It was a joyful meeting, and that day was one of the happiest in the old clergyman's life. He took the children to his bosom with all the warm affection of his sunny nature, with tears of thankfulness in his eyes.

He had lasted wonderfully. You could hardly discover that he had grown old at all. There was the same serene face,—aged, indeed, but with a spirit eternally young forever shining through.

He had come to pass only a few days with his friends. And those days—would we had space to describe them!—flew swiftly by. Once more the time came for his departure.

But he remained long enough to remark, and to rejoice over, the change in Mrs. Royden's household since the day when he first came there to spend his brief vacation. There was sunshine beneath the roof. There was music in the air of the house. There was beauty all around.

"We owe it all to your teaching and example," said Mr. Royden, one afternoon, speaking gratefully of the change. "Before you came, we never really knew what religion was. It seemed something separate from the business and everyday affairs of life, and we thought we could not well afford to try its utility. We learned from you that it was the sweetener of every thought and every act of the day. Wife and I have been practising it as well as we could, and we find that it pours the oil of happiness into the machinery of life, which often creaked so drearily before."

How the good old man poured out his soul in thankfulness, that night, to his Master, inspired with inexpressible joy by this evidence that his Christian labors of love had been blessed in the hearts of his friends!

And so, having been almost worshipped by the Roydens during his stay, and honored with abundant attentions from Mr. Corlis and his society, Father Brighthopes went his way rejoicing and praising the infinite Giver for such abundant blessings.

Chester and his bride, having prolonged their visit on his account, departed at about the same time.

Some months later, this young couple sent for Hepsy to come and live with them, in their new home in Sophronia's native town. The poor girl gladly went. Henceforth she was resolved to devote herself entirely to the happiness of Chester.

He needed her, and he was able to appreciate her self-sacrifice. He would not have had much of a home without her. Sophronia was a sweet girl; but of the art—more valuable than all other arts in a wife—of making a comfortable home she was lamentably ignorant. Having been petted as an heiress, she was a complete child. Wealth can purchase certain luxuries, and insure an outside show; but the talent for making home home lies in the heart of the wife, and transcends in value all the riches of the globe.

Had it not been for the good Hepsy, Chester must have led a miserable life, with his unsatisfied domestic feelings, after all the romance of love was over. She made his fireside, and, with the influence she speedily acquired over Sophronia, drew her within the sphere of peaceful home delights, teaching her a higher, holier love for her husband than had ever entered the heart of the giddy young wife before.

And was Hepsy happy?

There are two kinds of happiness. One consists in the gratification of our wishes and desires, the attachment of friends, the admiration of the world.

Another sort of happiness lies in that noble and unselfish love, which devotes itself to promote the welfare of others, quite forgetful of all the thorns that pierce it as it treads the path of duty, and never knowing the poison of envy or the gall of hate. This is the highest, purest happiness known on earth; for it approaches the bliss of the immortals, whose home is in the heavens.

Of the former, Hepsy—the poor, sickly, deformed girl—certainly had not much; but the latter was showered upon her in rich abundance, falling like the sweet dew, for want of which the thirsty flowers gasp and wither in the sultry summer day, but which steals softly down, to bathe their rosy cheeks and lily lips, only when they bow their heads under the gloom of night.