ary, to take another look at his purchase. He did not feel very
happy. Many thousands of dollars had he spent in order to secure the
means of self-gratification; but the end was not yet gained.

A glance at the new picture sufficed, and then Mr. Alexander turned
from it with an involuntary sigh. Was it to look at other pictures? No.
He crossed his hands behind him, bent his eyes upon the floor, and for
the period of half an hour, walked slowly backwards and forwards in his
library. There was a pressure on his feelings, he knew not why; a sense
of disappointment and dissatisfaction.

No purpose was in the mind of Mr. Alexander when he turned from his
library, and, drawing on his overcoat, passed forth to the street. It
was a bleak winter morning, and the muffled pedestrians hurried
shivering on their way.

"Oh! I wish I had a dollar."

These words, in the voice of a child, and spoken with impressive
earnestness, fell suddenly upon the ears of Mr. Alexander, as he moved
along the pavement. Something in the tone reached the old man's
feelings, and he partly turned himself to look at the speaker. She was
a little girl, not over eleven years of age, and in company with a lad
some year or two older. Both were coarsely clad.

"What would you do with a dollar, sis?" replied the boy.

"I'd buy brother William a pair of nice woollen gloves, and a
comforter, and a pair of rubber shoes. That's what I'd do with it. He
has to go away, so early, in the cold, every morning; and he's 'most
perished, I know, sometimes. Last night his feet were soaking with wet.
His shoes are not good; and mother says she hasn't money to buy him a
new pair just now. Oh, I wish I had a dollar!"

Instinctively Mr. Alexander's hand was in his pocket, and, a moment
after, a round, bright silver dollar glittered in that of the girl.

But little farther did Mr. Alexander extend his walk. As if by magic,
the hue of his feelings had changed. The pressure on his heart was
gone, and its fuller pulses sent the blood bounding and frolicking
along every expanding artery. He thought not of pictures nor
possessions. All else was obscured by the bright face of the child, as
she lifted to his her innocent eyes, brimming with grateful tears.

One dollar spent unselfishly, brought more real pleasure than thousands
parted with in the pursuit of merely selfish gratification. And the
pleasure did not fade with the hour, nor the day. That one truly
benevolent act, imp