storm, though the winds yelled among the braces and cordage-I knew that our boat and captain were both to be trusted. It could not be on account of the fifty dirty Germans in the steerage, whom I had never seen before, and whom I should never see again; still I could not sleep-and after tossing for an hour, rose and returned to the steerage, with a kind of feverish impression of those poor tired faces. The wind was still freshening, and meeting us full on the starboard quarter; every "tenth wave" sent a column of water as high as the pilot-house. The whole wind we were kept out of that port till afternoon. COUNTRIES I HAVE SEEN. forward deck was constantly drenched, and the There was a glad hurrying to get on solid land; Travels, Descriptions, Tales and Historical man with the fancy sheep was becoming anxious. But I must confess my errand was to look after the emigrant babies. There they were, bless their fat faces! all fast asleep. Then it occured to me that I had at no time seen any one whom I took to be their mother. Here was a stout middleaged man, with one of the little ones in his arms, both asleep and here a half-grown girl with another, the smallest, nestled upon her bosom. Between these, lay the rest of the group, on some old bedding, all sleeping as quietly as though they were on dry land upon beds of down, instead of that boat's deck in such a gale. "Poor tired ones!" I mused again, "you have no doubt weathered far heavier storms while on your voyage to the new world, and have learned to rest, though not on roses." The two lovers were still sitting together; the girl had leaned her head upon her companion's shoulder and fallen asleep. The steamer went dashing among the whitecrested swells, at a frantic rate; now pointing her nose up like the nursery picture of the cow that jumped over the moon, and now rushing full at a great wave like a furious buff going to battle. Still the wind howled louder, and still the waves dashed higher. All the hatches were closed, but the water invaded the deck and came pouring along by the sleepers. This, of course, broke up my nest of babies, and as the old man rubbed his the big iron-bound chests of the emigrants were piled upon the dock, and the women and children came out and shook themselves like ducklings after a shower. The next morning I tapped at my wife's windows before daylight, and thanked God to find all my dear ones well. It is now September, 1854. Last week I took a trip on the Little Miami Rail-road, and stopping at -, a porter offered his services. There was something familiar about the man, and suddenly he took my hand, saying, "Are you Mr. H- -?" here?" Sketches. BY GRACE GREENWOOD. DUBLIN-DONNYBROOK. Ir is not certainly known who was the founder of Dublin, or Dubhlynn, as the name was written Avellanus, one of the Danish Vikings, an advenformerly. Some learned historians say it was turous sort of monarchs of old times, very much given to a seafaring life, and piratical depredations. If Avellanus was the founder-and I "So! So! Gotfried,” said I, “do you live don't dispute that he was he showed great taste and wisdom in selecting the site of a city. It has a beautiful harbor-the river Liffey flows through it, a picturesque country lies around it, and noble hills, which don't stop far short of and in sight are romantic valleys and dark gorges 'Yes, with Matilda and the children, and Wilhelm and Madeline." At the switch-box I found Wilhelm, with his eye on the train, ready to set the switch. I asked where he lived, and he pointed to a little cabin on the edge of the town. Of course I must see Madeline, and after getting dinner, walked over to the cabin, and there she was. "I see how it is," said I, "you took my advice and saved the fifty thalers." "Ah yes!" replied she, blushing, "and we are just as well married too, for a couple of thalers, and by next year we will save money enough to buy us this little house and lot, and then we shall be so happy." "You are right, Madeline; Wilhelm was a Brien-Boro was a model monarch--the King Alfred of Ireland. So perfectly were the laws administered in his reign, that it was said a fair damsel might travel alone from one end of the sleepy eyes, and looked up at me, I fancied his trusty boy, and you will make him a good wife, kingdom to the other, with a gold ring on the face was familiar, and as he called out "Wil- I know." helm!" the whole riddle was solved, and these were the "Pilgrims from the Rhine!" Wilhelm aroused his sleeping lady-love, and came forward to assist in getting the little ones to a place of safety, closely followed by his companion. "Madeline! as I live!" said I. "Aha!" said the old man, "Sint sie es, Herr HI- -? But we had short time for introductions, and hastened to get the drenched babies upon