when her thoughts were busy with her task. Her friends made a long
call--they had nothing else to do with their time, and when they went,
others came. In very unsatisfactory chit-chat, her morning slipped away.

On the next day, Mr. James invited company to tea, and her morning was
devoted to preparing for it; she did not enter her study. On the day
following, a sick-head-ache confined her to her bed, and on Saturday the
care of the baby devolved upon her, as Amy had extra work to do. Thus
passed the first week.

True to her promise, Mrs. James patiently persevered for a month, in her
efforts to secure for herself this little fragment of her broken time,
but with what success, the first week's history can tell. With its
close, closed the month of December.

On the last day of the old year, she was so much occupied in her
preparations for the morrow's festival, that the last hour of the day
was approaching, before she made her good night's call in the nursery.
She first went to the crib and looked at the baby. There he lay in his
innocence and beauty, fast asleep. She softly stroked his golden
hair--she kissed gently his rosy cheek--she pressed the little dimpled
hand in hers, and then, carefully drawing the coverlet over it, tucked
it in, and stealing yet another kiss--she left him to his peaceful
dreams and sat down on her daughter's bed. She also slept sweetly, with
her dolly hugged to her bosom. At this her mother smiled, but soon grave
thoughts entered her mind, and these deepened into sad ones. She thought
of her disappointment and the failure of her plans. To her, not only the
past month but the whole past year, seemed to have been one of fruitless
effort--all broken and disjointed--even her hours of religious duty had
been encroached upon, and disturbed. She had accomplished nothing, that