Adam Hathaway, a wealthy merchant, sat in his counting-room, striking a balance between his gains and losses for the year which had nearly passed. From the smile that lighted up his countenance, as he drew near the end of his task, it might safely be inferred that the result proved satisfactory. He at length threw down his pen, after footing up the last column, and exclaimed joyfully,— “Five thousand dollars net gain in one year! That will do very well,—very well indeed. If I am as well prospered in the year to come, it will indeed be a ‘happy New Year.’” His meditations were interrupted by a knock at the door. He opened it, and saw standing before him a man of ordinary appearance, bearing under his arm something, the nature of which he could not conjecture, wrapped up in brown paper. “Mr. Hathaway, I believe?” was the stranger’s salutation. “You are correct.” “Perhaps, if not particularly engaged, you will allow me a few minutes’ conversation with you?” “Yes, certainly,” was the surprised reply; “though I am at a loss to conjecture what can have brought you here.” “You are a wealthy man, Mr. Hathaway, and every year increases your possessions. May I ask what is your object in accumulating so much property?” “This is a very singular question, sir,” said the merchant, who began to entertain doubts as to his visitor’s sanity,—“very singular. I suppose I am influenced by the same motives that actuate other men,—the necessity of providing for my physical wants, and so contributing to my happiness.” “And this contents you? But your gains are not all devoted to this purpose. This last year, for example, the overplus has amounted to five thousand dollars.” “I know not where you have gained your information,” said Mr. Hathaway, in surprise. “However, you are right.” “And what do you intend to do with this?” “You are somewhat free with your questions, sir. However, I have no objection to answering you. I shall lay it up.” “For what purpose? I need not tell you that money, in itself, is of no value. It is only the representative of value. Why, then, do you allow it to remain idle?” “How else should I employ it? I have a comfortable house well furnished: should I purchase one more expensive? My table is well provided: should I live more luxuriously? My wardrobe is well supplied: should I dress more expensively?” “To these questions I answer, No. But it does not follow, because you have a good house, comfortable clothing, and a well-supplied table, that others are equally well provided. Have you thought to give of your abundance to those who are needy,—to promote your own happiness by advancing that of others?” “I must confess that this is a duty which I have neglected. But there are alms-houses and benevolent societies. There cannot be much misery that escapes their notice,” said Mr. Hathaway. “You shall judge for yourself.”