some piles of baggage out of the reach of the spray. "Where is Frau Katrine ?" I asked. The old man shook his head sorrowfully, and kissing the child he held on his bosom, and letting a tear fall upon its face, said, "She is dead, we have left her in the sea!" That was the very baby Nettie had held two years before in the cabin away upon the Rhine, and now the daughter, Matilda, was all the mother her poor little sisters had. She it was I saw asleep with the babe, not a year old, upon her bosom, an hour before. The good Frau Katrine had set out with the rest, feeble in body but full of hope. As they were too poor to pay for more than a steerage passage, where but few comforts could be had, she sickened, and a week before the ship reached the quarantine ground, she died; leaving her infant babe in the arms of her daughter Matilda. At the peep of day, I arose and went on deck. The wind had scarcely abated a jot, the spray flew high above the pilot-house, the sheep-man declared his Merinos would die in such a constant drenching. But the babes of my good Schiller were waking up as if nothing had happened, and perched upon stacks of bales and boxes, were soon after taking their coarse breakfast with a better relish than the passengers in the cabin. So God gives his poor a capacity for enjoyment suited to their condition. We should have been in Cleveland at seven o'clock that morning, but by the force of the WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. THE MORNING BATH. Suggested by a Picture. BY CLARA MORETON. In sound of murmuring fountain, To take her morning bath. But the summer air is pleasant, And she in playful mood, And in the whim of the moment She will not be withstood; So the fond and faithful servant Submits to the efforts vain, Which Lillian makes with the water To remove the Afric stain. Ah child, in the untold future Thou hast many a page to turn! Of stains upon thy life Of memories which no tears can blotWith disappointment's rife. But pure as the fountain's water May years flow on to thee; I would that thou might'st be; And I know that life hath shadows Most wisely is it ordered thus Else all would seem too fair Ah wisely! else we might forget top of a wand, without danger of being robbed. I doubt very much, however, if any young lady ever performed such a journey. From the year 1173, when Henry the Second received the submission of the Irish princes, and the last Irish king, Roderick O'Conner, Ireland has remained under the government of England, and though it has had several bloody rebellions, it has never been really independent. The Irish formerly had a Parliament of their own, but toward the close of the last century it was suppressed, and the Union made complete. The governors of Ireland have always been called Viceroys. Dublin Castle was built for their residence, but for some time past it has been abandoned for "The Lodge," in Phoenix Park. The Castle is a massive, gloomy-looking building, now principally occupied by the military. The Parliament House, now the Bank of Ireland, the Custom House, and Trinity College, are beautiful buildings-but I did not admire the cathedrals and churches very much, after those of England. The church of St. Anne is interesting, as containing the tomb of Felicia Hemans. We drove about the town on a jaunting car, with a talkative driver, seeing all the sights and listening to strange, wild legends. In the pretty cemetery of Glasneven, we saw, through the grating of a vault, the magnificent coffin which contains the body of O'Connell, the great orator. We enjoyed most our drive in Phoenix Park, a noble enclosure, filled with fine trees and shrubbery, flowers, birds, gentle deer and playful, brown-eyed fawns. But if we liked the streets, buildings and parks of Dublin, we liked the people better. Very courteous, generous and cordial, we found all those to whose hospitality we had been commended and warm at my heart is now, and ever will be, the dear memory of my good Dublin friends. A mile or two south of Dublin is Donnybrook, the place where a famous annual fair is held. We happened to be in the city at the time of this, and one pleasant afternoon we drove out to see this great gathering of the Irish peasantry. The fair-ground presented a busy, gay and curious scene. A large enclosed space was covered with booths and tents-horse-marketscattle-markets-buyers, sellers, and crowds of spectators. There was almost every thing one could think of for sale,-there were all sorts of games and sports and shows going on-there were Ethiopian concerts-plays-exhibitions of Punch and Judy-little circuses and menageries -jugglers-tumblers--hurdy-gurdy players, ballad-singers, pipers, fiddlers and dancers. In nearly all the tents were gay young couples dancing away as though