THE CHANGES OF FORTUNE.
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l L uO tubS bUOotb0tCS NIG Ot many instances of distress existing anon the poor seamstresses of the city, and th' lady who has communicated it for-Publica ti"m in the Mirror, vouches for its au;hcn' tici1y.

 Do you give out work hrre2' said q voice, so sofi, SD low, so lady-like, that imvoIumtariIy looked up from the purse was about purchasing for my darling boy, n birth day gift from his dear papa.

 Do you give out work here7'

 Not to strangers was the rude reply. The stranger turned and walked away. That purse is very cheap, ma'am.' Il do not want it uow,' said !, as taking mp my parasol, left the shop and followed the stranger lady.

 Passing Thompson's, she paused-went in-hcsitated-then turned and went out. ] now saw her face-it was very pale-her hair, black as night, was parted on her fore head-her eyes, too, were very black, and there was wildness in them that made me shudder. She passed up Broadway, to Grand street, where she entered misera- bie looking dwelling. paused-should follow farther? She was suffering much l was happy-blessed with wealth, and. oh how blessed in husband, children, friends knocked--the door was opened by a cross looking woman. -----

 Is there person living here who does plain sewing?' inquired.

 guess not was the reply, there is a woman up stairs, who used to work, but she her out tomorrow .. ..a.... > Let me go up,' sand I, as passing the woman, l ascended the stairs.

 You can keep on up to tl,e garrett she screamed after me-and so l did; and there saw sight, of which I, the child of affuencc, had never dreamed The lady had thrown off her hat, and was knceing by the side of a poor, low bed. Her hair had fallen over her shoulders-si,e sobbcd not-breathed not--she seemed mOlionlcss, her face covered in the wretched, miscra- ble bed, whereon lay her husband. He was sleeping. looked upon his high pale forehead, around which clung masses of damp, brown hair, it was knit-and the pale hand clenched the bed d-clo,hes-words broke from his lips-'I cannot pay you now heard him say. Poor fellow! even in luis dreams his poverty haunted him !! l could bear it no longer, and knocked gently on the door. The lady raised her head, threw back her long hair, and gazed wildly upon me. 1t was no time for ceremony sickness, sorrow, want, perhaps starvation, were before me. l came to look for a person to do plain york; was all could say. .r 0nA NrN row-.' She gasped and tried to finish the sentence, but could not. She knew that o-morrow they would be bot, lome- less and starving.

 Be comforted, you shall want no more.'

 kept my word. ln few days she told me all--of days of happiness in sunny West Indian isle, her childhood's home.- Ofihe deaths of her father and mother-of cruel sister and brother-il-law-h"w she left that home, hoping to find brother in Amer rica-how she sought in vain, but found instead hnsband--he, too, an Eng lishman, a gentleman and scholar, had been thrown upon tl'c world. Sympathy deepened into love-alone, in a crowd, all the world to each other, they married-he procured employment in school, she plain needle work. Too close aitcntiou to the duties of his school. long walks and scanty fare, brought i'll health, and confined him a, length to his bed. The shop where his poor wife obtained work, failed, and their resources were cut of. She had looked long, weary days for employment-many had mono to give, and others gave no work to strangers. Thus ! found them to comfort them little time-then ! trust, they found a comforter in heaven.

 The husband died first, died placing the hand of his poor wife in mine! needed not the mute appealing look he gave me :; I took Ter to my own happy home, but il was too late

 It was very little time ago, went one morning to her room she had passed restless night had dreamed, she said, of her dear George-she called me her kind and only friend-begged me to sit little while beside her, and looked up so sadly in my face, il.at my own heart seemed well nigh breaking. left her not again. In ihe still, deep night, ! heard her murmur-' Sister Anne, do not speak so harshly to me oh mama, why do you leave me 2 Then again she said, Give me an orange, my sister, I am very faint Her soul was again in her own sunny home.

 Lay me by my George, and God will bless you,' were her last words to me. ! led my hushed children 10 look upon her sweet pale face. as she lay in her co6in.- They had never seen sorrow or death, and then 1 gave them the first knowledge of both; then told them of ibe sin, ihe cru- elty of those who wounded the siranger's heart.'-N. Y. Mirror.