Let me remark, in conclusion, that there are some meals from which I pray to be delivered. There is the noisy dinner of the country-town _tavern_ or railroad station, where each individual seems particularly anxious that number _one_ should be provided for, and where, in truth, he is obliged often to make pretty vigorous efforts, if he succeeds. Again, have you ever observed how gloomy is the look of those who for the first time gather around the table, after the departure of a friend? The breakfast was earlier than usual, and the dishes were suffered to stand and the beds to go unmade, and housemaid, chamber-maid, cook, and seamstress, all engaged in the _mélée_ of packing up, and of course came in for their share of 'good-bys.' After the guests were fairly off, 'things took a stand-still' for a while. All hands sat down and rested, and looked very blank, and didn't know just where to begin. Slowly, confusion began to relax _his_ hold, and order, by degrees, resumed _her_ sway; (for the life of me, I can't bring myself to determine the genders in any other way.) But when, at last, the dinner-hour came, how strangely silent were the eaters! Ah! if the departed one have gone to his long home, how _solemn_ is this first meeting of the family, after their return to their lonely home! It may be the sire whose place at the head of the table is now vacant, and whose silvery voice we no longer hear humbly invoking the divine blessing; or perhaps the mother, and how studiously we keep our eye away from the seat where her generous hand was wont to pour our tea. Perhaps the little one, the idol of the household, whose chirruping voice was wont to set us all laughing with droll remarks, expressed in baby dialect. How we miss the little high-chair that was always drawn up 'close by papa!' How our eyes will swim and our hearts swell up and choke us when we see it pushed back into the corner, now silent and vacant! Hast thou not wept thus? Be grateful. Thou hast been spared one of life's keenest pangs.