“Thank God! not for the companionship to ourselves, so much as for the profit to his righteousness. It will be much to meet here and there eyes that tell back one’s own story, and to clasp hands that are undefiled by the world’s lucre. But it is more to know that God’s truth is so hymned by some thousand tongues this night, that the echo shall last till weak voices like ours shall be wanted no more.” “Let us go,” cried Mrs. Reede, dispersing her last tears, and lifting up one child while the other remained in her husband’s arms. He took advantage of her season of strength, and resolved to convey her at once to the humble lodging which was to be their present abode, and to return himself to see that all was done. He detained her only to join him in a brief thanksgiving for the happiness they had enjoyed there since their marriage day, and to beseech a blessing on him who was to succeed to the dwelling and to the pastoral office. Courageous as was Mrs. Reede’s present mood, she was still at the mercy of trifles. The little girl’s kitten would not bear them company. It had been removed twice, and had returned, and now was not to be found. It had hidden itself in some corner whence it would come out when they were gone; and the child departed in a very unchristian state of distress. Her mamma found that both she and her child had yet to learn Dr. Reede’s method of not fretting because of evil-doers. Though he could not trouble himself with personal resentments, no man could more strenuously rebuke and expose guilt,—especially guilt in high places, which is so much worse than other guilt, in as far as it desolates a wider region of human happiness. In his farewell discourse, the next day, he urged some considerations on behalf of society far more eagerly than he ever asked anything for himself.