was not of the lackadaisical kind. She assumed her old place in her circle, and no one noted any change either for the heroic or pathetic. After a few weeks there seemed a strong prospect that she would fulfil her own prophecy in regard to herself. The man who was to be good to her and let her have her own way was a West Indian of forty-five. Society looked on the affair as very nearly settled when Whitney came back.

One afternoon as she was rather listlessly surveying a celebrated picture displayed in a shop window, some one whispered a greeting over her shoulder, and she turned to meet Whitney's face. He had come back cured, he said. He told her so as he walked back home with her.

From that hour the old relation seemed to begin again, aud yet with a difference.

Miss Winter no longer felt the balance of power on her side.

He certainly no longer stood in worshipful awe of her. He commented on her dress, he criticized her singing. He never monopolized her society if any other man wanted it.

But for all that, or perhaps because of that, their relations toward each other puzzled the public.

One day, when one of his infrequent daylight errands had brought him to the house, she was away driving with the golden West Indian.

She came in flushed and bright, and exceedingly pretty.

He explained his arrangement about the concert tickets he had brought, and then stood with his back to her, tapping against the window.

"Gertrude, are you going to marry that man?" he asked, suddenly.

"Not before he asks me. Probably not then." "That's good. He isn't the man."

"You musn't come here so much. People will gossip. And then-pardon me—you know all that was over so long ago that I may say it-some day this may stand in the way of some one for whom you might care?" said she, looking up at him half timidly.

"I'm not alarmed, I've no doubt my time will come, as every one else's seems to. When it does I shall report to you the very first."

So the winter went and the summer after, and another winter came.

These two kept the even tenor of their way, and people had nearly stopped talking for want of any thing new to say. Their relations had not altered by one single degree.

Whitney had found a pretty country blonde during his summer journeyings, of whom he talked a good deal to Miss Winter, but as this was the sixth fate he had met in a year she did not feel that a crisis was imminent.

Of Richard Thoresby not one word had been said between them.

Miss Winter had meanwhile learned from Mrs. Grey a little more of him than Whitney had told her. He had married a pretty, brainless flirt, who had flung herself at his head, and they had gone

abroad. The engagement had been of the shortest; of him Mrs. Grey knew nothing since his marriage.

If any weight of monotony oppressed her days after that she said nothing of it.

When one's fate is certainly fixed there is a kind of rest about it not wholly devoid of comfort.

When Whitney was discoursing on the perfections of each successive divinity he used to watch her eyes, and lips, hoping to catch some hint of what lay underneath. He knew that he never came very near her life. Sweet and friendly, and entirely unconstrained as she was, beyond a certain limit he fever passed.

One day-the day before Christmas-Miss Winter was coming home, laden with Christmas packages.

The railway carriage was crowded, and she had no thought of recognizing a familiar face among the other passengers.

Absorbed in a new book, she did not glance up till just opposite her destination.

Rising suddenly then several bundles fell, the abrupt stoppage of the carriage nearly threw her headlong, and there was a little scene of confusion.

She did not notice who helped her gather up her fallen burdens, or assisted her from the carriage till she turned to thank him.

Then she stood face to face with Richard Thoresby. There was no time for talk in the little interval before the train again moved on.

As she turned away she saw him re-enter the carriage, She had seen him--that was all.

There had been no words, no looks that told anything.

When she reached home she sat down to think, and found no material for that process.

She had promised to attend a Christmas party that night-a children's party in the Whitney family, and Joe was to attend her.

She dressed early, and was in the unlighted parlor when he came.

"I've something to tell you, young woman. Is the pulse steady?" he said, holding her wrist. "Not very, I'm afraid. Let me anticipate your news. Richard Thoresby is in town."

"You've seen him."
"For a minute-yes."

"How much do you know?"
"Nothing."

"His father is dead. He asked me if we were engaged. He is coming to see you to-morrow."

He held her wrist still. He felt it throb under his fingers. His grasp tightened. He had kept his voice careless and steady until now. When he spoke again it was broken and eager.

"He will ask you to marry him. Are you going to say yes?" "

She understood him well enough. She looked up into his tragic face, and the smiles and dimples ran over hers.

"I think, Joe-if you don't mind-it will bejust as you say."

He stood for a minute stunned.

"Do you mean-There, will any one tell me what I have done to deserve this?" and he broke into a sob.

