The gentleman, who was fairly liberal-minded, laughed good-humoredly at the proposition as he said: "I consent, but you are richer than I, and I must stipulate that your check is not for a large amount." "It shall not be large," said Aaron, and he filled in a check for twenty pounds. The gentleman, somewhat relieved, wrote his check for ten pounds, and they exchanged documents. "My contribution," observed Aaron, "represents the five hundred and fiftieth part of one transitory and probably worldly and insincere conversion, your contribution represents the fiftieth part of a perpetual endowment of one sick bed in a hospital. You will pardon me for saying that I think I have the best of the transaction." A word as to Aaron Cohen's material position. The world gave him credit for being exceedingly wealthy, but he was not really so. He had money, and to spare, and his private establishment was conducted on a liberal scale. Roughly speaking, had he retired in 1891 he might have done so on an income of some five thousand pounds, whereas popular rumor would have credited him with ten times as much. The reason for this was that a considerable portion of the profits of his enterprise was regularly given anonymously to every public movement for the good of the people and for the relief of the suffering. Great curiosity had been evinced for a long time past as to who was the anonymous donor of large sums of money in response to these appeals. A colliery disaster, a flood, an earthquake in a distant country, a case of public destitution--to one and all of these came a large contribution from a person who adopted the most careful means to preserve his anonymity, and who signed himself "Mercy." These charitable donations were Aaron's constant appeal to the Divine Throne for mercy and forgiveness for the one sin of his life, and thus did he effectually guard against becoming a millionaire. The esteem in which he was held was to be demonstrated by two presentations, one a portrait of himself, by a renowned English painter, the other a picture also, the subject being withheld from his knowledge. This second painting was no other than the picture of Rachel sitting beneath the cherry tree, which had created excitement in the Paris Salon more than a dozen years ago. It had been purchased by a collector, who had lately died. After his death his collection was brought to the hammer, and this particular picture purchased by a London dealer, who exhibited it in his shop.