It has seemed to me sometimes that
those whom we call fortunate are the least happy, and that the hard lot
is often lifted into the sphere of blessedness. Consider Mr. and Mrs.
Moxon; they appear to have nothing to be thankful for, and yet in their
devotion to one another what perfect peace and consolation!"
"Oh, Bessie, but it is a dreadful fate!" said Harry. "Poor Moxon! who
began life with as fine hopes and as solid grounds for them as any
man,--there he is vegetating at Littlemire still, his mind chiefly taken
up with thinking whether his sick wife will be a little more or a little
less suffering to-day than she was yesterday."
"I saw them last week, and could have envied them. She is as near an
angel as a woman can be; and he was very contented in the garden, giving
lessons to a village boy in whom he has discovered a genius for
mathematics. He talked of nothing else."
"Poor boy! poor genius! And are we to grow after the Moxons' pattern,
Bessie--meek, patient, heavenly?" said Harry.
"By the time our hair is white, Harry, I have no objection, but there is
a long meanwhile," replied Bessie with brave uplooking face. "We have
love between us and about us, and that is the first thing. The best
pleasures are the cheapest--we burden life with too many needless cares.
You may do as much good in an obscure groove of the world as you might
do if your name was in all men's mouths. I don't believe that I admire
very successful people.
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