more application did the kind-hearted man make. It was
successful; but, there was something in the manner of the individual
who gave his dollar, that Lyon felt as a rebuke.

"And so poor Mrs. Arnold did not get the whole of her arrears of
rent paid off," says some one who has felt an interest in her favor.

Oh, yes she did. Mr. Lyon begged five dollars, and added five more
from his own slender purse. But, he cannot be induced again to
undertake the thankless office of seeking relief from the benevolent
for a fellow creature in need. He has learned that a great many who
refuse alms on the plea that the object presented is not worthy, are
but little more inclined to charitable deeds, when on this point
there is no question.

How many who read this can sympathise with Andrew Lyon. Few men who
have hearts to feel for others but have been impelled, at some time
in their lives, to seek aid for a fellow-creature in need. That
their office was a thankless one, they have too soon become aware.
Even those who responded to their call most liberally, in too many
instances gave in a way that left an unpleasant impression behind.
How quickly has the first glow of generous feeling, that sought to
extend itself to others, that they might share the pleasure of
humanity, been chilled; and, instead of finding the task an easy
one, it has proved to be hard, and, too often, humiliating! Alas,
that this should be! That men should shut their hearts so
instinctively at the voice of charity.

We have not written this to discourage active efforts in the
benevolent; but to hold up a mirror in which another class may see
themselves. At best, the office of him who seeks of his fellow-men
aid for the suffering and indigent, is an unpleasant one. It is all
sacrifice on his part, and the least that can be done is to honor
his disinterested regard for others in distress, and treat him with
delicacy and consideration.

GOING TO THE SPRINGS; OR, VULGAR PEOPLE.

"I SUPPOSE you will all be off to Saratoga, in a week or two," said
Uncle Joseph Garland to his three nieces, as he sat chatting with
them and their mother, one hot day, about the first of July.

"We're not going to Saratoga this year," replied Emily, the eldest,
with a toss of her head.

"Indeed! And why not, Emily?"

"Everybody goes to Saratoga, now."

"Who do you mean by everybody, Emily?"

"Why, I mean merchants, shop-keepers, and tradesmen, with their
wives and daughter