The good man can now make one of the party that assembles every evening in the pleasant attic. He has not the distance to keep him away, nor the weather, nor a feeble state of health, and right glad he is that every obstacle to so welcome a privilege is removed. A stranger, used to the polish and luxury of a different sphere, would wonder how such content and happiness could reign amid apparent lowliness and effort, for although things present a neat and thrifty aspect in the little room, it is evident that much toil is necessary in order to maintain even this degree of prosperity. The busy fingers of the mother are ever engaged with the needle, and the child is separated from her home by a needful economy; yet there is a real joy in every moment spent together, which might well excite the envy as well as the curiosity of a spectator. People are so long a time learning that harmony is of more value in a household than thousands of gold or silver—that "a dinner of herbs, where love is, is better than the stalled ox and hatred therewith." Perhaps if they could look in upon some of their wealthy neighbors, who are rich in every thing but the blessed element that money can not purchase, and then return to the humble place that overfloweth with love and peace, they would be ready to acknowledge wherein true happiness consists, and to search for it with as much ardor as they now do for an increased treasury or a higher station. Mrs. Bates never troubled herself as to who was better off than she in point of tangible good, but she perfectly reveled in the sunny atmosphere of her pleasant home, endeavoring so to fix its present blessedness that no outward vicissitudes would be able to affect it.

She had no verbal eloquence with which to commend a contented and glad disposition to the members of her household, but her example was more forcible than precept, and there needed no other adviser. It was not always so; Nannie can look back to a sorrowful period, when even the hope-light was hidden from them, and they all feel that the leaven of the kind, and Christian, and benevolent heart has exercised its changing and salutary power among them.

Well may you look about upon the group before you with a placid feeling, Peter Bond. Isn't it worth a few more years severance from the spirit that awaiteth thee elsewhere, to see so noble a work—the result of thy instrumentality? It was a strange Providence to thee that raised thee up from the jaws of death and set thee upon thy strong feet again; but to question its wisdom was perfect folly—that thou feelest now as thy usefulness becomes apparent even to thy humility.

Nannie wonders what subject is agitating her friend, as his face grows thoughtful and serious; but she does not interrupt his meditations, for she has many a moment of quiet reflection that she wouldn't have broken for all the world, so she keeps very still until her hour has expired, and then says "good-night," so gently that he is not disturbed.

Mr. Bond goes to his room, with puss sauntering after, and Mrs. Bates indulges herself in a cat-nap in her chair, while Pat is enjoying the moonlight walk to Mrs. Minturn's with Nannie. He is as happy as happy can be until they reach the house, and Mike Dugan confronts them with a gift for Nannie. It's all spoiled now! Pat frowns upon Mike, and making a gruff adieu to Nannie, walks back again, with an uncomfortable feeling as if all the world is against him; and Nannie puts the unopened parcel upon the table, and cries herself asleep, with Pat's daguerreotype under her pillow and his rough adieu in her heart.

Poor children! it's the same the world over—smiles and tears, and smiles again; heart-breakings and heart-mendings; quarrels and reconciliations. There's no help for it; you must have your own experience!