"Would it, Jemmy? Well—here it is—'the fairies' have sent it you."
What a pretty picture he makes, as he pushes back his thick locks, and flashes those great, dark, Italian eyes—it is worth a hundred ninepences to see such a beaming face.
After all, dear reader, one need not be a "Rothschild," to make a fellow creature glad. Happiness is a cheaper thing than we are apt to think.
Did you ever live in a hotel? I dare say you may have, (some time or other, when you have been on a journey.) Perhaps your home is in a hotel. I hope not; because a good, cozy, quiet house of one's own, away from noise and bustle, is so much better for little children—and grown people too.
Walter lived in a hotel, with his father and mother and two little sisters. Walter was very tired of it. His mother never staid in the nursery; she was always down in the drawing-room, talking to finely-dressed ladies; and, when his father came home from the store, he never played with his little boy, but went into the gentlemen's room, to smoke cigars.
The nursery was very small, and Walter's two little sisters cried a great deal—sometimes from pain, and sometimes because Betty, the nurse, got cross and shook them roughly, and took no pains to amuse them when their mother staid away such a long, long while. So, little Walter didn't fancy staying in the nursery much, and as he was not allowed to go into the drawing-room, for fear his shirt-collar might be tumbled, or his jacket on awry, or his boots have a mud speck on them, the poor child had nothing left to do but wander round the hall and lobbies, and see the chambermaids sweep the rooms, and hear the waiters swear at each other, and watch the stages and trunks and passengers come and go.
When Walter wearied of this, he'd creep into the "bar-room," and watch the clerk pour out brandy, and wine and whiskey for the gentlemen to drink. Walter liked to see them drink it, because it made them laugh so hard, and clap each other on the back, and tell such funny stories; and then, sometimes, they would call to him and feed him with the sugar and brandy in the bottom of the tumbler; and Walter thought it very sweet and nice, and made up his mind that when he grew to be a man, he'd have just as much brandy as ever he could drink.
Walter's mamma didn't think, as she sat there in the drawing-room, dressed like a French doll, that her little curly headed Walter was learning how to be a drunkard; no, she was a careless young mamma, and didn't think, (perhaps she didn't know,) how closely little children must be watched, to make them grow good men and women.