“'It then became my duty as a citizen of Liverpool to consider what I could do to further the ends of your scheme, and it seemed to me on the whole most advisable to place a sum of money at your disposal, on condition that it be spent with such other sums as may be sent you in purchasing decaying property and creating playgrounds--said playgrounds to be vested in the Parks and Gardens Committee of the City Council--and I would suggest that people interested in each district be allowed and encouraged to contribute to the furnishing and adornment of the playgrounds. “'I beg therefore to enclose a draft in your favour on Messrs. Goldbeater & Co., Lombard Street, London, and I have only to add my sincere approval of the good work you are doing among the poor of Liverpool, and my wish, which, as a man of honour, you will doubtless carefully respect, that you will take no steps to discover my name.--I have the honour to be, your obedient servant, “'Zaccheus.'” “Satisfactory, very, although a trifle pedantic and long-winded. And the sum, Welsby? I say £250.” “£500” said Cotton. “£1,000,” cried Lard. “What do you say to £10,000?” and the draft was handed round. “Congratulate you, old man.” Com shook hands with Welsby, and so did they all, for he had worked hard in many a good cause. “You deserve your luck; think I'll take to writing letters for my pet hospital. Who can he be? Do you suspect any one?” “Half a dozen, but I'm bound not to inquire; and I rather think that the trail is covered at Goldbeater's beyond finding. But I know who did not give it--Sam Dodson. “No, of course I did not ask him for help. One does not court refusals; but you know his meddling, ferreting ways. If he didn't stop me in the street and ask fifty questions till I hinted at a subscription, when he was off in a minute.” “Nothing frightens him like a suggestion of that kind. He has raised meanness to the height of genius. They say that he is worth £200,000, but I wouldn't change with him,” said Lard, “for a million. When he dies, Dodson will not leave a soul to regret him, and there'll not be six people at his funeral.” “You can't be sure, gentlemen,” said a quiet voice behind; “I've overheard you on Dodson, and I hope what you say is not true.” The speaker was one of those rare souls God sends forth at a time to establish our faith in goodness; who are believed in by all parties, and respected by all creeds, and loved by all classes; who sit on all the charitable boards, and help on every good cause, and make peace in quarrels; whom old men consult in their perplexities, and young men turn to in trouble, and people follow with affectionate glances in the street; who never suspect their own excellence, always take the lowest seat, and have to be compelled to accept an honour. “You have a good word to say for everybody, sir,” said Cotton with deep respect; “but have you, even, ever got a penny from Mr. Dodson far a charity?”