“Come here, Mr. Morris,” and taking him by the hand, she led him to his wife. “Look at this dear soul. She says that she isn’t wanted, and is of no use to anybody, because she’s weak and ill,” and Lucy looked at him a whole volume of entreaty and desire. Morris understood her purpose, and whether he was thinking, as he gazed upon the fallen cheek, the sunken eye, and the dark hair so thickly silvered--remnants of the beauty of the older and brighter days before he brought sorrow over the threshold--or whether Lucy’s influence acted on him like a spell, cannot be said, probably a little of both; but he took his wife’s hand in his, and stroked it, saying,-- “Why, bless you, Sally, there’s nobody we could spare so ill as thee.” Lucy’s eyes and smile repaid him for that unusual grace, and then turning to his wife, she said,-- “There, you naughty soul. Mary loves you; Bob and Dick love you; your husband loves you, and yet you dare to look me in the face and tell me you’re not wanted!” And, kissing her cheek, “Jesus loves you, and I love you, and if you call the cat it will jump upon your knee and tell you the same thing. Yet you ‘feel a sinking and a fainting,’ and you ‘sit waiting and thinking that every moment is going to be the last!’ Mrs. Morris, I’m”----” But by this time the work was done. The poor woman’s face was all aglow. “Yes, yes,” said she. “I am richer than I thought.” “Richer! I should think you are; and you have all the love of God, all the promises of the Bible, and all the hopes of heaven into the bargain. Mrs. Morris, I’m going to sing, and if you don’t join in the chorus I won’t stop and have a cup of tea.” Lucy’s singing was an inspiration, and Piggy Morris stopped the process of unlacing his boots to look and listen, as she sang,-- THE DARK AND THE DAWN. “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”--_Ps_. xxx, 5. To-night there are tears, To-night there are fears, To-night there is sighing and sorrow, My tears shall be dried, My fears shall subside, ’Twill be singing--not sighing--to-morrow! So this is my song, As I travel along! Come neighbours, and join in my chorus! The tears of the night, Become pearls in the light, The light of the morning before us. To-night I may sigh; But pray tell me why, From the future more tears I should borrow? No! strengthened by hope, With my cares I will cope, For they all will evanish to-morrow! So this is my song, &c. Though hard I may toil, And wearily moil, And with tears cast my seed in the furrow; Not long shall I weep; I am certain to reap A harvest of joy on the morrow! So this is my song, &c.