endeavouring to push himself forward. At length he took a resolution, one of the few, and certainly by far the best, he ever had taken. He determined to sink the few hundred pounds he had remaining in buying a house and opening a shop. After a considerable search, he found the one in New Street; the former proprietor, who was also in the tobacco and periodical line, had died, and his widow was anxious to dispose of the house; the goodwill, such as it was, of the shop being thrown into the bargain. Stephen Walker purchased it of her, furnished the lower part, and let off the upper, and never regretted his bargain. The profits of the shop were not large, but having no rent to pay, and receiving a few shillings every week from the tenants, he was able to live comfortably, and with the company and affection of his little daughter, found himself really happier and more in his element than he had ever before been in his life. Carry grew up in her humble home, a bright happy child, very fond of her father, and very fond, too, of all the admiration which the frequenters of the shop bestowed upon her. “Why, how late you are, father!” she said as he entered. “Tea has been ready this half-hour at the very least,” and she put down her book and looked up at him. “Why, father, what has happened?” she exclaimed in a changed tone, and leaping hastily to her feet. “Your cheek is all covered with blood, your hat is broken in, and you look quite strange. Oh! father, what is the matter? are you hurt?” “No, Carry, I do not think I am, but I am confused and bewildered.” “Sit down in the chair by the fire, then; now give me your hat and coat; that’s right, and your comforter, dear old father; now wait and I will get warm water and a towel, and bathe its dear old face. There, now you look nice; now tell me all about it.” The man submitted himself to the girl’s hands in the helpless way natural to him. “Well, Carry, I hardly know myself what has happened. I was crossing at Albert Gate when I saw a ‘bus coming. It was very foggy and slippery, and I did not see it till it was quite close, and then somehow I fell. I tried to shut my eyes, but I could not, and then I felt the horses trampling upon me, and the wheels came crushing down upon my body. Oh, it was terrible, Carry!” “But, oh, father,” the girl said faintly, and the bright colour was quite gone from her cheeks now, “you must be terribly hurt; some of your ribs must be broken; why did not you say so at once? Please sit quiet while I put on my bonnet, and run round to fetch a doctor,” and she turned to do so, but she was trembling so much that she had to sit down in a chair. “No, Carry, you do not understand me. I do not mean that the ‘bus absolutely did run over me.” “But you just said it did, father; you said that you felt the wheels crush your body.” “Did I, Carry? Well, I did not mean it. Oh no, I was not run over after all.”