beyond the eight hundred leagues of heaving brine (I would wager my
life that the mother heard that song, were she buried in the bosom of
the Appenines); and the deep melancholy of those large, dark eyes,
uplifted so plaintively, the saintly refinement of sorrow that lingered
in the soft, olive face which spoke of far Italy, the 'divine despair'
of the mellow voice, haunted me strangely and unpleasantly as I hurried
away to the scene of death."


WHAT BECOMES OF THESE CHILDREN.

It is very sad to think of the future of these little ones. Without
education, with an early familiarity with want, misery, brutality, and
crime, the little minstrels rarely "come to any good." The girls grow
up to lives of shame, and fortunately die young. The boys become
vagrants, thieves, and often assassins. They soon find their way to the
reformatory establishments and prisons of the city. The police watch
them closely, and never overlook one of their offences. Everybody
condemns them, and no one reflects that they are irresponsible for
their sins. "As the twig is bent the tree is inclined."




CHAPTER X.


THE PRESS.

The press of New York is a subject which requires more time and space