for dear life-dancing not alone with their feet, but with their arms, their heads, and their merry, twinkling eyes. They were not all well-dressed, or even clean, but they seemed happy and healthy, and merrily snapped their fingers at care. Everywhere there was laughter and chatter, and feasting and frolic-but, I am glad to say, we saw little tippling, and no quarreling. It was very different in old times, when the wild fun of Donnybrook Fair always ended in confusion, drunkenness and fighting. This happy change has been effected partly by the Temperance reform, and partly by the establishment of a strong and active government police. Now for a short story of Donnybrook Fair: THE LITTLE FIDDLER. Away toward the hills of Wicklow, some five or six miles from Dublin, there lived, not many years ago, a humble peasant family, by the name of O'Shaughnessy. Michael O'Shaugnessy worked in the bog-that is, he cut up the turf of the bogs, and piled it in stacks for dryingso making the peat which is the common fuel of Ireland. He was very poor, and with his wife and five children lived in a little low cabin, built of mud and stones, and thatched with straw. There was but one small window to this cabin, but then a good deal of light came down through a hole in the roof, left for the smoke to go out of-for there was no chimney. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy kept a few geese, and just before the door there was a little muddy pond, where they enjoyed themselves, and on the edges of which the pig wallowed, and dozed; except on stormy days, when he preferred to go into the house. Now, among the poor Irish peasants, the pig is a very important personage, and is treated with a great deal of respect, for he usually pays the rent. With Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, it was, first herself and husband, then her son Teddy, then the Pig, then the girls, Biddy and Peggy and Katy, and then, our hero, Larry O'Sullivan. If she had known he was to be our hero, she might have put him before the colleens, (girls,) but not, I think, before the pig. Larry O'Sullivan was a poor orphan boy, the child of a sister of Michael O'Shaughnessy, by whom he had been adopted when his father and mother died of the fever. Larry was very handsome, and what was better, very good, but he led rather a hard life of it at his new home. Ilis uncle was kind, but he was a gentle, meek sort of a man-his wife ruled everything at the cabin, and she did not like Larry overmuch. She thought it hard that he should not only eat the food and wear the clothes that her own children needed, but should be more liked and admired in the neighborhood than they. She doted on her own boy, Teddy, and thought him not only goodlooking, but wonderfully clever-when, in fact, playing so late that Katy would creep close to him, fancying she saw the "little folk," or fairies, dancing in the moonlight, to his delicious a plainer or more stupid young bog-trotter could The children all went to school in the village, From the first, Larry was the master's favorite-not because he was particularly studious, but because he took to the fiddle as naturally, Dermot said, "as a ducklin' takes to the wather, just." Indeed, the boy showed such extraordinary talent for music, that for the mere love of it Dermot gave him lessons, and often lent him an old fiddle to practice on. Larry had also a very sweet voice, and in singing the wild ballads of the country, could make people laugh or cry, just as it pleased him to do. Larry coveted more than anything in the world the old fiddle of his master. Dermot was willing to sell it, as he had a better, but he said he could not part with it even to his favorite pupil, for less than a crown. Now Larry in all his life had never held so much money-so he despaired of ever being rich enough to have a fiddle of his own. One spring-time, when Larry was about twelve and Teddy fourteen, a great trouble came upon the house of the O'Shaughnessys-the pig died! One morning, soon after this sad event, as the two boys were on the way to the little village, on some errand, a traveling carriage passed them, driving rapidly. As it turned a corner, a small writing-case was jolted off from one of the seats, and fell into the road. Larry picked it up, and the two boys ran after the carriage, shouting to the driver to stop. But he took them for beggars, and drove on faster. So they followed, for more than a mile, running at the top of their speed, calling and holding up the writing-case. At last, the carriage stopped, and the boys came up panting, and gave the writing-case to a gentleman, who seemed very happy to get it, as he said it contained valuable papers and money. He thanked the boys, and gave them each a crown. Larry's beautiful brown