ed pain. Had he never
suffered, he would never have attained the moral position in which
he now was. It was when he was disgusted with the world, when he
experienced an aversion for earthly things, that his firmest
resolves had been formed and his determination to do good
solidified. It was then that he attempted to rise above the dusty,
monotonous and weary walks of ordinary life; it was then that his
virtuous sensibility had been awakened, and that his lofty
conceptions had been framed. And now, having aimed at something
noble, he was leading a useful, happy, and dignified life.

He was cheerful, and possessed of some of that supreme happiness
which brightens the soul, and accompanies it through immortality.

He had said: "Why endure pain?" But it was with the same senses that
he now enjoyed pleasure.

He had said: "Why suffer physically?" "Why," he thought, "if that
little child did not feel, and had not experienced the pangs of
hunger, it would now be dead; so would I, if, when I was wrapped in
thick smoke, the foul gases had not irritated my bronchial tubes and
my eyes.

"As for the remainder, I am satisfied to leave it to Him who has
cared for and protected me so far through life. Perhaps the day will
come when I shall also know the why and wherefore of things which I
almost dared to accuse an all-wise Providence of having sent into
the world."

While her husband was soliloquizing thus, Mrs. Mathers was busily
engaged in stitching a smart little pinafore of diaper.

Grandpapa was resting upon the sofa with little Adele seated on his
knee.

He held both the child's hands in his, the left one he held in his
left hand, and the right one he held in his right hand. Taking
Adele's right-hand forefinger and placing it in her left hand, he
began to tell her a little story about a lark, which he remembered
his mother used to recite to him when he was a little boy.

"A little lark built its nest there," he began.

"Here, in my hand?" said the child.

"We shall suppose the little bird did so," answered Mr. Rougeant.
"It passed this way, and the thumb caught it."

"Ah-ha," laughed little Adele.

"This finger plucked its feathers, this one cooked it, and--this one
ate it."

Frank made some remark.

Mr. Rougeant looked up.

"And the little one," said Adele, pulling impatiently on her
grandfather's sleeve, "you have not told me what the little one
did."

"Indeed! well, the little one was left without a si