younger brothers
afterwards became his partner in the business, and remained as
"Charless, Blow & Co." until dissolved by the death of their beloved
senior.

This is a long letter, my dear children, and I will close it,
with the promise of letting you know something more about our three
years' sojourn at your great-grandmamma's: in which I hope to show you
how happy we can be under adverse circumstances, and how much less the
evil of "coming down in the world" is, than generally is supposed.

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.

Letter Eleven

My Dear Grandchildren:

Man is naturally aspiring, and the more he attains to in life,
the more earnestly he reaches after something higher still. And it is
well that it is so, for, without this spirit, there would necessarily
be but little or no advance in the world. The old land-marks would
stand unmolested, forever; and the human family, instead of developing,
could not but deteriorate, from generation to generation. But for the
fall of man, his highest aim would have been such as the angels have,
viz: to see, and to be with God, whose exceeding greatness and glory
would tend to ravish the soul with delight, enlarge its capacity, and
yet keep it at an humble distance, reverent and lowly. But I am
stepping beyond my reach, and will come back again to what is, not what
might have been.

As soon as you observe at all, you must perceive what a constant
struggle there is going on here below. Some aim at "fortune's gaudy
show," while others strive to catch the wreath of fame, and crown
themselves with that. Few are so indifferent, unless besotted by
ignorance and degradation, as not to aspire, in some shape or other, to
something more or better than they ever had, or better than others
have; and, in this age of the world--at any rate in this country--money
seems to be esteemed the chief good. Not the miser's money, for,
while that is locked up, and he hoards, and hoards, and still locks it
up, it narrows down the soul, and expunges from it all the milk of
human kindness. What are the orphan's tears, or the widow's groans--what
is human suffering to him? Gold! gold! His precious gold fills
the contracted, dark place, which the soul, made in the image of its
Creator, has forsaken, and leaves him more brute than man.

Money is a good and valuable possession, but not to the
spendthrift, to whom it becomes a temptation to vice. Better be poor
forever, and,