"Because Providence has so ordered it that Joy and Sorrow go hand in hand,--pleasure and pain. No two forces in nature which are alike are coupled. Day and night, sunshine and shadow, pleasure and pain, forever." "But I should like to have Joy stay with us," said Helen, the youngest, to her grandparent. "We shall ever be glad to see her; but we must never treat her sister coldly or with indifference, as though she had no right to be among us; because, though in the external she is unlovely, within she is equally radiant with her sister,--not the same charm of brilliancy, but a softer, diviner radiance shines about her soul." "Why, grandpa, you make me almost love her," said Marion, the eldest, while Helen looked thoughtful and earnest. The seeds of truth were dropped which at some future time would bear fruit. * * * * * It was a large and elegant house at which the sisters stopped next. A beautiful lawn, hedged by hawthorne, sloped to the finely-graded street; while over its surface beds of brilliant flowers were blooming, contrasting finely with the bright green carpet. They ascended the granite steps which led to the portico, and rang the bell. A servant answered the summons, and impatiently awaited their message. "We would see the mistress of the mansion," said Joy. They were shown into an elegant drawing-room, so large they could scarcely see the farther end. It was furnished in a most dazzling style, and gave none of that feeling of repose which is so desirable in a home. After what seemed a long time, the lady of the mansion appeared, looking very much as though her visitors were intruders. "A lovely day," said Joy. "Beautiful for youth 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."