and health," she answered curtly; "but all days
are the same to me."

"You are ill, then," said Joy, sympathetically.

"Ill, and weary of this life. Nothing goes well in this world: there is
too much sorrow to enjoy anything. But," she added after a brief silence,
"you are young, and cannot enter into my griefs."

"I have come for the purpose of bringing you comfort and hope if you
will but accept it," answered Joy, modestly.

"A stranger could scarcely show me what I cannot find. Be assured,
young maiden, if I had the pleasures you suppose I possess, I should not
be tardy in seeing them. No, no: my life is a succession of cares and
burdens."

Joy was silent a moment, and then said, "But you have health, a home,
and plenty to dispense to the needy, which must be a comfort, at least,
in a world of so much need."

"My home is large and elegant, I admit; but, believe me, the care of
the servants is a burden too great for human flesh."

Joy thought how much better a cottage was, with just enough to meet
the wants of life, than a mansion full of hirelings; and she said,
hopefully, "Our blessings ever outnumber our woes. If we but look for
them, we shall be surprised each day to see how many they are. I am
on a visit to earth," continued Joy, "to see how much real happiness I
can find, and help, if possible, to remove obstacles that hinder its
advancement. This is my sister, Sorrow," she continued, turning to her,
"who, like myself, has a mission, though by no means a pleasant one."

The sisters unveiled their faces.

A flush of pleasure stole over the sallow face of the woman as she
gazed upon the brightness of Joy's countenance; but the look quickly
faded at the sight of Sorrow's worn and weary features.

"My sister must tarry here," said Joy, as she rose to leave.

"Here! With me? Why! I can scarcely live now. What can I do
with her added to my troubles?"

"It is thus decreed," answered Joy. "You need the discipline which
she will bring to you."

And she departed, leaving her sister in the elegant but cheerless
mansion.

The mistress of the luxurious home had one fair daughter, whom she
was bringing up to lead a listless, indolent, and selfish life,--a life
which would result in no good to herself or others.

Sorrow grew sadder each day as she saw the girl walking amid all the
beauties with which she was surrounded, careless of her own culture.
She felt, also, that she must at some time, and it might be