large donations from him to worthy institutions, sometimes one and
sometimes three thousand dollars. His fellow-men looked upon him as
a blessing to the age. There was no aristocracy in him; he did not
live like a prince in the costliest house in the city, but a small,
neat tenement was pointed out as his abode. Not only was he called
the "Poor Man's Friend," but his associate and companion. He did not
despise the poor man, and wisely thought that to do him good he must
live and be upon an equality with him.

Mr. Legrange had just opened an evening paper, when a light rap at
his counting-house door induced him to lay it aside. Opening it, a
young woman inquired if Mr. Legrange was in.

"That is my name," was the reply. "Good-morning, Miss Lang."

Julia was rejoiced that she was recognized. She had not spoken to
Mr. Legrange since her father's failure in business; previous to
that sad occurrence she had known him personally, yet she scarcely
thought he would know her now.

"This is a lovely day," said Mr. Legrange, handing her a chair.
"Your mother is well, I hope."

"As well as might be expected: she will recover fast, now."

"Indeed! What? Some glad news?"

"Yes, sir; father is in the city, and has reformed."

"Thank God for that!" said Mr. Legrange. "It is one of the blessings