He will never send a blessing But have greater ones in store, And each oft recurring kindness Is an earnest of still more. If the earth seems full of glory As his purposes unfold, There is still a better country-- And the half has not been told! "MY HOUSE" AND "OUR HOUSE." These houses are opposite each other in a beautiful suburban town. "My house" is large and handsome, with a cupola, and has a rich lawn before it. It is surrounded by a broad piazza, and graced and shaded by ancestral elms and huge button-wood trees. Its barns and stables are large and well-filled; its orchards are gorgeous with fruit, in the season, and the fields around it seem alive with golden grain that waves in the wind. Everything about the place tells of long-continued prosperity. The rich old squire who lives there rides about with fine horses, and talks a great deal to his neighbors about "my house, my orchards, and my horses." His wife is evidently the lady of the region. She was a model housekeeper and dairywoman in the days when they worked the farm, and is now an oracle on many questions. She, too, talks of "my house, my horses, and my estate." These persons each brought property to the other, and the two interests have, unfortunately, never flowed together and formed one estate as they should have done; so there are always two separate interests in the house. Of course the property belongs, legally, to both; but as each has a snug little fund laid away, the question is always to be settled, if repairs are to be made, or horses or furniture bought, who shall pay for it. It seems but proper to the husband that carpets, and sofas, etc., shall be bought by his wife; also the cows, as the lady is at the head of the house. But she says, "You walk on the carpets, sit on the sofas, and eat the cream and butter just as much as I do, and I see no reason why you should not, at least, help to pay for them." Such discussions often occur, but, on the whole, each upholds the interest of the other against outsiders, and gets along without open rupture. They ride about in better dress than their neighbors, they receive and return visits, and are called the leading family in town. But "my house," as some have named the great square mansion, is nobody's house but its owners'. No guest who can not return hospitality in equal style is asked to tarry for a night there. All ministers sojourning in the place are directed by them to the humble parsonage for entertainment. Every weary, homeless wanderer is pointed to the distant almshouse; and a neighbor's horse or cow which has strayed from its own enclosure, is at once put into the pound by the squire's man.