Let us look in at Mrs. Hamilton’s on Thanksgiving eve.  Every thing in her little sitting-room is just as clean as it can possibly be; the fire burns brightly, and the blaze goes dancing and leaping merrily up the chimney, diffusing throughout the room an aspect of cheerfulness.  Henry, “the student,” as John calls him, is at home; for of course it is vacation in his school; and his mother looks with pride on the manly form and handsome face of this her favorite boy, who has certainly grown taller and handsomer since his last visit at home, in her eyes at least; and who is now entertaining himself by teaching his pet, Emma, (a little girl of four,) to repeat the Greek alphabet, and whose funny pronunciation of Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, &c., is received with peals of laughter by the other children.

“We will make a famous Greek scholar of you yet,” said Harry, “who knows, darling Em, but you may be a great poetess before you die?  But you won’t be a blue stocking, I hope!”

“My stockings are red,” said the unconscious Emma; “mother don’t make me blue stockings,” sticking out her little feet by way of confirming the fact.

Charlie, the baby, as he is called, now almost three years old, has donned his new red flannel dress, and white apron, in honor of the day.  James is cracking butternuts in one corner, and a well-heaped milk-pan is the trophy of his persevering toil.  Lucy, the eldest sister, has come home, and she and Mary are deep in some confidential conversation the opposite side of the room, stopping every now and then to listen, as if expecting to hear some pleasant sound.  Among them all, the mother moves with a beaming face and quiet step, completing the arrangements of the table, which is standing at the backside of the room, covered by a snowy cloth, and decorated with the best plates, and china cups and saucers, the relics of more prosperous days.

“Hurra, they’ve come! they’ve come!” said James, tossing down his hammer, and bounding over the pan of nuts; “that’s our wagon, I know.”

All are at the door.  ’Tis they!  Yes, ’tis John and Arthur, our dear little Arthur home again!  How they all seize upon and kiss him!  How the mother holds him to her heart with tearful eyes!  Ah, this is joy; such joy as can be purchased only by separation and suffering.  Who that looked now on Arthur’s beaming eye, and glowing cheek, could dream that they had been clouded by sorrow, or dimmed by tears?

Of all the happy groups that were assembled in our old Commonwealth that night, few we think were happier than this.  Rover was by no means a silent witness of the joy.  He would not leave Arthur’s side a moment, and constantly sought to attract his notice.  Arthur had been always very fond of Rover, almost more so than the other children, though he was a great favorite with all, and Rover had missed him since he went away almost as much as Arthur had missed Rover; so it was a joyful re-union on both sides.