ess.

When I met Wightman in the street, I thought his countenance wore
something of a troubled aspect--this was the first impression made
upon me. Now, as I looked into his face, and listened to his
cheerful, animated conversation, so full of life's true philosophy,
I could not but feel an emotion of wonder. "Very poor!" How little
did old friends, who covered their neglect of this family with these
commiserating words, know of their real state. How little did they
dream that sweet peace folded her wings in that humble dwelling
nightly; and that morning brought to each a cheerful, resolute
spirit, which bore them bravely through all their daily toil.

"How are you getting along now Wightman?" I asked, as, after bidding
good evening to his pleasant family, I stood with him at the gate
opening from the street to his modest dwelling.

"Very well," was his cheerful reply. "It was up hill work for
several years, when I only received five hundred dollars salary as
clerk, and all my children were young. But now, two of them are
earning something, and I receive eight hundred dollars instead of
five. We have managed to save enough to buy this snug little house.
The last payment was made a month since. I am beginning to feel
rich."

And he laughed a pleasant laugh.

"Very poor," I said to myself, musingly, as I walked away from the
humble abode of the Wightmans. "Very poor. The words have had a
wrong application."

On the next day I met Payson.

"I spent last evening with the Wightmans," said I.

"Indeed! How did you find them? Very poor, of course."

"I have not met a more cheerful family for years. No, Mr. Payson
they are not '_very poor_,' for they take what the great Father
sends, and use it with thankfulness. _Those who ever want more than
they possess are the very poor._ But such are not the Wightmans."

Payson looked at me a moment or two curiously, and then let his eyes
fall to the ground. A little while he mused. Light was breaking in
upon him.

"Contented and thankful!" said he, lifting his eyes from the ground.
"Ah! my friend, if I and mine were only contented and thankful!"

"You have cause to be," I remarked. "The great Father hath covered
your table with blessings."

"And yet we are poor--VERY POOR," said he, "for we are neither
contented nor thankful. We ask for more than we possess, and,
because it is not given, we are fretful and impatient. Yes, yes--we,
not the Wightmans, are poor--very poor."