At our mother's we had quite as much of domestic peace and happiness as we had ever known. Our little daughter, who, to us at least, looked just as sweet and pretty in her bit calicos as she had ever done in better and more expensive clothes, beguiled a portion of our evenings with her music. She played delightfully on the piano, for a child of her age; and then she had conceived an idea (perhaps from something her father or mother had said) that the day might come when, by teaching music and French, she would be their support in old age. This was a new and beautiful stimulant to study, and we were no less pleased with this virtuous devotion of her young life, because we confidently believed that no such necessity would ever arise. We enjoyed society, too--not quite so much or half as often as when we could return civilities; but there was an abandonment of feeling, or freedom from care, when we did participate; something like that expressed by a clerical friend of ours, who, upon beholding the beautiful grounds of a wealthy gentleman, congratulated himself upon his capacity for enjoying them as much as the proprietor could, "without having his responsibility and care," which, in some measure, compensated us. And, then, your grandfather found out what "a jewel of a wife" he had; how, as with a magic touch, she could make old things perfectly new, in which she appeared more charming to his eye than ever before. We are really not dependent upon external circumstances for happiness. That ingredient of life is found within us; and every one has a share in promoting it. One gentle, patient, unselfish, cheerful member of a household, can do wonders towards making the whole atmosphere of home redolent with his soul-reviving influences. From what you have seen of your grandfather, you will readily imagine that he must have been a good son. He was: one of the best, if not the best, I have ever known. But facts speak for themselves. I have never once heard him speak a hasty or unkind word to his mother. He was her staff, upon whom she lovingly leaned; and yet, at her bidding, he was her boy, obedient, and respectful. As she declined in life, "when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way," and many infirmities made her irritable and exacting, the charm of his loving voice, playfully and skillfully giving a turn to the current of her feelings, would alternately soothe, comfort, and amuse her. He was thoughtful of her every wish and comfort, and did all that he could to fill the void which death had made in that aged heart.