"Matches? shoe-lacings? buttons? only a penny a dozen, ma'am!" and the foot-sore woman presses her face to the basement windows, and holds up her wares with a strange pertinacity, even though the mistress of the mansion shakes her head many times, saying, "not to-day;" and turns to discuss some trifling subject as if there were not starvation and misery in the tones that are dying upon her ear. Heart-sick and desponding, the poor woman turns away, and renews her entreaties at the next neighbor's, perchance to be spurned again and again; for the cosy tea-hour has arrived, and husband and children are all gathered around the well-spread board, and it is annoying to be disturbed by beggars, now.

The pleading voice, and scanty raiment, and woe-begone expression, jar sadly upon the glad home-circle that is teeming with content, and plenty, and cheerfulness, and it is easier to send such forlornities off, and trouble yourself no more about them, than to break away from your own beloved and blessed ones to inquire into their condition with a view to comfort and relieve.

"For the love of heaven will ye buy something, sir," says the half-frantic creature, addressing a benevolent-looking gentleman who had cast a pitying glance upon her. The stars are hidden by dense black clouds which every moment threaten to pour out their fury upon the earth, and the quick tread of the people seeking the shelter of their homes awakens the wretched woman to a last effort, and she touches the arm of the stranger in her eagerness to secure his attention. "I have sold nothing this day, sir, and the two children at home waiting for the morsel that I have not to carry them—oh! buy something, sir, and the blessing of the poor be with ye!"

"Where do you live, my good woman?" asked the gentleman, half inclined to doubt her. He has so often been deceived by tales of sorrow and want which had no foundation; yet there is something in the present case that banishes his suspicions, and he follows her as she designates her abode. She hesitates, as they near the spot, for fear her husband would be at home in one of his abusive moods, for her woman's heart would fain cover up even her bloated and loathsome husband with its loving and forgiving mantle.

Was it best to tell him, or to persist in her obstinacy, and lose the chance of supplying her children's need? A mother's affection prevails, and with a sigh, she descends the steps, and opens the door of her miserable dwelling. Her husband has not returned—that is well; but what is the matter with Nannie? Leaning over her cradle and sobbing as if her heart will break, the girl sits, while the darkness and want are only made the more visible by a small bit of an offensive tallow candle that is stuck in a potatoe for a candlestick.

"Is it the child that is sick, my girl, or what has come over ye that ye moan and take on in that manner?" said the woman, advancing and holding the candle close to the infant's face—then perceiving that nothing ailed the babe, and supposing that the father might be the cause of the girl's grief, she said no more about it; but bade Nannie hand the stool to the gentleman who was standing with his back to the door while the poor woman scrutinized the child.

"And is this your home?" asked he, glancing around the damp, unwholesome apartment, and shivering even in the middle of the month of August. "Have you no husband, and do you depend upon what you sell daily from this basket for your living?"

If she told him that she had a husband, he would question her, and find out his degradation; therefore she said she was a widow, turning around to cross herself as she muttered softly, "the Lord forgive me the lie!"

"You must be but lately a widow," added he, looking at the tiny baby before him.

"Faith, sir, ye must pardon me, an' I will tell ye all, since it's ye would be taking the trouble to inquire of a poor body like me. Jim's been enticed away by bad companions until it's every thing we had has been pawned for spirits, and how could I tell ye 'twas my own husband that was once so good and kind to me, and he not so much to blame as the poor wretches that deal out to him the dreadful stuff!" and the afflicted woman hid her face against the wall and wept for very shame that the stranger should know her husband's folly. She was interrupted in her grief by the object of it, who stumbled into the room, kicking at the cradle-rockers as he came near tripping over them, and doubling up his fists with a show of fight as his eye fell upon the stranger.

"Isn't it m'own house I'm in, Molly?" said he, "and what business have you t' be taking in lodgers, and me the masther here!" and with that he made a dive at the gentleman, who arose and stepped quietly aside.

"Oh! Jim," said the woman, "'tis a kind friend who is afther helping us, when I could sell nothing the day."

"Who talks of help? A'nt I able t' s'port m'own fam'ly, I'd like t' know?" muttered the drunken wretch, as he fell a loathsome heap upon the straw in the corner of the room.

The stranger gave a compassionate glance at the wife, who seemed ready to sink from mortification and sorrow, and putting some money into her hand for their present necessities, called Nannie to him, and looked steadily into her face one minute, and left without a word. The girl was in his mind, though, as he took the way to his solitary lodgings—for Mr. Bond was a bachelor.

She was not pretty, nor very prepossessing; but her expression showed depth and character, and she was worthy a better training. At any rate she must not be left to the tender mercies of that brutal man. He will help her to make her way in the world, not by a mistaken charity, but by teaching her self-reliance. She must be looked after. If Betty Lathrop had not been taken from him so early in life, there might have been a "Nannie Bond" to care for and teach, and perhaps Providence meant this for his charitable and acceptable labor. And Mr. Bond rubbed his great hands together, and sprang up the stairs to his chamber with a boyish step and a light heart. He had found something to do.