and abiding, and obtain as well as
love them, our happiness is complete."

"Thanks for the many lessons of wisdom I have received from your
lips," replied Mr. Markland. "Well would it have been for me if I
had earlier heeded them. But the ground was not hitherto prepared.
Now, after the rank weeds have been removed, the surface broken by
many furrows, and the ground watered with tears, good seed is
falling into its bosom."

"May it bring forth good fruit--some thirty, some sixty, and some an
hundred-fold!" was said, low and fervently, by the aged monitor;
and, in the pause that followed, his ear caught a whispered "Amen."

And the good seed did spring up in this good ground, and good fruit
came in the harvest time. Strongly tempted, indeed, was Mr.
Markland, by his love of the world, and the brilliant rewards it
promised to the successful, to enter a bold combatant in its crowded
arena; but there were wise and loving counsellors around him, and
their words were not unheeded. Instead of aspiring after "Woodbine
Lodge," he was content to purchase "Lawn Cottage," and invest the
remainder of what he had received in property that not only paid him
a fair interest, but was increasing in value. The offer of Mr.
Willet to enter into business was accepted, and in this his gains
were sufficient to give him all needed external comforts, and a
reasonable prospect of moderate accumulation.

How peacefully moved on again the pure stream of Mrs. Markland's
unambitious life! If her way through the world was not so thickly
bordered with brilliant flowers, humbler blossoms lined it, and she
gathered as sweet honey from these as ever from their gayer sisters.
She, too, had grown wiser, and could read the pages of a book whose
leaves she had once turned vainly, searching for truth.

Even Aunt Grace was beginning to feel that there were some things in
the world not dreamed of in her common-sense philosophy. She looked
on thoughtfully, pondering much of what she heard and saw, in her
heart. She had ceased to speak about the annoyance of having
"Woodbine Lodge" "forever staring down," with a kind of triumph,
upon them; though it was hard for her, at all times, to rise above
this weakness. The "Markland blood," as she said, was too strong
within her. What puzzled her most was the cheerful heart of her
brother, and the interest he took in many things once scarcely
noticed. Formerly, when thought went beyond himself, its
circumference was