eyes danced with joy. "Arrah, Teddy," said he, "sure this is a rale providince! I'll go immadiately an' buy Dermot's ould feddle." "Faix thin, Larry, ye'll make thrue the sayin'-' a fool and his money be soon parted.' I'll go an' buy the Widdy Mullowny's pig, and fat it for the Fair. It's myself that knows how to spind money in a sinsible way. A feddle indade!" Larry did not heed Teddy's sneers, but went directly and bought the fiddle. He hugged it to his heart, and danced for joy all the way home. But such a scolding as met him there! All blamed him for his extravagance but little Katy, who stole up to him and whispered—“ Niver mind the hard discoorse, Larry; ye've got the feddle ony how, and its mighty glad I am." Larry was never allowed to play on his treasure within the cabin walls; it was always "Away wid ye now, ye lazy feddling spalpeen!" But up amid the gorse of the hill side he used to sit, with Katy, on pleasant summer evenings, In the meantime, "Phelim," the pig, throve finely, and grew to be, as Mrs. O'Shaughnessy said, "an illigant cratur, intirely." Every meal, after the family had eaten, the remains were thrown into the potato-kettle, and "the sinsible baste claned it out beautifully," so saving work for Mrs. O'Shaughnessy. At last, the first day of the Fair arrived, and Teddy and Larry set out for Donnybrook with the pig,-Larry taking his fiddle. Now Phelim had been a wonderful animal at home, and in his own mud-puddle, but it was quite another thing at Donnybrook. There he was eclipsed by pigs of a more choice breed, fatter, cleaner, and better behaved. Teddy was sadly disappointed and mortified-he had supposed that there would be a tremendous competition for that jewel of a pig. "Suppose, Larry, ye strike up a tune on yer feddle to call the attintion of the folk, just," said he, at last. Larry began very timidly, but in a few moments an admiring group was collected around him. A purchaser was soon found for Phelim, and Teddy having doubled his money, felt rich and grand, and cast rather contemptuous looks on his thriftless cousin. But before the day was over, Larry had made more money than two pigs like Phelim would bring-by playing for the dancers, and singing ballads. Among those who listened most attentively to him was a great musician from Dublin, who saw at once that the lad had a remarkable genius for music. He talked with him, and was much pleased with his intelligence and modesty. Larry was glad to find it was the same gentleman whose writingcase he had picked up a few months before. Mr. R inquired where the boys lived, and the next day drove down to Michael O'Shaughnessy's, and offered to take his nephew and educate him for a musician. So Larry went to town, to live with his kind benefactor. He was well clothed and cared for, and being good and grateful, studied hard to be a finished musician. He never forgot his humble home, or felt above his poor relations. Every Sunday he walked out to see them, and good old Dermot, who was fond and proud of him, you may depend. His cousin Katy grew still dearer to him as the years wore on, and he blessed the time when he was rich enough to take her to Dublin, and put her to school. It was said she was to be governess-but everybody thought Larry would have no other wife but Katy-and everybody was right. Larry has become a great musician-so great that even Mrs. O'Shaughnessy admits that he "is not a bad fiddler." "Beware of him who hates the laugh of a child," said Lavater. "I love God and little children," was the simple yet sublime sentiment of Richter.-Sigourney. from it to trust in God. One might wonder Look at that beautiful butterfly, and learn where it could live in tempestuous nights, in the whirlwind, or in the stormy day; but I have noticed it is safe and dry under the broad leaf, while rivers have been flooded, and the mountain oaks torn up by the roots.-Taylor. One of the sublimest things in the world is plain TRUTH.-Bulwer. Little Pilgrime. PHILADELPHIA, APRIL, 1855. Remember that by sending us one dollar instead of fifty cents, you can get The Little Pilgrim from the first of January, 1854, to the first of December, 1855-two years. ONCE MORE. Since our last, we have received clubs trom the following, to whom we return thanks, warm and fresh, from our heart: Mrs. Clara C. Clarke, Syracuse, N. Y.,-this warm-hearted, indefatigable friend has sent us more than a hundred subscribers this year-think of that! G. Endlee McClure, New Brighton; Henry B. Taylor, Elizaville; M. Friedman, Armington, this is the second club for which we are indebted to Mr. F.; C. McNeilly, St. Louis; Susan E. Gale, Bridport,-brave little Susan, if you do not find the sweetest, possible, look in Specimen copies furnished free of charge. the eyes of The Little P. this