coach-and-four through towns whose authorities came out to welcome him
in the usual pompous manner, and, while in London, giving magnificent
balls in one of the stately houses, and perhaps numbering among his
guests some of the blooming children he had once passed, now expanded
into full-blown and gorgeous flowers of aristocracy. These are, of
course, uncommon instances; but they teach that the most brilliant
present may have had the darkest past; that there is always ground for
hope, and that the caprices of fortune, if we take no higher view of
them, are mysterious enough.

The man who has been overtaken by reverses, need not look far abroad to
see that a system of compensation is pretty generally dealt out in this
life. Set him adrift in the world, with scarcely a dollar; let him walk,
almost a beggar, through the same streets he once trod, a man of wealth,
and it would be idle to assert that he will not be almost overwhelmed by
the force of bitter recollections. In proportion as other days were
happy, will these be miserable. As Dante has truly said, the memory of
former joys, so far from affording relief to the wretched, serves only
to embitter the present, as they feel that these joys have forever
passed away. But unless his lot be one of unusual calamity, as time
blunts the keenest edge of sorrow, he must be devoid of both philosophy
and religion, if he does not feel that life with a mere competence still
has many joys. It is unquestionably true that one's style of living has
not much to do with the sum of his happiness, though this is said with
no disposition to undervalue even the luxuries of life. So far from the
finest houses in a city having the greatest air of comfort about them, I
think rather the reverse is the case. No dwellings have a snugger look
than many of the plain, two-story houses in all our cities; no children
merrier than those that play around their doors; no manlier fathers than
those that struggle bravely for their support. One would suppose that