rich, and "Happy New Year" was echoed from lip to lip, as if on
that day there were no aching hearts--no garrets where the biting
cold looked in. on pinching poverty and suffering old age--no low,
dark room where Dora and her pale, dead mother lay, while over
them the angels kept their tireless watch until human aid should
come. But one there was who did not forget--one about whose house
was gathered every elegance which fashion could dictate or money
procure; and now, as she sat at her bountifully-furnished
breakfast table sipping her fragrant chocolate, she thought of the
poor widow, Dora's mother, for whom her charity had been solicited
the day before, by a woman who lived in the same block of
buildings with Mrs. Deane.

"Brother," she said, glancing towards a young man who, before the
glowing grate, was reading the morning paper, "suppose you make
your first call with me?"

"Certainly," he answered; "and it will probably be in some dreary
attic or dark, damp basement; but it is well, I suppose, to begin
the New Year by remembering the poor."

Half an hour later, and the crazy stairs which led to the chamber
of death were creaking to the tread of the lady and her brother,
the latter of whom knocked loudly for admission. Receiving no
answer from within, they at last raised the latch and entered. The
fire had long since gone out, and the night wind, as it poured
down the chimney, had scattered the cold ashes over the hearth and
out upon the floor. Piles of snow lay on the window sill, and a
tumbler in which some water had been left standing, was broken in
pieces. All this the young man saw at a glance, but when his eye