“I wish you would, sir,” answered the boy, as he came slowly back.

A brief note was written, in which Mr. Everett not only offered present aid, but promised, for the sake of old recollections that now were crowding fast upon his mind, to be the widow’s future friend.

For half an hour after the lad departed, the broker sat musing, with his eyes upon the floor.  His thoughts were clear, and his feelings tranquil.  He had made, on that day, the sum of two thousand dollars by a single transaction, but the thought of this large accession to his worldly goods did not give him a tithe of the pleasure he derived from the bestowal of twenty dollars.  He thought, too, of the three hundred dollars he had lost by a misplaced confidence; yet, even as the shadow cast from that event began to fall upon his heart, the bright face of John Levering was conjured up by fancy, and all was sunny again.

Mr. Everett went home to his family on that evening, a cheerful-minded man.  Why?  Not because he was richer by nearly two thousand dollars.  That circumstance would have possessed no power to lift him above the shadowed, fretful state which he loss of three hundred dollars had produced.  Why?  He had bestowed of his abundance, and thus made suffering hearts glad; and the consciousness of this pervaded his bosom with a warming sense of delight.

Thus it is, that true benevolence carries with it, ever a double blessing.  Thus it is, that in giving, more is often gained than in eager accumulation or selfish withholding.

Paying the doctor.

After a day of unusual anxiety and fatigue, Dr. Elton found himself snugly wrapped up in a liberal quantity of blankets and bed-quilts, just as the clock struck twelve one stormy night in February.  For over half an hour he had lain awake, racking his brain in reference to two or three critical cases which were on his hands; but tired nature could keep up no longer, and the sweet oblivion of sleep was stealing over his senses.  But just as he had lost himself, the bell over his head began to ring furiously, and brought him into the middle of the floor in an instant.  Pushing his head out of the window, he interrogated the messenger below, just too late to save that individual the trouble of giving the bell-rope another violent demonstration of his skill.

“Mr. Marvel wants you to come and see Charley immediately,” replied the messenger.

“What’s the matter with Charley?”

“He’s got the croup, I believe.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a moment,” said Dr. Elton, drawing in his head.  Hurrying on his clothes, he descended to his office, and, possessing himself of some necessary medicines, it being too late for the family to send out a prescription, wrapped his cloak around him, and turned out into the storm.

It was at least half a mile to the residence of Mr. Marvel, and by, the time the doctor arrived there, he was cold, wet, and uncomfortable both in mind and body.  Ascending to the chamber, he was not a little surprised to find Charley, a bright little fellow of some two years old, sitting up in his crib as lively as a cricket.