To a poor tradesman from whom he had received twenty guineas for performing a surgical operation upon his wife, he returned nineteen guineas, having learned with what difficulty and extreme self-denial the husband had raised the money. "I sent back nineteen guineas, and kept the twentieth," said he, in apology for retaining even the one, "that they might not be hurt with an idea of too great an obligation." Where is the other man, or class of men, who would have returned the money, honestly earned, as agreed upon beforehand, unasked? GENEROUS AT ANOTHER'S EXPENSE. It is all very nice when one can exercise a benevolent spirit, and not draw upon his own pocket. A well-authenticated story is repeated in this line of Dr. M. Monsey. Passing through a market one day, he noticed a miserable old woman looking wistfully at a piece of meat hanging just within a stall. "What is the price of this meat, sir?" she timidly inquired. "A penny a pound, old woman," replied the butcher, sneeringly, disdaining a civil answer to the wretched-looking woman, who probably had not a penny to pay for the chop. "Just weigh that piece of meat, my friend," said the doctor, who had been attentively watching the proceedings. The butcher cheerfully complied with the request of so respectable-looking a customer. "Ten pounds and a half, sir," replied the butcher. "There, my good woman," said the doctor, "hold up your apron;" and he dumped the whole into it, saying, "Now make haste home and cook it for your family." After blessing the very eccentric but benevolent old man over and again for the timely provision, she drew up the corners of the apron, and ran speedily down the market. "Here, my man," said the doctor, turning to the smiling butcher, "here is ten pence ha'penny, the price of your meat." "What? What do you mean?" asked the butcher. "I mean, sir, that I take you at your word. You said the meat was a penny a pound. At that price I bought it for the poor old woman. It's all I'll pay you. Good morning, sir." [Illustration: THE ASTONISHED BUTCHER.] I can imagine the "chop-fallen" butcher, standing, in his long frock, with a _beaten_ expression of countenance, alternating his gaze between the pence in his palm and the retreating form of the wigged and laughing old doctor. A REPORT ON TEETH. Many stories are told of the eccentricities of Dr. Monsey, and "No man could better gild a pill, Or make a bill, Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister, Or draw a tooth out of your head, Or chatter scandal by your bed, Or tell a twister."