“What is the trouble?” Mr. Bolton inquired.

“I have lost my farm.”

“Oh, no!”

“It is too true; it has been sold for a mortgage of fifteen hundred dollars.  Though I have already paid more than that sum on account of the purchase, it only brought enough to pay the encumbrance, and I am ruined.”

The farmer was deeply disturbed, and Mr. Bolton’s feelings were much interested.

“Don’t be so troubled, my good friend,” said the old gentleman.  “You rendered me a service in the time of need, and it is now in my power to return it.  The farm is still yours.  I hold the mortgage, and you need not fear another foreclosure.”

Some moments passed after this announcement before Mr. Gray’s mind became clear, and his entire self-possession returned; then grasping the hand of Mr. Bolton, he thanked him with all the eloquence a grateful heart inspires.  It was the happiest moment the old merchant had seen for years.  The mere possession of a thousand or two of dollars seemed as nothing to the pleasure he felt at having performed a good action; or, rather, at having refrained from doing an evil one.

As he rode back to the city, reflecting upon what he had done, and recalling the delight shown by Mr. Gray and his kind partner, who had attended him so carefully while he lay a sufferer beneath their roof, his heart swelled in his bosom with a new and happy emotion.

Having once permitted himself to regard another with an unselfish interest, that interest continued; it seemed as if he could not do enough for the farmer in the way of aiding him to develop the resources of his little property.  In this he did not merely stop at suggestions, but tendered something more substantial and available.  Nor did the feelings awakened in his mind run all in this direction; occasions enough offered for him to be generous to others, and to refrain from oppression for the sake of gain.  Many of these were embraced, and Mr. Bolton, in realizing the fact that it is sometimes more blessed to give than to receive, found in the latter years of his life a new pleasure—­the pleasure of benevolence.

THE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW.

“I shall love your mother very much, Charles, but do you think she will love me?” said a graceful young creature, leaning with an air of tender confidence upon the arm of her companion, and looking earnestly in his face.  She was a little above the ordinary stature, with a form so delicate as to appear almost fragile, a pure semi-transparent skin, and a cheek—­

  “Like the apple-tree blossom,
  By the dew-fountain fed,
  Was the bloom of her cheek,
  With its white and its red.”

Eyes of heaven’s own blue beamed with love and delight, as they wandered over the frank, honest face of the young man, who stood looking down into them, as they reflected back his own image.  He could not love himself without harm to himself, but he could gaze on, and love to gaze for ever upon the image of himself pictured in those dear eyes, and yet be innocent.