Do you think that they can sleep peaceably at night? No; in their dreams they hear the plashing waves, and see a pallid, upturned face, with pure and pleading eyes, from which they turned away!
Ever at their side, at golden morn, and busy noon, and dewy eve, a little form, unseen by other eyes, shall follow—follow—follow. Ever in their startled ears, a little childish voice, that no noise may drown, no earthly power may hush, shall ring, "Oh, I cannot steal, not even if you kill me! I cannot steal!"
I went with a friend, the other day, to look at some "rooms to let." She liked the rooms, and the man who owned them liked she should have them; but when she mentioned she had children—he stepped six paces off—set his teeth together—pulled his waist-coat down with a jerk, and said—"Never—take—children,—ma'am!"
Now, I'd like to know if that man was born grown up?
I'd like to know if children are to have their necks wrung like so many chickens, if they happen to "peep?"
I'd like to know if they haven't just as much right in the world as grown folks?
I begin to feel catamount-y about it!
I'd like to know if boarding-house keepers, (after children have been in a close school-room for five or six hours, feeding on verbs and pronouns,) are to put them off with a "second table," leaving them to stand round in the entries on one leg, smelling the dinner, while grown people (who have lunched at oyster shops and confectioner's saloons) sit two or three hours longer than is necessary at dessert, cracking their nuts and their jokes?