acon of life before her,
she looked but with joy and hope to the bright side of the sunny future.

The home of the artizan was a plain, but a happy one. Loving and
beloved, Cecelia scarce felt the loss of her sumptuous home and ties of
kindred. But not so the proud father and the patient mother, the haughty
sisters and brothers; they felt all; they attempted to conceal all, that
bitterness of soul, the canker that gnaws upon the heart when we will
strive to stifle the better parts of our natures.

Time passed on; one, two, or three years, are quickly passed and gone.
Though this little space of time made little or no change in the
families of the proud and indolent relatives, it brought many changes in
the eventful life of the young artizan and his wife. Two sweet little
babes nestled in the mother's arms, and a new and splendid invention of
the poor mechanic was reaping the wonder and admiration of all Europe
and America.

This was salt cast upon the affected wounds of the haughty relatives.
Now ashamed of their petty, poor, contemptible arrogance, they could not
in their hearts find space to welcome or partake of the proud dignity
with which honorable industry had crowned the labors of the young
mechanic.

It was a cold day in November; the wind was twirling and whistling
through the trees on the Common; the dead leaves were dropping seared
and yellow to the earth, admonishing the old gentleman whom we left
drumming upon the window, that--

"_Such was life!_"

The old gentleman thumped and thumped the window pane with a dreary
_sotto voce_ accompaniment for some minutes, when he was interrupted by
an aged, pious-looking matron, who dropped her spectacles across the
book in her lap, as she sat in her chair by the fireside, and said--

"Joel."

"Umph?" responded the old gentleman.

"The Lord has spared us to see another Thanksgiving day, should we live
to see to-morrow."

"He has," responded Mr. Newschool.

"I've been thinking, Joel, that how ungrateful to God we are, for the
blessings, and prosperity, and long life vouchsafed to us, by a good and
benevolent Almighty."

"Rebecca," said the faltering voice of the rich man, "I know, I feel all
this as sensitive as you can possibly feel it."

"I was thinking, Joel," continued the good woman, "to-morrow we shall,
God permitting, be with our children and friends once again, together."

"I hope so, I trust we shall," answered the husband.

"And I was t