riate a lady's palm, would make no sensible impression on that of a hardy ploughman.
"I speak from experience—partly my own. There was a time when I thought as you do—at least, I was fully persuaded that Home and its affections were the only things that made life tolerable. . .that if deprived of these, existence would become a burden hard to be endured; but now, I have no home...unless you would dignify my two hired rooms at Horton by such a name;. . .and not twelve months ago, I lost the last and dearest of my early friends: and yet, not only I live, but I am not wholly destitute of hope and comfort, even for this life; though I must acknowledge that I can seldom enter even an humble cottage, at the close of day, and see its inhabitants peaceably gathered around their cheerful hearth, without a feeling almost of envy at their domestic enjoyment."
"You don't know what happiness lies before you yet," said I, "you are now only in the commencement of your journey."
"The best of happiness," replied he, "is mine already. . .the power and the will to be useful."