Whereupon Miss Winter attempted comfort with

signal success.

Richard Thoresby came next day just as she was opening a little package that a servant had just handed her.

She called his attention to the flashing circle when the greetings and first commonplaces were

over.

"My Christmas gift from Mr. Whitney," she said, slipping the ring over her finger, her eyes on Thoresby's face.

He bowed, a bitter little smile about his lips. "I understand. It seems that I am to pay the penalty of another man's mistake."

He took himself away very soon.

"I shall not see you again. I am going to-I don't just know whither. I wish you a happy New Year, you aud-Mr. Whitney.

VOICES FROM THE RAGS.

There are voices in the rags,

And they come from out the bags,

And they tell to me fond stories of the time
When my girls were little girls
With their pretty flaxen curls,

And my boys were romping boys,now in their prime. Oh, the stories of the past,

How they come to me at last,

As my patch-bag now lies empty on the floor,
With the bundles scattered there,

Some folded up with care,
Relics of the bye-gone days of yore.

What is this of scarlet red,
Tied up with linen thread?

So long ago for Sue, When she was only two,

ILLUMINATED CHROMO BUSINESS OR TRADE CARD'S.

We have now ready a large variety of entirely new style of BUSINESS CARDS, to suit all kinds of trade, each design being appropriate to its kind of trade, such for instance as

DRUGGISTS, APOTHECARIES and CHEMISTS.
BOOKSELLERS, PUBLISHERS and STATIONERS.
CROCKERY, GLASS and FANCY GOODS.
GLASSWARE, PERFUMERY, FANCY GOODS.
JEWELRY, SILVERWARE, FANCY GOODS.
RESTAURANTS, HOTELS, DINING HALLS.
FISH DEALERS, LOBSTERS, RESTAURANTS.
OYSTERS, RESTAURANTS, HOTELS.
GROCERS, TEA DEALERS, FANCY GOODS.
JAPANESE GOODS, GROCERS, TEA, ETC.
TOYS, CHILDREN'S CHRISTMAS GOODS, ETC.
CONFECTIONERY, FANCY CANDIES. ETC.
CLOTHING, DRY GOODS, ETC.
MILLINERY GOODS, RIBBONS, ETC.
FURNITURE, UPHOLSTERING GOODS, ETC.
CARPET DEALERS, FANCY RUGS, ETC.
BOOTS, SHOES, FANCY SLIPPERS, ETC.
HATS, CAPS, FUR DEALERS, ETC.
DRESSMAKERS, FURNISHING GOODS, ETC.
AND MANY OTHER KINDS OF BUSINESS.

These cards are of large size, being 4 1-2x2 1-2, and got up in elegant CHROMO style. They are very beautiful and entirely new in design.

I see bundles here and there,

Pieces folded up with care,

Of the jackets that belonged to Fred and John; Oh, ye little faded things,

What fond memories ye bring,

As I look upon these relics one by one.

In many a home, I ween,

A boy like mine is seen,

With the little bundles faded with the years, Of little stockings worn,

And jackets old and torn,

And the sight of them has often brought the tears.

A Three-Eyed Boy.

The Dayton Journal prints a letter from New Bremen, Ohio, which says: Quite a wonder has lately made its appearance, about eight miles north of New Bremen, in the shape of a fine boy with three eyes and out one ear. The parents are a young married couple, who came here to reside from the eastern portion of Anglaise county about ten months ago, and have been married a little more than that period. The child is about two weeks old. The parents were astounded to find on the right side of the face an eye and an ear in their proper natural positions, and on the left side of the face another eye in its natural position, and about an inch further round on the left side of the head a third eye, all perfect in form, but no ear where the ear ought to be, the place for the left ear being perfectly smooth and solid as any other part of the

boy can be. The eyes are perfect in sight and action. When the eye on the left side of the face opens or shuts its twin does the same, both seeming to be controlled and operated by the one set of

nerves.

A man who lost his good character some time ago was severely hauled over by some of his former friends. "I know it, boys, I know my character's gone, lost entirely. And," he added rather pointedly, "it's too confounded bad, for it was the only one in the place worth saving."

THE COBBLER OF DORT.

