Then arose, as will arise from the contented bosom of domestic piety, grateful rejoicings—­the incense of an altar glowing with love’s own offerings!  Past time was summoned up, weighed with the present, and, with all the mercies which accompanied it, was still found wanting in the perfect and unsullied happiness that existed now.  “The love of heaven,” said the minister, “had never been so manifest and clear.  His labours in the service of his people, his prayers on their behalf, were not unanswered.  Improvement was taking place around him; even those who had given him cause for deepest sorrow, were already turning from the path of error into that of rectitude and truth.  The worst characters in the village had been checked by the example of their fellows, and by the voice of their own conscience, (he might have added, by the working of their minister’s most affectionate zeal) and his heart was joyful—­how joyful he could not say—­on their account.  His family was blessed—­(and he looked at Ellen with a moistened eye)—­with health, and with the promise of its continuance.  His best and oldest friend was at his side; and he, who was dear to them all on her account whose life would soon be linked with his, was about to add to every other blessing, the advantages which must follow the possession of so good a son.  What more could he require?  How much more was this than the most he could deserve!”

Doctor Mayhew, touched with the solemn feeling of the moment, became a serious man.  He took the incumbent by the hand, and spoke.

“Yes, Fairman, we have cause for gratitude.  You and I have roughed it many years, and gently enough do we go down the hill.  To behold the suffering of other men, and to congratulate ourselves upon our exemption, is not the rational mode of receiving goodness from Almighty God—­yet it is impossible for a human being to look about him, and to see family after family worn down by calamity, whilst he himself is free from any, and not have his heart yearning with thankfulness, knowing, as he must, how little he merits his condition.  You and I are happy fellows, both of us; and all we have to do, is to think so, and to prepare quietly to leave our places, whilst the young folks grow up to take them.  As for the boy there, if he doesn’t smooth your pillow, and lighten for you the weight of old age as it comes on, then am I much mistaken, and ready to regret the steps which I have taken to bring you all together.”

There was little spoken after this.  The hearts were full to the brink—­to speak was to interfere with their consummate joy.  The doctor was the only one who made the attempt, and he, after a very ineffectual endeavour to be jocose, held his peace.  The Bible was produced.  The servants of the house appeared.  A chapter was read from it by the incumbent—­a prayer was offered up, then we separated.

I stole to Ellen as she was about to quit us for the night.  “And you, dear Ellen,” I whispered in her ear, “are you, too, happy?”