“Make haste!” said the baker, rudely, to the woman, who was searching for her money to pay for her purchases. “I can’t stop all day; and here’s a gentleman that you keep waiting.” “Oh! never mind me: I am in no hurry,” the gentleman said. “I am afraid,” said the woman, in an alarmed tone, “that I have lost my money. I had it here in my pocket; but it is gone.” “Then you may return the bread. I don’t sell for nothing.” “Trust me for once, sir; I will pay you in a day or two; otherwise my children must go without food to-morrow.” “Can’t help that. You shouldn’t have been so careless.” The woman was about turning away, when the voice of the other customer arrested her steps. “How much money have you lost?” he inquired. “It was but half a dollar,” was the reply; “but it was of consequence to me, as I can get no more for a day or two; and how we are to live till then, Heaven knows.” “Perhaps that will help you to decide the question.” And he took from his pocket a five-dollar bill, and handed it to her. “Oh, sir!” said she, her face lighting up with gratitude, “this is indeed generous and noble. The blessings of those you have befriended attend you!” She remained to make a few purchases, and then, with a light heart, departed. The last picture faded from the mirror; and the stranger, wrapping it up, simply said,— “You have seen how much happiness a trifling sum can produce. Will you not, out of your abundance, make a similar experiment?” The stranger disappeared; and Mr. Hathaway awoke to find his dream terminated by the chime of the New Year’s bells. “This is something more than a dream,” said he, thoughtfully. “I will, at all events, take counsel of the mystic vision; and it shall not be my fault if some hearts are not made happier through my means before another sun sets.” When the merchant arose on the following morning, it was with the light heart which always accompanies the determination to do right. He was determined that the salutation of “A happy New Year” should not be with him a mere matter of lip-service. “I believe,” said he to himself, “I will go and see my old friend, Mark Audley. If his son Arthur is really desirous of going to college, what is there to prevent my bearing the expenses? I am abundantly able, and can dispose of my money in no better way.” As he walked along with this praiseworthy determination in his heart, his attention was drawn towards a little girl, who was gazing, with eager, wistful eyes, into the window of a neighboring shop, where were displayed, in tempting array, some fine oranges. He thought—nay, he was quite sure—that in her he recognized the little girl who figured in the first scene unfolded the evening before by the mysterious mirror. By way of ascertaining, he addressed her in pleasant tone:— “Your name is Alice,—is it not?” “Yes, sir,” said she, looking up, surprised, and somewhat awed. “And your father is sick,—is he not?” “Yes, sir; but he is almost well now.”