"Oh, the world's nothing more than a cobbler's stall:
Stitch, stitch-hammer, hammer, hammer!
And mankind are the boots and shoes on the wall;
Stitch, stitch-hammer, hammer, hammer!
The great and the rich

Never want a new stitch;

They fit like a glove before and behind,
Are polished and neat and always well lined,
And thus wear till they come to life's ending:
But the poor and the mean

Are not fit to be seen;

They are things that none would borrow or steal, Are out at the toes and down at the heel,

And are always beyond any mending.

So the world's nothing more than a cobbler's stall; Stitch, stitch-hammer, hammer, hammer!

boast of being employed by a burgomaster's nursery maid," thought Jacob, and Jacob was right.

Now everybody knows what sort of a character a cobbler is; but a Dutch cobbler is the beau ideal of the tribe; and the cobbler of Dort deserved to be a king of all the cobblers in Holland. He was the finest specimen of "the profession" it was possible to meet with; a profession, by the by, which his forefathers immemorial had followed-for none of them had ever been or ever aspired to be shoemakers. Jacob could not be said to be tall, unless a height of five feet one is so considered. His body is what is usually called "punchy"-his head round like a ball, so that it appeared upon his shoulders like a Dutch cheese on a firkin of butter; and his face, having been well seamed by the ravages of the small pox, resembled a battered nut

"JACOB!-Jacob Kats, I says?" exclaimed a shrill female voice.

"Stitch, stitch-hammer, hammer, hammer." "Are you deaf, Mynheer?"

"And mankind are the boots and shoes on the wall." "Do leave off your singing, and open the door; the burgomaster will be angry that I staid so long." "Stitch, stitch-hammer, hammer, hammer." "You are enough to provoke the most patient girl in Dort. Open the door, Jacob Kats!-open the door this instant, or you shall never have any more work from me!"

"Ya!" drawled the cobbler, interrogatively, as he slowly opened the door of his stall.

"Is this the way you behave to your customers, Mynheer?" asked a smartly-dressed, plump-faced, pretty little woman, in rather a sharp tone-"keeping them knocking at the door till you please to open it. It is not respectful to the burgomaster, Jacob Kats."

"Ya!" replied the mender of leather.

"Here, I want you to do this very neatly," said the girl, producing a small light shoe, and pointing to a place that evidently wanted mending.

fiery excresence just above it for a nose, and two dents, higher still, in which were placed a pair of twinkling eyes. It will be easily understood from this description, that our hero was by no means handsome; but his father and his grandfather before him had been remarkable for the plainness of their looks, and Jacob had no earthly reason to desire to put a better face on his business than his predecessors. Much cannot be said of his dress, which had little in it differing from any other cobblers. A red woollen cap ornamented his head-a part of his person that certainly required some decoration; long sleeves of a fabric which could only be guessed at, in consequence of their color, cased his arms; half a dozen waistcoats of various materials covered the upper part of his body; and his nether garments were hid under an immense thick leather apron—a sort of heir-loom of the family.

But Jacob had other habits, besides these; he drank much, he smoked more, and had an equal partiality for songs and pickled herring. Alonewhich is something like a paradox-he was the most sociable fellow in existence; he sang to himself, he talked to himself, he drank to himself, and was evidently on the most friendly terms with himself; but if any one made an addition to the soci

"The stitches have broken away, you see; so you must fill up the place they have left, with your best workmanship," she continued.

"Ya!" he responded.

osyllables were all he attempted to utter; nor had he any great variety of these, as may have been observed in the preceding dialogue. His stall was his kingdom; he swayed his hammer, and ruled his lapstone vigorously; and as other absolute mon

"Ya!"

"And let me have it in an hour, for the burgomaster has given me leave to go to a dance." "Ya!"

"And be sure you make a reasonable charge." "Ya!"

"I shall be back in an hour," said the little woman, as she opened the door to let herself out of the stali; "and expect that it will be ready at that time." And away she went.

His place of empire was worthy of its rules. It had originally been an out house, belonging to one of those low Gothic-looking dwellings with projecting eaves and bow windows that may be seen in the most unfashionable part of most Dutch towns, and its interior, besides objects belonging to the trade, contained a variety of other matters peculiar to himself. Such spaces on the wall as were not hidden from the view by superanuated boots and shoes, were covered with colored prints, from Ostado, Teniers and others, representing drinking,

On a heavy three-legged stool, the throne of dynasty of the Kats, sat the ilinstrious Jacob, facing the window, to receive all the advantage the light