ct 
 
 DEAN'S 
 
 illustrate /artlpg %mfa. 
 
 THE LITTLE BEGGAR. 
 
 
 LONDON : DEAN & SON, 
 
 11, Ludgate Hill. 
 
 12 V 
 
 mm 
 
 XAA/UW 
 
 
 u w 
 
THE LITTLE BEGGAR. 
 
 It was the morning of a New Year, that 
 had just set in, golden and beautiful. The 
 air was cold, though not piercing. 
 
 There was a little girl— a child of 
 poverty, on that New Year's morning- 
 walking in the streets with the gay crowd 
 that swept past her. Her little feet had 
 
THE LITTLE BEGGAR. 3 
 
 grown so numb, encased only in thin 
 shoes, that she could but with difficulty 
 move one before the other. Poor Mary 
 Gray was a little beggar ! 
 
 Just like the old year was the new year 
 to her. The change of the year brought 
 no change of her condition with it. She 
 was poor, her mother was a widow and an 
 invalid, and the child was a poor beggar ! 
 
 Little Mary, at times, breathed her hot 
 breath upon her blue and benumbed fin- 
 gers, and stamped her tiny feet with all 
 the force left in them, and then big tears 
 stood trembling in her large blue eyes for 
 a moment, and rolled slowly down her 
 purple cheeks as if they would freeze to 
 them. She had left her mother in bed, 
 sick, exhausted, and famishing! What 
 wonder that she cried, even though those 
 hot tears only dripped on the cold pave- 
 ment ! 
 
 She would have turned back to go home 
 had she not thought again of her poor 
 mother ; and she w r ent on, though where 
 to go she knew not. 
 
 A little boy — a bright looking fellow — 
 
4 THE LITTLE BEGGAR. 
 
 chanced to pass her as she walked and 
 wept and sobbed. He caught the glitter 
 of those tears in the sunshine, and the 
 sight smote his heart. He stopped sud- 
 denly before Mary, and asked the cause 
 cf the tears. She could make no reply, 
 her heart was too full. 
 
 " Has anybody hurt you?" asked the 
 feeling little fellow, " or have you lost your 
 way ?" he inquired. 
 
 " No," answered the child. 
 
 " What is the matter, then V he asked 
 
 " Mother is poor and sick, and I am 
 cold and hungry. We have nothing to 
 eat. Our room is quite cold, and there 
 are no coals left, Oh ! you do not know 
 all." 
 
 " But I urill," replied the manly boy, 
 " Where do you live ?" 
 
 " Will you go home with me?" asked 
 Mary, her face brightening. 
 
 "Yes, let me go with you," said he; 
 " show me the way." 
 
 Through street, lane, and alley, she 
 guided him. They reached the door of 
 the hovel. The cold breath of the wind 
 
THE LITTLE BEGGAR. 5 
 
 whistled in the cracks and crevices, as if 
 inviting them in. They entered. A sick 
 woman feebly raised her head from the 
 pillow, and gave her a sweet smile. 
 "Mary have you come?' she faintly 
 said. 
 
 <c Yes, mother," answered the child, 
 "and I have brought this boy with me. 
 I do not know who he is, but he said he 
 
 HOB 
 
6 THE LITTLE BEGGAB. 
 
 wanted to come and see where we live. 
 Did I do wrong to bring him, mother ?" 
 
 " No, my child," said the mother. " If 
 he knows how to pity you from his little 
 heart ; but he cannot pity me yet : he is 
 not old enough." 
 
 The bright-faced, sunny-hearted boy, 
 gazed in astonishment upon mother and 
 child. The scene was new to him. He 
 wondered if this was what they called 
 poverty. His eyes looked sadly upon the 
 wasting mother, but they glittered with 
 wonder when turned towards Mary. 
 Suddenly they were filled with tears. The 
 want and woe, the desolation, were too 
 much for him. He shuddered at the cold, 
 uncovered floor. He gazed mournfully 
 into the fire-place, and over the naked 
 walls, looking so uninvitingly and cheer- 
 less Putting his hand in his pocket, he 
 grasped the coin that his mother had that 
 very morning given him, and drew it 
 forth. " You may have that," said he, 
 holding it out to the child. 
 
 " Oh, you are too good ! too generous !" 
 as if she ought not to take it from him. 
 
THE LITTLE BEGGAR. 7 
 
 " Mother will give me another, if I 
 want, said he. " Take it— take it— you 
 shall take it !" and he was instantly gone. 
 
 It was a gold coin,— a sovereign ! 
 
 Mother and child wept together. They 
 looked at the glittering piece. There was 
 bread, and tuel, and clothing, and every 
 
 comfort in it. 
 
 Ah! what a philosopher's stone was 
 that coin ! How it turned everything first 
 into gold and then into happiness ! To the 
 widow and her child it emitted brilliant 
 rays, and revealed sweet and welcome 
 
 visions ! 
 
 At night, this angel boy returned to the 
 bleak house filled with happiness, and 
 filled with joy ; but he was not alone — his 
 mother was with him. Blessed boy ! He 
 had passed the whole of New Year's day 
 in making others happy. And how much 
 happier was he himself! How his little 
 heart warmed and glowed to see that little 
 child uncover the basket he had brought 
 with him, and take out one by one the 
 gifts which were stowed there ; and how 
 overjoyed was he to see his mother offer 
 the sick woman work and a new home, 
 
8 THE LITTLE BEGGAR. 
 
 and to see the sick woman suddenly strong 
 and almost well under the influence of 
 kind offices. He wondered if their happi- 
 ness could be possibly as deep as his own 
 —it their New Year was as bright to 
 them as it was to him. He" knew not 
 how any one could be happier than he 
 was at that moment. 
 
 Years have rolled away in the silent 
 past. That little girl— Mary Gray— is a 
 lady. Not a lady only in name, but one 
 in deed, in heart, and conduct. She 
 dwells m a suburban cottage, and her 
 husband is wholly devoted to her. The 
 husband is no other than the generous 
 boy who, on the New Year's festival' ac- 
 costed her so tenderly in the street, and 
 went home with her. Her poor mother 
 sleeps quietly in the church -yard ; yet she 
 lived to know that God had provided for 
 her child. She died resigned and happy.