“Good morning, Friend Markland.”

“Ah! good morning, Mr. Allison,” was returned with a forced cheerfulness; “I am happy to meet you.”

“And happy always, I may be permitted to hope,” said Mr. Allison, as his mild yet intelligent eyes rested on the face of his neighbour.

“I doubt,” answered Mr. Markland, in a voice slightly depressed from the tone in which he had first spoken, “whether that state ever comes in this life.”

“Happiness?” inquired the other.

“Perpetual happiness; nay, even momentary happiness.”

“If the former comes not to any,” said Mr. Allison, “the latter, I doubt not, is daily enjoyed by thousands.”

Mr. Markland shook his head, as he replied—­

“Take my case, for instance; I speak of myself, because my thought has been turning to myself; there are few elements of happiness that I do not possess, and yet I cannot look back to the time when I was happy.”

“I hardly expected this from you, Mr. Markland,” said the neighbour; “to my observation, you always seemed one of the most cheerful of men.”

“I never was a misanthrope; I never was positively unhappy.  No, I have been too earnest a worker.  But there is no disguising from myself the fact, now I reflect upon it, that I have known but little true enjoyment as I moved along my way through life.”

“I must be permitted to believe,” replied Mr. Allison, “that you are not reading aright your past history. have been something of an observer of men and things, and my experience leads me to this conclusion.”

“He who has felt the pain, Mr. Allison, bears ever after the memory of its existence.”

“And the marks, too, if the pain has been as prolonged and severe as your words indicate.”

“But such marks, in your case, are not visible.  That you have not always found the pleasure anticipated—­that you have looked restlessly away from the present, longing for some other good than that laid by the hand of a benignant Providence at your feet, I can well believe; for this is my own history, as well as yours:  it is the history of all mankind.”

“Now you strike the true chord, Mr. Allison.  Now you state the problem I have not skill to solve.  Why is this?”

“Ah! if the world had skill to solve that problem,” said the neighbour, “it would be a wiser and happier world; but only to a few is this given.”

“What is the solution?  Can you declare it?”

“I fear you would not believe the answer a true one.  There is nothing in it flattering to human nature; nothing that seems to give the weary, selfish heart a pillow to rest upon.  In most cases it has a mocking sound.”

“You have taught me more than one life-lesson, Mr. Allison.  Speak freely now.  I will listen patiently, earnestly, looking for instruction.  Why are we so restless and dissatisfied in the present, even though all of earthly good surrounds us, and ever looking far away into the uncertain future for the good that never comes, or that loses its brightest charms in possession?”