the midst of a swift river seems to be
swimming up-stream; but it is only the water moving. Look up at the moon
on a windy night when a storm is breaking away, and she appears to be
flying wildly across the floor of heaven. It is the clouds that hurry,
and the moon feels nothing of the optical delusion. Let us take example
of the stars, the sun, the moon and the planets, in order that the true
astronomers of the heart may know how to measure our distances and
compute our orbits."

"That's my idea, well expressed," says Job, who rubs his hands, feeling
that the right kind of friends have finally come around to him; "and
that's what I've always told my good woman."

The old man pats Job on the shoulder, and says some pleasant word, which
makes everybody laugh. He then proceeds with his speech. He goes from
the great principle of integrity to the exercise of the minor domestic
virtues. He dwells upon the happiness of the home in which love and
contentment dwell, contrasting it with the raw atmosphere which pervades
houses of the opposite stamp. How plainly his philosophy demonstrates
the necessity of an even temper and a sweet disposition!

"You can keep house without silver spoons, but not without these," he
says. "Charity and kindness are the soft music which regulates the march
of life, and cheers the hearts of the soldiers."

This allusion to his old profession reminds Job of his wooden leg, which
he pats affectionately whistling _Yankee Doodle_ very softly.

The old clergyman goes on. He has a good deal to say to the young folks
about the active life upon which they are just entering,--its perils and
temptations. He warns them against selfishness, and tells them how it
narrows and shrivels the soul. But his favorite theme is LOVE; and he
dwells much upon the beauty of its offspring, kindness, contentment,
cheerfulness. His language is so simple that even Willie can understand
all he says.

"Well," he remarks, in conclusion, "I am talking too long."

"Not a bit of it! I defy you!" cries Job Bowen.

"Go on! go on!" exclaim a dozen voices.

"I must take leave of you soon; and we can spend the little time that
remains to us more pleasantly than in speechifying, or listening to a
speech. It is doubtful if I ever meet you again. I am growing old," says
Father Brighthopes, with a serene smile. "I have but a little while to
stay here on earth. I am going home. Our Father has given me my work to
do, and it is almost