The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. “Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply. Please sit down, Miss —dear me, I haven’t asked you your name yet.
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