month, he is a shabby little fellow; Fiskedale, Mass.; All subscriptions must begin with the Mary J. Locke, Knight's Ferry, California; Alârst number of the volume. mira D. Humphrey, Hopedale; Nannie H. Andrews, Mt. Pleasant,- —we shall look for you next year, Nannie; J. A. Cramer, Bryantsville; Cleveland, N. Y.; G. W. Walton, Muskegon,your hearty letter is welcome; Albert W. Paine, Bangor, the assurance of your kindly interest is very pleasant to us; F. M. Roy, Principal of Academy, Clinton, Ky.,-your club and pleasant letter were warmly welcomed; James M. Young, California, Ky.; Lizzie K. Alexander, Carrollsville, Miss.,-we remember you, from last year, many thanks; James A. P. Ballard, Troy; J. Wm. Thorne, Fountain Hill; P. M. Clarke; Charlotte Adams, Fredonia; F. A. Austin, Plymouth, O.; Adam Crawford, Beverly; W. A. Pennell, Granville; Birch McLeran, Lewistown; E. B. Crockir, Sacramento, Cal.; Ezra Baker, Barre; H. G. Griffin, Cambridge,-you have been truly kind to our little wanderer; W. H. Ladd, Esq., North Cambridge; Farmer & Lacock, Salineville; Catharine M. Stone, Lebanon,-we thank you, as much for your sweet, simple letter, as the subscribers, Catherine; Mrs. S. H. Maxwell, Athens; H. H. Barot, Society Hill; A. M. Gangewer, Columbus; H. R. Dickson, Orangeburgh; William Walton, Salem; Helena Gainsford, Mobile,- -soon as we get a little time, we'll have it done-the sun willing; Mrs. Lucy C. Mayo, Cleveland, -this more than friend has THE LITTLE PILGRIM may be obtained every month at the periodical establishments of DEXTER & BROTHER, 14 and 16 Ann Street, New York; FEDERHEN & Co., Boston, Mass.; R. W. MOTT, Cincinnati; D. M. DEWEY, Rochester, New York; C. TABER & Co., New Bedford, Mass.; KELLENBERGER & ATWOOD, Alton, Illinois; D. M. DEWEY, Rochester, New York. The postage on The Little Pilgrim should be prepaid, by the quarter or year, at the post office of the town in which the subscriber resides. If this is done, the postage will be only six cents a year. The postage on The Little Pilgrim to any part of the state of Pennsylvania is only three cents; and to any part of Philadelphia county it goes postage free. REMOVALS. As this is the season for "moving," our subscribers will please remember that it is necessary for them to let us know where they have moved to and where they have moved from. sent us three or four clubs. TO CONTRIBUTORS. Child-Caroline. The Butter-Blossom. The Snow-Flakes. The Little Pilgrim's Prayer. Articles are constantly being sent to us with the request that if we don't approve we will return them, with a reason for their rejection. This we cannot engage to do. It would occupy no little time, and be no inconsiderable expense to us, in the course of a year. We carefully read every article sent to us-and when we are obliged to decide against one, we burn it immediately. Contributors should always keep copies of articles they send us. Having published a few poems written by very remarkable children, we have, as might have been expected, been absolutely deluged with "first efforts." Dear young friends, we would not say a word to discourage you in writing; scribble away as much as you please, for practice, and the amusement of the home circle; but think twice ere you commit yourselves in print. One little correspondent begs us to remember our first printed essays. Yes, we do remember them, to our sorrow: they were poor enough, we admit they should not have shown their face in printthat's certain. Such things should have been hushed up in the family circle, and never allowed to get abroad. Our only consolation is, that they are now thoroughly forgotten by all but us. We think nobody could lay hands on them now; and could they be found, we are sure nobody could be cruel enough to throw them in our face. We should really feel very sad and guilty if we were convinced that the fact of our having published a few foolish little poems, at a very early age, had put it into the heads of several little boys and girls to pen articles for The Little Pilgrim before knowing how to write grammatically, to punctuate, or even to spell correctly. For their own sakes, as well as ours, we must request our young friends who find themselves very strongly moved with literary aspirations, and really must write, always to subject their poems or stories to the critical revision of a teacher or parent, an elder brother or sister, before sending to us. Thus they would save us trouble, and secure a more favorable attention. WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. SMALL THINGS. BY FRANCIS BENNOCH. Is lavish of its rare perfumes, And scatters sweetness round. From germs too small for mortal sight Life, love, devotion, closely twine Small duties grow to mighty deeds, G. G. Small words to thoughts of power; |