though attracted by his sunny heart. There he stood working at his
anvil, his face radiant with exercise and gladness, his sleeves
turned up, his wig pushed off his shining forehead--the easiest,
freest, happiest man in all the world.

5. Beside him sat a sleek cat, purring and winking in the light,
and falling every now and then into an idle doze, as from excess
of comfort. The very locks that hung around had something jovial
in their rust, and seemed like gouty gentlemen of hearty natures,
disposed to joke on their infirmities.

6. There was nothing surly or severe in the whole scene. It seemed
impossible that any of the innumerable keys could fit a churlish
strong-box or a prison door. Storehouses of good things, rooms
where there were fires, books, gossip, and cheering laughter--
these were their proper sphere of action. Places of distrust, and
cruelty, and restraint they would have quadruple-locked forever.

7. Tink, tink, tink. No man who hammered on at a dull, monotonous
duty could have brought such cheerful notes from steel and iron;
none but a chirping, healthy, honest-hearted fellow, who made the
best of everything and felt kindly towards everybody, could have
done it for an instant. He might have been a coppersmith, and
still been musical. If he had sat in a jolting wagon, full of rods
of iron, it seemed as if he would have brought some harmony out of
it.

CHARLES DICKENS.

HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD.