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 an interesting theme for reflection to an attentive observer.

The merry child, rudely jostled aside in the midst of his harmless play by the bustling man of business, little dreams of the ruder thrusts that await his moral as well as his physical man in this work-day world of ours, when something sterner and more practical than a few childish tears must come to his relief. Age, leaning on its staff, looking down the narrow path which, ere long will close entirely to its footsteps, is fortunate indeed, if occasionally, one of the busy throng vouchsafes a kindly smile in recognition of its kindred nature.

There in the middle of the muddy street stands a girl, fourteen perhaps, fighting her way against a troop of boys who wantonly upset her basket containing a few nondescript articles, one of which she quickly seizes and, hurries out of sight, while they hoot after her with the cry of "thief," whether with just cause or not no one asks or cares to know. Amelia watches her with a half resolution to intercede in her behalf, or plead with her to tell the truth in the matter; but while debating within herself and halting at the door, she loses sight of the girl, and stands there regretting her own want of decision in not seizing that opportunity for effecting some good, thus perhaps, missing the slender thread on which hangs the reputation of many an individual whose name might never have been remembered, but for some trivial occurrence which first opened the way for other deeds which have won the gratitude and admiration of the human race.