“I will send you round a check for that sum immediately,” promptly returned the young man, rising as he spoke and drawing forth his watch. “It is nearly two o’clock now,” he added, “so I will bid you good day. In fifteen minutes you will find a check at your store.” And with this Davis retired. All this, which passed in a brief space of time, seemed like a dream to Mr. Winslow. He could hardly realize its truth. But it was a reality, and he comprehended it more fully, when on reaching his store, he found there the promised check for three thousand dollars. On the next day the protested drafts came in; but, thanks to the grateful kindness of Mr. Davis, now a merchant with the command of large money facilities, he was able to take them up. The friend, before introduced was less fortunate. There was no one to step forward and save him from ruin, and he sunk under the sudden pressure that came upon him. A few days after his failure he met Mr. Winslow. “How is this?” said he. “How did you weather the storm that drove me under? I thought your condition as hopeless as mine!” “So did I,” answered Mr. Winslow. “But, I had forgotten a small investment made years ago. I have spoken of it to you before.” The other looked slightly puzzled. “Have you forgotten that investment in the charity fund? which you thought money thrown away.” “Oh!” Light broke in upon his mind. “You educated Davis. I remember now!” “And Davis, hearing of my extremity, stepped forward and saved me. That was the best investment I ever made!” The friend dropped his eyes to the pavement, stood for a moment or two without speaking, sighed and then moved on. How many opportunities for making similar investments had he not neglected! * * * * * THE LOST DEED. A LEGEND OF OLD SALEM. BY E. D. ELIOT. Last summer I visited, for a few weeks, a romantic inland town, in the northern part of New England. While there, some old papers accidentally fell into my hands, and among them I found the following story; which appeared to have been thrown into the form of a legend, and thus handed down through several generations. The family it relates to were originally among the principal families residing in the good old town of Salem, toward the close of the old French war. No branch of the family remained in the place at the time of the Revolution of ’76; and their name even is now forgotten in the vicinity, or only to be found on some old tomb-stone. This legend served me to shorten a weary, sultry, mid-summer hour, and, courteous reader, with the hope that it may do you the same kind service, I give it to you without further comment. * * * * *