As he pleaded with his mother the hall light lay full upon him, and never did benevolence look more beautiful on a young face. It must have been a cold-hearted person, indeed, who could have resisted those fine, earnest eyes, and that manner so full of generous grace. "Come, mother, music should open one's heart--may I go?" "Nonsense, Fred, what would you be at? The man is in a hurry to go. Why can't you be reasonable for once," replied the weak woman, glancing at her husband, who was walking angrily up and down the drawing-room; and sinking her voice she added: "See, your father is out of sorts; do come in!" "In a moment--in a moment," answered, the youth, moving up the hall and searching eagerly in his pockets--"stop, my dear fellow, don't be in such a confounded hurry--oh, here it is." The lad drew forth a portmonnaie, and emptied the only bit of gold it contained into his hand. "Here, here," he said, blushing to the temples and forcing it upon Chester; "I haven't a doubt that everything is eaten up in the house, but this will go a little way. You are a fine fellow, I can see that; don't let the poor thing suffer--if help is wanted, I'm always on hand for a trifle like that; but good night, good night, the governor is getting fractious, and my lady mother will take cold--good night." Chester grasped the hand so frankly extended, and moved down the steps, cheered by the noble sympathy so unexpected in that place. "You will understand," said the Mayor, turning short upon poor Fred, as he entered the room, "you will please to understand, sir, that to station yourself on my door-steps and call for wine as if you were in a tavern, is an insult to your father's principles. It is not to be supposed that this house contains Madeira or any other alcoholic drink. Remember, sir, that your father is the chief magistrate of New York, and the head of a popular principle." "But why may I not request wine for a poor child suffering for warmth and food, when we have it every now and then on the dinner table?" inquired the boy seriously. "You are mistaken; you are too young for explanations of this kind," answered the father sternly; "we never have wine on the table, except when certain men are here. When did you ever see even an empty glass there, when our temperance friends visit us?" The boy did not answer, but kept his fine honest eyes fixed on his father, and their half astonished, half grieved expression disturbed the politician, who really loved his son. "You are not old enough to understand the duties of a public station like mine, Frederick; a politician, to be successful, must be a little of all things to all men." "Then I, for one, will never be a politician," exclaimed the boy, while childish tears were struggling with manly indignation. "God forbid that you ever should," was the thought that rose in the father's heart; for there was yet one green spot in his nature kept fresh by love of his only son.